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"disavowed" poems
You will never know The peace of acceptance Once you are finished Put to earth Life was harsher than the dirt Parents made you feel worthless Cause you wanted to wear a short dress Because you felt different Cut off Disowned Disavowed One friend after another disappears And no one hears The sobs No one feels the salty tears No one holds your hands Or offers you a hug You were ****** By the those who demand You conform Where there was no  warmth The clock cuts you bitterly Condemning you to be lonely And I cry all the more Knowing you won’t be the only one Not the only daughter wanting to be a son Not the only male that wants to be female Not the only soft face harden Or hard face softened till the sorrow overflows Till everyone you know closes the door And you disappear forever more
0
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
To The Transgender Suicides
12/30/2013 I Met the **** Hater Have you ever seen someone so beautiful that you felt like crying? Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone that you wished they were dying? Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes? Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines. I'm not sure which is better, Either  way you'll make me a martyr. But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby with my Big Gay Letter. I cannot erase that look on his face. when he told me **** **** Go Away. I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay. A separation of message and mind. Hateful judgment is not hard to find. When I stand in the shower, or sit down on a park bench, I'm a **** to him clear as gay. It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower. My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar ***** This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say. He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed. He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed. He thinks Animal *** ********** and ****** are because of gays. He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay. He thinks *** should **** more gay people. He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal. He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters. He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers. This man is the **** Hater. Not a rare breed at all. He could be your waiter, or your teacher, maybe even your sales assistant at the mall. I Met the **** Hater, while I made out with a guy at the bar. The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall. But I didn't fall down. or become dehumanized. When I caught a glimpse of his face and saw that utter look of Disgust that I just cannot erase. I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's 'Homo Hate.'
0
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
I Met the **** Hater
12/30/2013 I Met the **** Hater Have you ever seen someone so beautiful that you felt like crying? Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone that you wished they were dying? Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes? Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines. I'm not sure which is better, Either  way you'll make me a martyr. But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby with my Big Gay Letter. I cannot erase that look on his face. when he told me **** **** Go Away. I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay. A separation of message and mind. Hateful judgment is not hard to find. When I stand in the shower, or sit down on a park bench, I'm a **** to him clear as gay. It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower. My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar ***** This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say. He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed. He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed. He thinks Animal *** ********** and ****** are because of gays. He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay. He thinks *** should **** more gay people. He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal. He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters. He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers. This man is the **** Hater. Not a rare breed at all. He could be your waiter, or your teacher, maybe even your sales assistant at the mall. I Met the **** Hater, while I made out with a guy at the bar. The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall. But I didn't fall down. or become dehumanized. When I caught a glimpse of his face and saw that utter look of Disgust that I just cannot erase. I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's 'Homo Hate.'
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48
The weight of life is reduced to a cloud As raindrops of lysergic acid run free. Their pitters and patters equally loud As all of the colours that melt around me. The womb of the universe beating its drum And setting a pace for the flowers to bloom. A force with such strength that all nature succumbs As peacefulness floats in kaleidoscope flumes. Empathy blossoms, arousing a smile, That creeps from my lips to the end of the room, Searing itself on a cosmic denial That beauty like this shouldn’t gestate from gloom. Floating, not unlike a dandelions seed, Thoughts of anxiety flee to the Earth. They carry but vapidness with the sweet breeze. In nebulous nebulas they are dispersed. Now what remains as a warm neon cloud Is beauty profound and purpose pristine. Unwanted, the ego is left disavowed Dancing in memories of amphetamines. Left in its place was the beauty and I. Climbing like vines as it forces the walls. Pushing them down with an ******** sigh, Revealing a cosmos that rhythmically calls: ‘Freedom is such a deplorable word. It offers ambitions too fruitful to take. Though comfort or not, As with fictitious plot, It’s only as real as it’s fake.’
0
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
Far Out, Man
I lie in bed, under cover, fear rising up through the pores of my skin; it leaks from my hair. My door is locked; there are no monsters under my bed. The only demons here live inside my head, in muscle, bone, cell memory. Tall and impenetrable is the brick wall that locks me out, that locks me in. Sarcasm drips from the corner of my mouth, first laughing, then crying, my face stuck in a perpetual open mouthed gape of surrendered indecision. Anger trickles through my toes, almost imperceptible, a shallow breath slowly exhaled, a child hiding in the dark. The cool porcelain of disavowed feeling snakes between my fingers, settles in my palm. Who protects me from my own rage? Nowhere left to hide, smashing dishes under cover.
