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F White Dec 2015
Sometimes, looking at you in the light of the kitchen  I want
to run a finger
Down the length of your nose but
I know you'd wrinkle it, and shake your head citing a tickle, but kiss behind my shoulder as soon
As I turn away

When my feet make ice pools in the bed
Toes accidentally brushing your ankle and you **** abruptly, but upon hearing
My sigh, trap them back with your ankles til, martyr that you are, I'm engulfed in
Warmth at your
Expense.

Sometimes the last trickle of milk is mine, for the coffee,
Silent with your eyes smiling fondly, you look on as I sip, resolutely stirring powdered
Dead baby souls into mug as substitute.

Even damp smelly socks
Greasy hair
Neurotic tears and
Intellectual rambling epiphanies

Even childish blunders, fudging the
Budget or burning the toast

You still call me fond Things.

And love Me.
The most.
Copyright fhw, 2015
Third Eye Candy Dec 2012
At Nineteen Miles An Hour, Smoking On A Train

chugging along the lilacs of twilight in the plasma darkening of a stretch
we fetch the improbable road to our destination. we give a ****. but the birds are listening.
and that might lead to luggage. so much, you might sweep the light fantastic
into army hats. you might march a sustained coup on your hopeless epiphanies.
at nineteen miles an hour, on a train... you see your god.
are you too light to darken the right words
to a happy demise?

are your zeroes at odds?
Tea Dec 2013
I start to answer her question,
She seems taken aback.
I rattle off my list.
“Witty comments,
An easy found laughter…
I like competitiveness
That’s wraps itself around playfulness,
Like I want to wrap myself around
His big found epiphanies.
Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and
Good intuition.
A quick reaction time, helping you step away
Before **** has had time to hit the fan.
Eagerness to help other human beings…
Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people
Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed.
Awareness of one’s self.
a knack for insightful observing.”
These a list of things I find attractive
But yes he also has a nice jaw line
It traces lovely underneath a finger tip
But it’s a faraway line on a map
That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts
It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s
It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful
That I hardly understand how out of all of it
That was the only thing you really responded to.
The only part of the map you related enough to
To point to and say I have been there.
Gabriel burnS Oct 2017
Too good and yet true
Too beautiful
To taste
Without falling in daze
Without following
Delirious
An aroma trail of craving
On the back of my tongue
I’m getting equal measures
Of heaven and hell
Perfectly balanced

My eyes are my traitors
Plotting to open the gates
Sending stowaway warriors
Whom I never gave orders
To slip behind walls
Of thickest black pupils
In the Trojan horse
That my eager look is

And gazes are bridges
Unwillingly
Supporting the siege
Of epiphanies
You and me
Caught in our ambush
Completely surrounded by Us
Aditi Dec 2015
.
It was not good
No, that does not make it bad.
You would find no date marked
On my calendar
Or a goal set
It was what it was
Nothing more than that
A thoughtless act of letting go
And I had finally done something well.

There were no midnight epiphanies
No, the sun still shone the same
The world was still its own paradise
We all were burning in our own flames
Nothing had changed,
Yet nothing remained the same-
Cause of
A thoughtless act of letting go
And I had done it with grace.

I had the day planned,
I had written about it to an extent
The words lost their meaning,
The pages went deaf.
It came ever so suddenly
Like the first drop of rain
From a single lonely cloud
On a sunny day.
Yes, I did not think about it
I just decided to begin again-in another place
Just like that.

It was not selfish
It was not necessarily brave
Hope
You don't exaggerate it
To something it never meant.
It was just her
Letting go of the world
That no longer made any sense
She cut all her ties-
The final act of letting go
And she had done it so well.
Nassif Younes Oct 2016
It never gets easy
But do it anyway.
Yes, you
And yes,
Whatever it is.

Because so many of us are saying what we want to do
And doing what we would never say we want to do.

No one is proud of how much TV they watched last week
Or the hours they've clocked on facebook
Or the amount of tweets they tweeted

You might be proud of the number of women you've bedded
But no one else is.

