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Schön wars,
eben,
im Leben.
Ach,
könnt es
Eben
und
Schön
doch immer
geben,
im Leben.
purpu Dec 2016
ich bin eben perfektionist
alles ist möglich aber tun will ich nichts
es rechtfertigt meine unvollkommenheit
zu sagen: “eigentlich wärs noch besser gemeint”
bewusst über dem *******br>natürlich resistent der kritik,
denn ich bin eben perfektionist,
und mehr als das, das tu ich nicht
vielleicht bin ich doch minimalist.
Ricky Oct 2017
Your lips transcend reality

A levitation of sorts

Our hearts beat faster

My tongue etches promises of forevers into your mouth

Your lungs; collapsed and wounded from empty promise after empty

Promises

Only exist as a crutch to walk the doubts in my mind away from my OCD

Hey, "R.I.P. to da CD can't eben play my hits"

I just remembered your angel-like voice singing that song

I don't keep in touch with my faith as much as I should

Now I'm just rambling

But you know I do this a lot

You know I'm scatterbrained

I'm certain now that you are my soulmate

I pull my lips away from yours

I pulled my lips away from yours
She knows.
Zorn ! zorn ! zorn!
Du sie heime von feigligs
Du sie nicht kumpel von tapferkeit
Du immer mehr toten
Aber du kahn nicht tragen
Noch eben lohn fur
Die beerdigung kostens
Zorn ! irrtum ist von mutter

vergnugen
silvervi Dec 2023
Es wird nicht leichter
Und ich mach weiter
Bis der morgen
Weniger schwer ist
Bis mein Herz wieder
Atmen kann.
Bis ich wieder sagen kann:
Ich liebe mich.
Bis ich dankbar sein kann
Für die Luft.
Bis ich frei bin.
Bis ich ich bin.
Bis ich ich bin und
Mich nicht allein fühle.

Bis dahin werde ich
Weitermachen
Noch mehr lachen
Krach und Witze machen
Zeit allein genießen.
Auch wenn der Tag beschissen ist.
Ich geb nicht auf,
Wenn's am schwersten ist.
Niemand kennt mich so wie ich.
Niemand sieht meine Schmerzen ganz.
Ich bin deshalb für mich verantwortlich.
Ich werde mich nicht aufgeben, niemals.
Mit Schmerzen und Misstrauen schreib ich das.

Ich bin bereit mehr Gas zu geben.
Für mich und für ein schönes leichtes Leben.
Ohne traumatische Erinnerungen eben.
Ohne inadequate Reaktionen.
Mit lächeln und dem Wissen in mei'm Herz,
Dass jede einzelne Minute wert es war,
Mich zu dem Augenblick zu führen
Durch den Schmerz.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
. i love being (the) third party iniciative... i romance the... romance of: i do not remember... it's almost like... life... limited to having to stage, being, pulverised... became limbo-staged for my peruse of; necrophylia-esque.

the american accent...
sim
not ***
michael...
and i start "thinking"
of...
       ha ha!
       twinky!
because i came to
boor you
with an alligned
circumstance
of 'floyd....
  what?
  pwetty pick'ah piq-
toor?
oh... right...
i too hate being
reintstated
by someone not
being boxed
for a haemorrhage's
worth...
oh...
did i forget to tongue
slip the part
of licking the postage
stamp?
i did?
oh...
   well... to recompase...
'ere's my shadow...
happy
'oo 'p' eeeeee!

oh but i want,
michael...
   like...
exotica...
   ***** name...
marph... thew!
    i too was a golden
'aired
boy waiting for
a ******* hamster!
no?
not good the wait?
good...
i like a screaming
quasi suffocating
*****;
like any ukranian
ought to want...

i suspect that...
the people...
who tease...
become
the most ridicule ridden
middle-people
of a worth of
an escapade for the
worth of adventure:
they will never have...

you are...
my most...
anticipated...
feeble.