0
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 12:51 PM UTC
Smashing dishes under cover
Every day she plants the starseeds that grow into wishing flowers, their petals fall down to the earth and we call them meteor showers. We beseech the celestial wanderers and when our words reach her ears, she makes all our biddings come true, but each one is stained by her tears. She yearned for one to call her own in her garden above the clouds, but to think of herself and not of the world, her duty is disavowed. And so the lonely Starwarden only smiled on us from above. She could not keep the wish of another just because she wished for love.
0
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
Starwarden
Best friends until the end Well our time is was on an extend I am starting to apprehend That all you are is pretend I never thought you would stab me in the back That hurt worse than a smack Your heart is black You are on the wrong track Did I ever know you? Was everything you said untrue? You use to be the one I ran to I wish you felt the pain you put me through I could write a book of the lies you told And there would be millions sold Espically your secert that I left untold But my I am not uncontroled You should be more wise You have all these allies From all your lies I hope someone knocks you down to size You may be the poor victim right now Even thought I was the one that disavowed But don't forget now Someday karma will hit you with a pow
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Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Karma
Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them; exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound. What explosions in the sky were heard above the quietus of patient submission? Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth, held breath until nighttime, expelling then -- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke-- from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past. Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue -- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew. Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger. Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once-- bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken, our ribs unwind with dew-- after, unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness we descend. Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit. --and BANG!
0
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
Third and Fifth of July
perfumed delusion, unruly exclusion time bombs ticking and toking vibrant illusions, visual pollution cutting all the ribbons and strings you tried to tie me up in, you tried to rub the salt in to my many many wounds I felt so lonely in crowded rooms crowded stadiums, your eyes never met me once I was too nervous to confront your fronts shy away from topics that we needed to discuss performing necromancy trying to keep this dead love up checking the pulse, it's so gone now we are both adults, you remain disavowed
0
Feb 10, 2022
Feb 10, 2022 at 12:14 PM UTC
disavowed
Your subjectless Objects of capital, the agency bereft GDP drones, O! America, They are spilled on the pavement, an upturned ice cream cone of discontent puddled and lackadaisical, they fester beside the hydrant. Your news agencies and malls, the damp dishrags of industry, snagged on the nail of defenselessness and exploitation, only infect the wound. Each mess of a person, walks through the sugary malaise of your suffering dragging it on to the next in communal forbearing; its contagion, its disease is so many cysts on the mind of those syrupy vacuoles for capital; the private, malignant caverns of dewy-eyed trust in humanity, insipidly drawing the rancor to a boil, without understanding a thing. You pride yourself on much, without eyes for the condition of your people, O! America. People, shackled in your jails, are so many ideas bubbling as to the cruelty of your nature punctured by the ignorance outside. Draped in your obnoxious flag, the cites are as malicious as the countryside, toward life, toward knowledge. You prop-up the price of their crops, the know-not-whys, who plunder the earth to prolong population growth and consciousness-decline. America, you eradicate discontent with cattle cars, filled with questioning life forms, gasing our minds and burning our bodies with your arrogance. Like a popcorn bag steaming in the microwave; you have been left alone too long, and have developed a flame-- an inextinguishable flame of reason. You have been disavowed too LITTLE. You must not be allowed to expand any further, lest the impoverished bag of flesh which is mankind will burst. But still you stagnate, until your violence curdles with drones and bombs patrolling our synapses. Our brains digest your violence against us and **** it out with an abused dialect of greed and hate. Then you ask us only that we eat from your refuse heap of burnt kernels from the “truth” of market economy. You taste like cancer. You rot the mouth of competent men, and satiate the anxieties of those who would turn against you-- with a refreshing ice cream cone of absentmindedness dropped on the ground and melting. But the stains you made will always taint the sidewalk of man.