And while you sit there imagining,
The plans you scribbled on a napkin
Are being smudged into the ground

Your drunk epiphanies have eroded the walls
Of every bar on earth

And your bed is bored to death
With your deadweight dreaming

As I listen to you talk about this album you want to create
In this gentrified pub
At 3 o'clock on the morning
I think of all the other people in here
Who have a novel in them.

I think of what the world would be like
If everyone had to follow through
With the plans they made pubs
But then,
I'm glad they don't.
They're enough **** out there already
Most of which was probably concieved
At 3 o'clock in the morning
In a gentrified pub.
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic.  Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness.  But what of stint-ness snities?  Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums.   Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****.  Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums.  We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture.  And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums?  Do we only dream about dexterous articulation?  Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary?  What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton?  We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache.  Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology?  Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward.  Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective.  Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable.  Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue.  Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh.  Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered.  Infusing all with the capability of  aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others.  I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection.  Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony.  Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual.  Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist.  We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
A dream I had about explicating eventuation evocative's expletives.  The amalgamated anathema android.  The cure for pseudopodia interruptus.  At those plastygoop nosed gumby ******* ***** mongers.  Teleportation's telepathic tout will augur the demise of the shallow water scrod ******* dogs.  Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma.  Enigma entity's identity crisis on the futurity fatidic.  Grimacing gremlin greaves and gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts.
Ruby Nemo Mar 4
the lies fly up like flames unchained
as the friends turn their heads
as they turn their disapproving faces

nothing but a one-side story
a collection of epiphanies drowned in irrational fears
you've got that tunnel vision
seeing my world through a brown paper tube

scolding with reckless abandon!

so strange yet so unfulfilled!

unleash all my darkness, the sides of me you cared not to find
somehow my vision has become hazy
somehow I have gone absolutely crazy
a stuffy nose and bloodshot eyes
how could they ever see through this disguise?

but understanding is a conscious effort
and judgement comes with ease

I have nothing to prove to you people,
living underground
still sneaking around
won't make a defensive sound
if that's how my life shall be.
03-11-19
Laura Jul 2018
Have I always been
a relentless version of what I seek?
Afterthoughts of what I say,
or ignorant splendours and epiphanies?

Refuge to black ink, a loved ones right arm,
or the everlasting solace of my four walls.
Eager, Anxious, Loving, & Unapologetically
most things they’ve so often feared.

To take advice from the branches,
when the roots are deeper.
To take love from the waves,
that have been set to roll back.

This is not your tree analogy,
or your ship gone afloat.
But I am leaping forward,
and falling backwards.

And it looks all the same from
here.
marla Jun 20
I've been gone a long time,
My leave more an odyssey  
Than a vacation.
Though lonely,
The beaten path
Has shown me my worth.
Though I was lost,
It's demarcations
Did at last guide me.
Many a stone have I tripped over
And yet many a fall I have risen from.
Dreading the isolation of every dark night,
Epiphanies shone unto me so as to bask in their light.
I understand now that I was never truly lost in this world,
I was only ever lost to myself.
AD Mullin Jan 2018
Epiphanies inside hypocrisies
Dionysus whispering prophecies
Chasing game theory trails
During the trials and tribulations
Of a workaday bungalow bill
Enduring quills of porcupine hills
I got a pistil you got a rose
He Rose after a three day haze
Inside a purple manic depression
With Axl grease and Travolta eyes
We took our face-off and un-caged
Our subconscious in a
One and a half story, morning glory
mariamme May 16
yes, everything is echoing
in conversation, discourse
a discussion paranoid, panic
setting us apart from each other
plainclothes detectives seeking
a roundabout way to pinpoint
an origin of being overwhelmed
we interrogate for naught, always
as if small questions could calm
the creaking sway of noah’s ark
carrying us to hell and back
[carry the pain, claim it for god
own the animal, own ourselves
eating away at the emptiness]
we humans hiding ourselves
in story remembered but not held
memory vs. the memorials
not caring to honor lessons
learned and seeded somewhere deep
and somehow pain traverses pages
traps us again and again
[twisted ideation tarnishing soul]
traverses veins, blood and progress
linear lines of greedy lust
swallowing us all whole, untold
yet still we echo
underappreciated epiphanies
collectively caching the chaos away
[cartography in our palms]
the lessons are in our bodies
but we haven't learned them yet
or rather, we chose to forget.
emergent strategy is our way out, folks.
16 may 2019 12:32am
thanks to adrienne maree brown for articulating my passions.
thanks to alabama lawmakers for causing such deep pain
to the point where my spiral of depression could only be
healed by a flood of emotion and frenzied capture of words.
thanks to ancestors, recent, future and ancient, for the love
and the lessons buried somewhere deep to be remembered.
we can heal and we will.
we can heal and we are,
we must.
Zeyea Jul 2018
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.