...
      and i...
squint eyed,
and...
oh so many variants....
and...
prior to a ******,
a psychology...

          to ingest a
replica feast of intelligence
for...
      ich...
   schattenkind...
ich:
     wollen zu töten...

it's when there's a narrative
readily available...
that...
   things... become...
"apparent"...
i have forgotten being
a res cogitans...
like the observation
of Kant..
i am a res per se...
with a hiccup of
an undertaking of
Berlioz...

               ich
   bin die
        dieselbe
                     blondkind
  
                                     ja...
ich heben
die ketzere'
                     zu töten
wie...
                              w'rden
               ­    z' 'eben...

i almost wish...
what if Michael
was not Matthew?

dead-end...
buying vinyl.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
i bid today a fond farewell, as i await a faring tomorrow, the start of a new football season ought to be grand, since Craven Cottage finally opens up its Thames Side stand and Liverpool are visiting... i bid today a fond farewell... it was such a pleasure: to this day... making my finest ice-cream, dark chocolate chip mint ice-cream... watering the garden in the dusk in the farewell... defrosting the refrigerator... cleaning the house... going for a truly mad cycling session... and just before i land in the land of nod... a session with my favourite woman: ms. amber (that's whiskey) and some neo-folk Deutsche music... Faun's 2022 recent entry: Tamlin...

von gott! those splendid Italians have had their ways
justified for so long...
even now... eben jetzt: their graves speak
like people walking, casually...
                that emblem that's poem 19 from
Ovid's second book of the Erotica
is by far the most revealing:
how little have people changed...
  how little is there to change in people!
the same pompousness of Pompeii!
the same belief in invulnerability!
like some monotheistic omni-this
omni-that deity!
            yet still reduced to petty squabbles!
reduced to haggling in a market-place!
still: man makes life of other more difficult:
more difficult than an earthquake or a flood...
man makes fellow man's life a burden...
how we lift the lazy and easily corruptible:
and the inconsistent and the alienating
and inefficient... and on top of that?!
the ******* priesthood and now the secular
priesthood that's bureaucracy...
  in Poland there's a saying that hovers above
the "joke" arbeit macht frei:
człowiek człowiekowi zgotował ten los...
(man unto man cooked up this fate)
how much we suffer from the deeds of other men
through their jealous incompetence...
how much is enough until enough is too much?!
why do the able men go chasing tornados
instead of entertaining their time as well
spent among nincompoops?
a man would rather dare the unthinkable
than "think" among idiots!
and this travels all across the social hierarchy...
both rich and poor can be id-est-"ego"...
    and am i supposed to celebrate myself
by counter: bemoaning the state of affairs?
  hardly... come and go...
            by the release bound to the eternal marriage
of mortals to that bride that's death...
i honestly can't wait for tomorrow's early morning
commute from Romford Station to Putney Bridge...
and then a day later:
watching the open season of West Ham
opening up its gates to Manchester City
arriving... just enough months of this crap...
this crap i love while grinding my teeth...
about to look for a position as a primary school
teacher... i'd love to mould these BAMBINOS...
these BOBASES into something before their arrive
at the cocktail of pedagogy...
more propaganda than biology...
that sort of thing...
and probably unlike an old single woman...
i'd sneak away to the brothel from time to time:
to water / feed my shadow...
mind you: i'm too ****** to have children of my own...
but i wouldn't grammatically **** anyone's
child up...
just a happenstance thought experiment:
like... it was "happenstance" that Leibniz's ambitions
only left him with a position of a librarian...
i'd choose the Leibniz route each and
every time than the route taken by Newton...
the smaller the life the smaller the heart...
the smaller the heart: the greater the vision...
there's only so much of "up"...
before... everything riddles you: "down"...
ought i be an engineer?
ought i be...

in the ***** of the patriarch Abraham
i figured out: i might have a brood of my own!
thoughts countering thoughts:
thoughts that obstruct thinking...
but then what else can i pass?
beside the brute strength genetics that
Darwinism stresses but reality denies?
people don't obey nature!
no they don't... you can try to explain
human ontology within the confines of
Darwinism: you won't!
i've seen it fail countless of times!
people are anti-nature...
that's why you have weathercasts!
                                    
                the ancients knew of the similarity
of man to ape... they weren't ignorant
of the fact...
but they chose to supress this fact...
and let the poets sweet-tongue analogies
toward the heights: the skies... the birds...
peacocks and swans...
      not some... chipmunks throwing ****...