0
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 12:26 AM UTC
The Coming Summer
Your subjectless Objects of capital, the agency bereft GDP drones, O! America, They are spilled on the pavement, an upturned ice cream cone of discontent puddled and lackadaisical, they fester beside the hydrant. Your news agencies and malls, the damp dishrags of industry, snagged on the nail of defenselessness and exploitation, only infect the wound. Each mess of a person, walks through the sugary malaise of your suffering dragging it on to the next in communal forbearing; its contagion, its disease is so many cysts on the mind of those syrupy vacuoles for capital; the private, malignant caverns of dewy-eyed trust in humanity, insipidly drawing the rancor to a boil, without understanding a thing. You pride yourself on much, without eyes for the condition of your people, O! America. People, shackled in your jails, are so many ideas bubbling as to the cruelty of your nature punctured by the ignorance outside. Draped in your obnoxious flag, the cites are as malicious as the countryside, toward life, toward knowledge. You prop-up the price of their crops, the know-not-whys, who plunder the earth to prolong population growth and consciousness-decline. America, you eradicate discontent with cattle cars, filled with questioning life forms, gasing our minds and burning our bodies with your arrogance. Like a popcorn bag steaming in the microwave; you have been left alone too long, and have developed a flame-- an inextinguishable flame of reason. You have been disavowed too LITTLE. You must not be allowed to expand any further, lest the impoverished bag of flesh which is mankind will burst. But still you stagnate, until your violence curdles with drones and bombs patrolling our synapses. Our brains digest your violence against us and **** it out with an abused dialect of greed and hate. Then you ask us only that we eat from your refuse heap of burnt kernels from the “truth” of market economy. You taste like cancer. You rot the mouth of competent men, and satiate the anxieties of those who would turn against you-- with a refreshing ice cream cone of absentmindedness dropped on the ground and melting. But the stains you made will always taint the sidewalk of man.
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26
Time slipped away in the spring, in the muddy puddles and the rain, in the sweet-smelling flowers and the rain. It rubbed circles into the small of my back, whispered bittersweet apologies and tacked a sticky note to my corkboard. “Remember to call.” I forgot. And I sit under the blooming tree my bare feet soft against the grass Time left me in the summer, in the sunny skies and the rain, in the sweltering heat and the rain. It ran somewhere unknown, far, far, far away, while I treaded chlorinated water and prayed that the fall would come sooner. “You can call whenever.” I didn’t. And I sit beside the verdant tree my bare feet hard on the pavement Time was gone in the fall, in the whispered breeze and the rain, in the crinkling leaves and the rain. But I had company in a glowing screen, And as days turned to weeks turned to months I forgot about time altogether. “Someone is calling.” I hung up. And I sit far from the dying tree my bare feet resting on the couch Time slept in the winter, in the miserable cold and the rain, in the blustery wind and the rain. Numbers and names disavowed, As “today” and “tomorrow” become “now” and “later” “What is the word called?” I don’t know. And I cannot see the empty tree my bare feet asleep on the carpet Time has returned in the spring. It looks me in the eyes, profuse apologies pouring out from its lips. “But you didn’t call.” I blink. Didn’t I?
0
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 12:52 AM UTC
Clock
whittled down and disavowed by an overreaching society the pomp and zeal with such appeal and airs of impropriety unbelievable populace chickens chickens chickens free of heads still peck, peck, peckin' ya copulate, then like you less pickens' pickens' pickens' slim as anorexia Act Now! Don't Wait! the finish line? keep runnin' straight you can go to class ...don't be late or just go tip the magistrate pointless? I doubt it very much more fish in the sea spontaneous lush oink less piggy hush! buy, buy birdie! consumerism's sturdy making up makeup makin' me look perdy hopin' I don't wake up Live as hard as you can just to die before you're thirty if practice makes you perfect then perfection makes you *****
0
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
Pointless Piggies
If you think it will stop Don’t Hold on to the railing Jump Over the edge Onto the sidewalk Separated from streets Marauding, rubber tires pummel Surveying alleyways neglected and Trash cans brimming with disregard It’s lonely here, as if each pebble were a Reveler Ambivalent toward you Unkempt and stiff As if petrified and disavowed at once Ignored, timid Apathetic discharge Free, Fallen From a short, raised canopy Of steel And wood and Bones and Dust Chalk; dried on a lesson Conveyed Battalions, battalions Marching Avid miscreants Scurrying The masters couldn’t paint as fast And each trifling matter Marches past with Battalions Battalions Battalions And Stones
0
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 6:49 AM UTC
Openended
Sometimes I feel old and faded derelict and degraded overly saturated corrugated cardboard left all alone...out in the rain too long   or dry and brittle curling up ..creating a bowl-like middle adding to the strain like it really matters that that then gathers more dust...more lint And those now earth-bound vagabonds whose time came and then went drifters passing through as they always do when they ... the fallin the no longer needed the no longer wanted disavowed no longer allowed to hang around And so apropos The way leaves go wherever the wind may choose to blow them to always a few ...who find shelter out of ....the vagaries of the wind and in that shallow bowl I formed Then like it or not they may stay ... Hidden away catching more of those infinitesimal all but invisible particulates as they pass our way so you might say we form a bond a compilation a strange mutation Imbibing longer and longer those times of total saturation the very manifestation   what one may describe as a little tribe...that by the weight of fate and our bonded state we hunker down here to stay upon this piece of ground And together we start each doing their part to speed us on Upon our way to our future of decay and yes ..its true I once felt so.. overly saturated cursing the corrugated the very way that I was created bemoaning how I had faded But in the end I did not die alone I did not die we ... did not totally decay nor did we fade away we found life and meaning when this little tribe found that we were bound This little mound To be Exactly what all these lost derelicts These young seeds.......needs to create life And to give   Color to reason And a new season To live ....life. And in a way ...to Find salvation in decay.