(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)

she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Amanda Aug 2018
Tears dripping down my chin
Water collecting in deep lines
Beginning to feel insecure again
Painted mind should see silken signs

Circular thoughts of sadness and shame
Pool into large puddles of self-loathing
Pondered epiphanies spill out of my head
You stand by, watch them stain clothing

I am on my hands and aching knees
Sorrow outweighing endurance and bliss
My existence is heavier
Each moment feel less and less

Golden guesses and hypotheses are yours
The ambition is gone from my soul
Expand the horizons of written thoughts
After self-acceptance so I can be whole

Sit there fumbling for the right words to say
Your freshly worried face in my sight
Self-hatred forcing us to drift further from happiness
You win with passion, fight with kisses every night
You help me more than you understand
Nis Jun 2018
Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Ojalá mi cara fuese atardecer de cien días
y se perdiese como música en la marea.
Ojalá mis notas fuesen fuego
que corriese raudo por tus venas.
Ojalá se perfumasen en el aire
y  diesen sentido al amanecer del alba.
Ojalá fluyesen como el agua
suavemente rizando la rojez del cielo.
Ojalá fuesen contundentes como la roca
y cayesen a plomo junto a mi corazón muerto.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Siempre cambiante, nunca la misma
subebajando en el horizonte.
Tierna y vibrante, siempre difusa
alzándose hacia el cielo con alas desplegadas.
Dulce y salada, externa e interna,
por ósmosis entrando por cada poro.
Pesada y rígida, sólida y pura
cercenando la realidad con su ser preciso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
siendo lo que no es,
no siendo lo que es.
En cada instante de su espacio manifestándose
en cada punto de su tiempo existiendo.
Única e indivisible, aunque difícilmente alcanzable.
Verdadera mentira que perdura tras los siglos.
Satírica cual elefante boca arriba
dando a luz a lo que siempre ha sido nuestro.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Saliendo hacia la luz verdadera
y tornando hacia la oscuridad traicionera.
Volando hacia arriba y en picado,
oteándose a si misma , eterna y cierta.
Creando un nuevo mundo igual a este,
igual de distinto que este a si mismo.
Imitando la certeza de lo incierto.
Pretendiendo con falsedades llegar al verso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y fuese objeto de su ser
y fuese sujeto de su haber
y se realizase siempre que le dieses tiempo
y se realizase siempre en lo que siempre fue
y avanzase inmóvil hacia la verdad
y esperase impasible a la mentira.
Ojalá de cada error saliese un mérito,
una esperanza, una virtud siempre precisa.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
tornando el arte arcana en ente nuevo,
aunque sea falso.
En estúpidas epifanías tornando el acto
cual poeta escribiendo estos versos.
Ojalá repetir versos pasados en lenguas nuevas
y llamarse artista.
Mero comentarista y observador
de lo que precedió en tiempo y espacio.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
existiendo con sólo pensarlo
negando el pensamiento mismo,
lógica implacable mintiendo mi rostro,
contradicciones inapelables mintiendo mi ser.
Con precisión matemática ser mentira,
con la etereidad del arte ser verdad.
Ojalá como estafador maestro ante tu mirar
se hiciese música que disfrutar.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz,.
Ojalá mi cara no fuese jazz.
Ojalá no tener cara, ni nada.
Ojalá el solo pensarlo me dejase ciega,
sorda para la música de mi rostro.
Ojalá pasar por debajo de una escalera tirada
para no recibir buena suerte.
Ojalá austera o inexistente,
cual dios mirando tu filosofía vana.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y unificase tantas corrientes
como puede abarcar con sus brazos.
Ojalá pudiese tornar cierta la realidad
por el mero hecho de pensarla, pero no puedo,
pero mi rostro se muestra impasible
ante desdicha tal y sigue avanzando;
regla dorada entre uñas de marfil,
largos palillos para comer la realidad desvirtuada.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y revolucionase el mundo con su pensar
y desmontase heregías como ciertas.
Ojalá años más tarde siguiese su lucha
contra el infiel divino hasta su muerte,
y como la de un mono con barba
se tornase contra el padre de la ciencia moderna,
y le enseñase a pensar en sueños,
a soñar en vida, a soñar en muerte.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y se repitiese eternamente para mi suerte,
nunca cambiando, siempre presente.
Ojalá asesinase al padre de todo
y se adueñase de su lugar.
Ojalá existir antes de ser.
Ojalá rodar por la vida sin mirar a los lados,
destruyendo lo que tantas veces nos ha aplastado
y creando la belleza del arte, que es eterna.