i like thinking about the beauty of children...
i know where my sexuality is placed...
in women older then me...
matured...
            i couldn't possibly touch anything
premature... except for..
ooh! a green tomato salad!
that's something else!

the bulging thighs and ****...
i forget a lot of things when the right
combination comes into play...
then again: that rarely happens...
            what's preview is hardly every viewed...
not for the most of us...
happier thinking about children...
happier thinking about music...
    happier about 6am mornings...
happier: about... nothing... really...

              just... id est... it simply is...
                by the "music" of fate and gamble:
let's see... what will be: will be...
                                    i'm simply terribly tired of mortgaged
people.... people too invested in what's a bountiful
uncertainty,
i'm tired of boring people...
      one lesson to learn from me:
you only show respect to a person
when you allow yourself to eat with them;

i will never eat with someone who i don't
respect... regarding whether i respect that person
after i see them eat?
that's another matter...
bad eating habits is like bad ***...
i can quickly change my mind...
over-cooked pasta is a pivot of a swing
that might change my mind.
(sung – in a round ***** willow warble - to the tune of --
Oh Where Oh Where has my little dog gone).

Once pronounced libido of mine
took kamikaze nose dive,
whereby about two thirds of mein kampf ago,
I yearned to be sought after beaux
yet as severely socially
anxious and withdrawn lad
present day ofttimes repeated laments
find me to crow
slamming self NOT losing
my virginity at a precocious ago,
cursing lack of tangible results courtesy

feeble attempts delivered deathblow
to a fragile ego,
and now only
as a married celibate sexagenarian
dearth of rutting thoughts
along the unforgettable lines sketched out
by storied author Eugene O'Neill  
includes lustful and romantic desire,
largely illustrated by the relationship
between Eben and Abbie

hashtagged within tragedy
Desire Under the Elms
ricochets with salient significance
an attempt by O'Neill
to adapt plot elements
and themes of Greek tragedy
to a rural New England setting
inspired by the myth of Phaedra,
Hippolytus, and Theseus,
which story of five characters
on a rural farm

in 1850s' New England,  
how their lives  
both pushed together
and pulled apart
by their conflicting desires
such aboriginal, primal,
optimal, animal, et cetera characteristics
once figuratively bounces
hither and yon, to and fro
within testosterone
powered windmills in my mind.

With a flame boy hunt
deft jais nais sais quois
firm lickey split tongue
and two bell yule yar pissant
little nippy ***** noopy ruck berry
filled up paul ling sacks
viz peppy la pew doth not peter out,
and weathers clawed rained swipes
from hello kitty when faux pas gets swung
assisting climbing Jacob's ladder

(without ***** footing,
orb bing a putz like the president)
advancing quick to attain ******* rung
while heading into a slippery sloping sluice
(with prickly endeavor emitting cleat trill
smooth sailing along a ****
re coarse upon ******* shaped pung
crossing la brea tar pits (peppered
with lai bee ha tricky
bridge over the River Kwai)

comprising ideal place de la resistance
to woo tang clan foreign nee Kate,
where two puckered
rill lee fleshy ruffling rills
tinged pinkish lips overhung
a challenging escarpment,
where many a brave
Tom, Harry or **** get hung
up, particularly while searching
for fabled “G” spot,

Fear of Flying (a bildungsroman
whose central theme couched
in the search
for self-discovery) by Erica Jung
cuz portcullis hamstrung
even the most fiercely determined
Engelbert **** per ****
necessitating the moist risky ski maneuver
as most studs know tubby gelandesprung

though ***** prize
wool worth any slimy setbacks,
where sticky **** gets flung
from angry cat,
who does not in the least find amusing,
and if further pricked with rage
not averse to hurl dung
gar (with) ease at snaky,
retractable hardened foo fighting

beastie boy twill clung
for dear life and limb
(er, or twig and berries),
while applying crampons (bivouacked
within his maxipad), viz ****
gull low, essentially a ball peen size cove
******* and hammered out
by Dashiell Hammitt, where coiled,
kinked follicles strewn tightly inlet among
pheromone laced verboten fruit.

— The End —