0
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:43 AM UTC
Salvation in decay
Sometimes I feel old and faded derelict and degraded overly saturated corrugated cardboard left all alone...out in the rain too long   or dry and brittle curling up ..creating a bowl-like middle adding to the strain like it really matters that that then gathers more dust...more lint And those now earth-bound vagabonds whose time came and then went drifters passing through as they always do when they ... the fallin the no longer needed the no longer wanted disavowed no longer allowed to hang around And so apropos The way leaves go wherever the wind may choose to blow them to always a few ...who find shelter out of ....the vagaries of the wind and in that shallow bowl I formed Then like it or not they may stay ... Hidden away catching more of those infinitesimal all but invisible particulates as they pass our way so you might say we form a bond a compilation a strange mutation Imbibing longer and longer those times of total saturation the very manifestation   what one may describe as a little tribe...that by the weight of fate and our bonded state we hunker down here to stay upon this piece of ground And together we start each doing their part to speed us on Upon our way to our future of decay and yes ..its true I once felt so.. overly saturated cursing the corrugated the very way that I was created bemoaning how I had faded But in the end I did not die alone I did not die we ... did not totally decay nor did we fade away we found life and meaning when this little tribe found that we were bound This little mound To be Exactly what all these lost derelicts These young seeds.......needs to create life And to give   Color to reason And a new season To live ....life. And in a way ...to Find salvation in decay.
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78
Time.. slipping from the parapets a rorschach night laid out below If mine is but a little while then yours is not for me to know so, glittering away, we leapt from all convention disavowed restoring golden folklores with our whispering of owls
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Nov 4, 2023
Nov 4, 2023 at 4:38 PM UTC
Hush-Wing
To be necessary is to have purpose in essence. Disavowed from senses of contingent dependence. Disallowed from connection in simplest of form, the necessary are to be dead and too born. Existing in realm of support for all else, with no reason at all in helping themselves. To be necessary is to have purpose in essence; contingency aiding with iris virescent.
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Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
The Necessary
Cover up the moon and the stars A hurtful veil over my widening sky A vengeful malicious intent A never reason It should be raining Listen to the murmur in the crowd The way the thunder grows louder And the skies grow dimmer As we await the storm Cover up the sun The clouds grow gray in anger And the atmosphere becomes thick And the land becomes dark It should be raining A ****** shroud All that dream are disavowed The thunder claps grow loud The clouds are angry Because they never could be the sun It should be raining........
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Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
It should be raining
Everyone has an idea what music is to them. Still, with knobs tuning in to different concerts within variegated steel vehicles that drive toward chagrining clock radios on Sunday's dresser inside disavowed hotel rooms with flashing, red lights and sound reminding us all where we are—what for a time we hold to be real. But all concepts from shaking heads forming to join a choir that sings a hymn to 'here' and flashes, in the face of fear a light from stars beginning with one collision, across time then claps its hands in unison with 'now'
0
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 4:13 PM UTC
The Sound, the Fury
DRINKING NEW DAWNS Foundations forming as minds wide open are blindly accepting of challenges or change Unestablished, not even finding middle ground, lost in between either up or down With no guiding light loose minds quickly become lost in the dark ,scruples are still not trained Slowly feeding the frenzy finding bright while blocking out black,washing memories before they're allowed Rituals become normal with time, as simple as walking  new desires can be stalking but reality can not be feigned Well laid plans systematically rundown,lost perceptions now lounging,responsibility now so easily disavowed Reckless rambling  instead of learning to live  ,strategy's played out in days forgoing any planning while existing unconstrained Now lost never knowing the promise that could have been ,unpaid debts to yourself  don't carry much clout Bargaining with time is certainly not fine,life slowed down enough to see some light relax the fight and define constraint Now with new beginnings realizing how far behind we have fallen,rising daily to find a new route Life opening up, stalled visions now surrounded by light, a better bet when we know the odds,new views to be entertained . R.C.