//

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my night were sunset of one hundred days
and it lost itself like music in the tides.
I wish my notes were fire
which ran swift in your veins.
I wish they would perfume itself in the air
and gave meaning to the morning's sunrise.
I wish they flowed like water
softly curling the sky's redness.
I wish they were sturdy like rock
and they plummeted next to my dead heart.

I wish my face were jazz.
Always changing, never the same.
updowning in the horizon.
Tender and vibrating, always diffuse
rising towards the sky with open wings.
Sweet and salty, extern and intern,
by osmosis entering through each pore.
Heavy and rigid, solid and pure
cutting through reality with its precise being.

I wish my face were jazz
being what it is not,
not being what it is.
In every instant of its space manifesting itself
in every point of its time existing.
One and indivisible, although hardly reachable.
True lie which endures beyond centuries.
Satiric like elefant on its head
giving birth to what always has been ours.

I wish my face were jazz.
Going out to the true light
and turning to the treacherous darkness.
Flying upwards and in a dive,
scanning itself, eternal and true.
Creating a new world equal to this,
equally as distinct as this to itself.
Imitating the certainty of the uncertain.
Trying with falseness to reach the verse.

I wish my face were jazz.
and it were object of its being
and it were subject of its having
and it came true always you gave it time
and it came true always in what it always was
and it moved fordward unmoving towards the truth
and it waited impasible the lie.
I wish of every error a merit would come out,
a hope, a virtue ever precise.

I wish my face were jazz
turning arcane art into a new being,
even if false.
Into stupid epiphanies turning the act
as a poet writing this verses.
I wish to repit old verses in new tongues
and to call myself an artist.
Mere commentator and observer
of what preceded it in time and space.

I wish my face were jazz.
Existing with only thinking of it,
negating thought itself,
implacable logic lying my visage,
unnappealable contradictions lying my being.
With mathematical precision being a lie,
with the ethereality of art being the truth.
I wish that like master con artist before your looking
it turned itself into music to enjoy.

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my face weren't jazz.
I wish I didn't have a face, nor anything.
I wish only thinking of it made me blind,
deaf to the music of my visage.
I wish passing under a fallen ladder
to not receive good luck.
I wish austere or non-existant,
like god looking at your vane philosophy.

I wish my face were jazz,
and it unified so many streams
like it can embrace with its arms.
I wish I could turn reality true
with the mere act of thinking it, but I can't,
but my visage shows itself impassible
before such misfortune and continues onwards;
golden rule among ivory nails,
long chopsticks to eat the desvirtuated reality.

I wish my face were jazz
and it revolucionised the world with its thinking
and it disassembled heressies as true.
I wish years later its fight would continue
against the divine infidel until his death,
and like a bearded monkey's
it would turn itself against the father of modern science,
and it taught him to think in dreams,
to dream in life, to dream in death.

