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C N Kumar Mar 2014
Sights disable me by birth
Father as witness to.
Mother to teach A to Z every time
And trying well correcting my sight.
To leave school, after full fill lessons
To change my disable sight, why?
For my sight, present friends and other people,
Of book tonic, medicine plants,
Traditional treatments
And more other onetime roots,
But nothing change my sight,
At last the order coming,
Wear specs.



To run at 1st street
Saw, wore whole shop in saffron coluor,
In glass chamber, stick saffron bindi in all doll's forehead
And saffron specs covered their eyes.
Add verse  displayed - buy specs
Get rusted lance free absolutely.



To reached eyes on 2nd street
The shop 'n' carpets are green,
All dolls had beard and turban
In theplank advertising - buy specs
Get sword 'n' a bottle perfume free.



In the 3rd street endered my face
Whole room yellow, front dolls, specs,
Everywhere yellow, display text be yellow,
If buy specs, wonderful wine free.



To the 4th street, move my foot
Whole floor blue like the sea,
At shop, dolls, specs, all are blue
Gospel on display board
Seat on heaven be reserve free, buy specs.



Much crouded in 5th street
From enterence and street , to shop are red
Dolls are spectrum of victims, specs are red
slogan of display plank,
Sharpen wooden spear free,
Under puchased all specs.
And stret boys call worst,
Throw ***** of guilty verse,
And much caper plays
At back, a crying noises
That 2nd street, ask a boy brokenly



Passed away whole street,
In which specs for my sight?
And which colour for specs?



I too distruct and move my leg to 6th street,
From door to everywhere crystal,
And the floor pellucid, on the street no crowd
At the shop no doll and display plank.
When wear crystal specs,to see my own me?
To know my friend, colour of appetite,
Depth of love, greatness of hope in eyes.



I pray, with pulsated heart,
And wait for specs on the 6th street.



==============================C N Kumar.
Danielle Rose Mar 2013
Many will try to break you
shake your very foundations
degrade you
reshape you
displace you
The instinct to **** thrives in every mans will
A shrilling reality underlines every fatality
and evey empty shell
condemned to hell
When you're bitten do you bite?
Do you hunt your prey in the night?
Power playing the doe eyes lost in the headlights
Ending them with excellerating spite
For the sake of the fight or the game?
Isnt it all the same?
There's nothing here to gain
We're all dead in the eyes of fate
We either **** or self distruct
No matter what end of this spectrum your on
You have your enemies and allies
eating it up
It's disturbing as **** but we watch it live
we live it
we breathe it
colonise
A seducing feature in everyones eyes
We must admit most of us crave the dark side
Jiminy Cricket Jun 2013
Inhale and hold it in.
You don't want to be called a *****
Even by your closest friend.

Exhale and let everything around you disolve.
There are no worries at this point.
There is nothing to think about.
Only the thoughts of what you have just done.
They start to sink in
And your thoughts come at you like never before.

The walls around you have only disolved, as the walls of your thoughts build up 10x as strong.
Tring to break through them only acts as a self distruct.
So you hit the button,
Once
Twice
More times than you thought was possible.
Especially after saying you wouldn't hit it after the first.

Running away is hopeless, as you end up where you left
Like many others.
You are not like them.
The ones who are lost in thier own loop.
Learn from thier mistakes.


Gulp, gulp, gulp...
Onto something new we see.
A different country, a different coulture.

Swallow and discover the opposite.
There are no worries.
There are no thoughts.
There is nothing at all.
The only thing that sinks is the liquid inside your empty stomach.

The walls are blured
And your perception on reality is fuzzed.
Like a kid in a bouncy castle,
you don't want to leave.

The echoing sound of your parents escorts you out though.
You follow them home
And before you lay into slumber
They remind you of school in the morning.
Zephyr Nov 2014
Each passing day is spent
With an early awakening
Followed by another morning realizing nothing fits right
And straight off towards the long right hallways
Clogged with moving obsticles on the racecourse for rushing from class to class
Blocks of time set aside to try to stay awake
A short break is offered at lunch where there is a quick relief
Then it's off to the mad races again

Shipped home I'm left grabbing quick food
and spending the hours that stretch into the night in solitude

Despite it all life seems great.
Friends accompany in the mad dashes, and offer much-needed laughs

But it's just a matter of time until something cracks
I can already feel the fissure forming on the fragile stone walls
The clock is slowly counting down to self distruct
I think this is going to be the weekend where it all crumbles
Chocolate in paper cups
Early mornings having maths
Long bus drives that never end
Letters I've written but not send

Cinemas next to the port
A falling star that we lost
Photos of us with the sea backround
The waves we reach with no sound

We live in a society oathed to distruct
Too many scratches in a tiny box of love
My mind is racing back and forth
Am I the one, the same I was a moment before?

Sweet shops like the sixties
Nebulae that this magic kisses
You're already too far away
Memories that I'm afraid to make

We are people destined to forget
Too many black holes into which we step
My mind is lost in bright fallen leaves
The rain will turn into light summer breeze
For G.
Tru1 Dec 2018
If time is what we need, why doesn’t it pass fast enough.

To wash away the past, it doesn’t take us far enough.

In this life time there’s so much to bare, I could combust.

Is there even enough time?
For us to be us?

I fear that only time could tell, but there may not be enough.

What could time tell me, except there’s a possibility of us or no us?

In due time I tell me, but it proves not enough.

Maybe it would be best, if I simply self distruct.
Ghost Writer 3 Feb 2017
.
Self distruct has an angelic touch
Wisping winds brush immensely
Against my pale pallet, my cage, so I call it

— The End —