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Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
DRINKING NEW DAWNS
See the hollow ruins lying on my face They are constructs of guilt, masks of disavowed grace Listen to my heart and the tones of its moans It shifts back and forth like the saddest metronome She looked like the product of a naughty night’s vice Hung out in the crooked parts of town and bedded men not too nice My hands raised her from squalor and carried her home Whereas I was made of flesh bindings, she was chrome Over love, the decadence took precedence Her lavish comforts enclosed by a white picket fence As my walls broke down, hers added cement I gave her mansions of love and she gifted me a poorly pitched tent My breath was choked, my mind confused Twilights strung together and morosely fused On a particular night, she marched towards, I, a speck Dug her claws into my back and whispered poison towards my neck “How does it feel kissing paranoia’s twitchy lips?” “To look out from such a height and spit on all the tiny blips?” She banished me from riches and abode Stole my smile and had my chariot towed Like Lucifer, my angelic wings had been clipped On my soul’s sanctity, a golden Goddess sipped
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Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
Jezebel
I left the scent of bleach To the palms of my father And disavowed his residence, A rock atop, “Mount Redeye.” Let him keep the – sore back, Torn ankle and manic boss too. In adamancy, I mention this, Special sort of, “resolute,” While sipping nectar Blanketed ether Come the first minute I ought be somewhere else. And it’s when our sun greets, The, “guilt,” the, “grief,” Or tomorrow’s, “acquiesce,” That I’d taste an awkward Twitch of, “failure,” Unbecoming last night’s plum; Something lesser than sweet, And a torture at tip of tongue – An existence’s, “respect,” Fermented, “20 years,” overdue, Come peak, the admission of My unrelenting weakness. And though I’d never really Known, “Him,” I knew what he did, I did what he did, And’d lasted only days, Having worked if only hours. I’d left jobs before; he couldn’t. I’d walked before; he wouldn’t, And how my sweet amnesia failed; But rather, scarred; burnt sacred, Blunt, and brim of soul, prior Sobriety and when I wept, “Father.”
0
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
For the hands of my Father
Passion … Indulgence … gave way to illusions Decisions excluding correct moral solutions Inhaling, exhaling just breathing it in Lost in the moment … trapped by a whim Intoxicated … Deluded … caught in the romance Deception unfurling diabolical plans Destruction … seduction … led to compulsion Regression … digression … complete disconnection Eroded completely … no more than a shell A traumatized victim of my self induced hell Stumbling … falling … twisting and turning Losing my grip on reality’s sermon Where is my Hope? Is there mercy yet found To undo this offence? Have I been disavowed? You trusted … I lied … You loved… I denied You called … I refused … Not You … only I Passion … Substitution … the only conclusion Sacrifice led to correct moral solutions Inhaling, exhaling … just breathing it in Found at that moment … your love led me in
0
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 3:57 AM UTC
Untitled
- Joseph Childress Concrete benefits, nature of the jungle Cities and suburbia, survival of the fortune The owls growl now, no more asking “Who” The town runs wild, the eye watches the jungle Abstract revolution, power of the people Mafias and militia, conquering division Rebel of the mind, hands still chaining Gangs grow larger, conquering the people Misogamist marriage, fatality of the lovers Polygamists and virgins, electrically connected ****** innuendo, pushing and pulling The pace moves quicker, bindings of the lovers Unthinkable thoughts in the valley of a dream Inventive venting on impossible creations Utopian physics, disavowed in the matrix The strings vibrate, the theory of a dream
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Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Theory of a Dream
One Turns two Fun turns blue After I leave you Two creates Words with weights As one still masterbates Wasting the potential children's fates Three"s a crowd Because egos are proud Try and test what"s allowed Cross the line and you"re disavowed Four doubles the date And now begins the debate And it would have been great Except the translator showed up too late Five forms a final team No more need to swim upstream Finally poetry to boost your self esteem Then you sadly realize...twas just a dream
0
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
Experimentce
haunted, i am haunted by the sliver of your lovely born in chains to fit my weakness, disavowed of any heartbeat to a different drum. you are the sum of my addition . want me more than you can have me - then have at me. lets jab at happiness. the wicked and the silence. form new chains to slip our wrists; a few clouds of many dark things that go hum. you are the mumble. with diction. haunting more than you can haunt me and want me.
0
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
Gothic Boundaries