I wish my face were jazz
and it repited itself enternally to my fortune,
never changing, always present.
I wish it assassinated the father of everything
and took its place.
I wish existing before being.
I wish rolling through life without looking sideways,
destroying that which always has crushed us
and creating the beauty of art, which is timeless.
Ufff this was a long one, took some time to translate it and I think is as accurate as a translation of a poem can be, but any advise regarding it would be appreciated. I know it sounds pretty random, and it is, as it was made mostly through automatic writting; but there is a common point joining the whole poem and giving it order. If you really like it, give it a few reads and see if you can find it ;)).
I'm at the borderline
Between suicide and anger
Rage fills my veins
Until pain displaces hate
With fate sometimes interlaced

The confines of closed doors
And shattered dreams
Bringing memories and stinging lies
Behind my eyes
Before I sleep

Thoughts are cheap
And each preaching adamant to proclaim
That nothing can tame the victim
Or hero placed inside my shame

Can't maintain
In fact I'm barely surviving
I used to have epiphanies
But now there's only whisperings
Of how I'm dying
I've been here before
I've already sang this song
However, I float
still
it drowns

In the absence of love
in the amidst of chaos
in the throes of the heart,
I turn to Amy.
I drown.

He came to my brain
and I felt a kiss that contained pain. Strain.
I've sweat this before.
Am I a truth seeker
or a ******* one?

I could feel the fear
my million thoughts telling me
twisting me
confusing me

Some spark took the wrong track.
I can't trace well what happened then.
Disorder, disorder, disorder everywhere.
Sped up feelings, thoughts uncontrolled...
but not like the quivering fountain of love
more like a car crash.
I can't help but look at
(I am naturally attracted to the dark)

Terror, terror, misled.
He's no sugar - he is sweet sucrose
I can't think about none of them.
I'm in a catch, because of men.
I can feel reality dissolving itself,
not a good thing
Everything loses sense.
How many signals you need for this?
The sky opened, but hell yesterday did.

Beware of epiphanies
Beware of certain tears
Most of all, beware of yourself
beware your fears
"beware your subconscious
playing you tricks"

Fight fire with fire,
magic with magic
kB 2 Jan 29
Head a hostile environment again
Emotion overthrows intelligence
Fragile skull accepts another beating
and indecency becomes preference

Absorbing black into gray matter
Meticulous infiltration;
Makes death a desire
and living a fear

Friendly fire
Mind battles disease, disease
obliterates mind to violence
collided with sharpened corners of myself
****** mess, wrong message

Swallowing hostile heavy medications,
contain my elation so that overjoy
doesn't morph into mania, or joy
Mass of electrons now inside
find nothing positive; thought paralyzed

Deviating cells that scare themselves
from the darkened sanguinary state.
wide eyed faces searching for a homeostasis
Far from stable since demon's rule

Constant epiphanies with no execution
turn to facts filed in brain catalogs
Fully aware solutions are there,
but the drawers are glued shut

~kb
Diana Feb 27
She was hella shy
With a lingering eye
thoughts spoken by my brother
Paul NP 5h
Endless, My mind and My body know no bounds.
Serious Thoughts illuminate the Crown.
I am not found nor am I so strong, My life is the World
not present or wrong. See me, feel me, touch my soul
solar plexus lay down my bowl. Fill thee with nothing but
pure light rays, My eyes , not divided cant conquer my fame.
No shame here just wild wilderness leaves, coalescing infinitely
as the noise of the sea. Dry land? not even, I am solar lunar hope.
Dancing on the edge less land of ash and smoke. Baby do you want
to see into my soul, just look at my concrete glance I am Stone.
Hard rock entity not knowing elementally that which shocks bridges and creates epiphanies. Mad Man I am consciously controlling devilish
stories to benefit the man who has lost his hands to the biting gold dust of the sand. I am who I am this is my life, my sword is brutally shining so bright. None can handle, and barely even I. So I sheath its destiny and keep it dark night.
perfect
BadWolf Feb 9
An invisible pursuer constantly chasing, constantly taunting, constantly reminding-
Soon
Now
Never
Birth
Death
An ominous tick echoes in my ears
Laughter from Satan himself
Always there to inform me when the hourglass has run dry
When the conference is over
My fate decided
Signed and sealed
The curtains rise and dancers take the stage
A barrage of colours
Of raw emotion and passion
An aroma of blossom and musk
Musk from the boxes in the newly bought flat
Paperwork lying motionless on the floor
Constantly criticized in every way  
Cries from newly borns
Screams from mourners
The sound of birds, elegant confetti painting the skies
Stars light up, newly bought fairy lights
And the ripples from the sea cause memories to arise and replay in my mind
Replay
Replay
Replay
Yellow and red ballerinas pirouette from the trees
Blind flowers burst open yearning for sun on their leaves
Dreams emerge us in pools of realization and fear
Epiphanies and music Course through your veins
happiness envelopes you with a feeling of warmth swelling in your chest
Sadness and rage consumes you-
you can only ask why?
Finally, your pursuer lifts their mask
Time has Finally caught you up
The play has ended and the curtains have fallen
And gratitude and sorrow leave a bitter taste
As you Yearn to experience it all once again.
Just a little poem about seizing the day and making the most of what you have. :)

(The title means- short lasting)
Enjoy!~ L.
Kevin Sep 2018
powerlines and dandelions point me toward
where the morning sun may rise.
the sky still glows a dawning blue
that reminds me of things i'd like to soon forget.

cosmic pinholes and the creators thumb nail
hang high but will soon be lost by breaking light.
clouds begin to take their shape but only
while they also radiate an entirely new shade and hue.

my bare-feet are smothered in September's dew
and my skin in contact with the earth begins to swell.
each step I take wets the tops of my toes and collects clippings
and critters that join me for my morning stroll.

i can't wait to see the sunrise.
like the first time i watched it rise over the ocean,
or that time i saw it peak over the distant mountains ridgeline.
that moment of knowing epiphanies do not exist.

you're loosing me at daybreak
and I'm learning to let go when all I want to do is squeeze
but I am as uncertain here as I am there
so I will let it be

as best i can, even when i don't know how.
yerrrrp and merrpp
King Tutankhamun Oct 2018
With so many tears from living these years
Pains shedded cuz I was breaded
As a young hustler
Made from a struggler in the nutsacks of my father
But why bother
Me swimming in the Galaxy where other suckas like me
Was destined to this world
For the painful swirls that's soon to curl
Me back into a fetal position my ambition
Is to crush the hidden commissions lynching
Til they dead and gone Im feelin' strong
Off of that **** same ol song different day
Feelin' like Malcolm holding the AK
Destined for doomsday
No words to say
My silence invoke violence check the appliance
In the kitchen cookin' up spells for the gospels
Its god-spells lady liberty ringin' the bells of hell
Reachin' for my wooden shells where all the pain dwells
And you can tell by the smells of a demons cartel
How art thou? takin' a bow to my problems that vowed
No mercy to my hidden energy see my enemies
Surroundin' me with much artillery them shells
Knockin' my ghost out of a shell o well
And I'm still chasin' bail made to fail
A curse for my next birth welcome to a new world
Transformed into a pearl my minds trapped in the
underworld
How many wanna travel with me to the lost mysteries
Of the Egyptian dynasty see ?****** like me
Evadin' reality to get caught up in the penitentiary
Also the cemetery while the gangs flurry
In a hurry so we quick to get buried
Leave our families in tears for many years
****** dying for whips and
chains
when we used to die from.whips and
chains??
Got dang things done change don't act strange
I know ya feel me from death my eternity
To see my enemies burn eternally so much little to see
In the world painted with past blood soils
Of war spoils I'm a stay with heat until my skin boils
Over two hundred degrees making epiphanies
So when ya see know Yosef climbing for freedom See
I'm a lock down from the pain that surrounds
Paying taxes I'm feelin' closest to the abraxas
None could tax us I'm kicking in the factors
Goetias burning in to turn me in
To a nother being far from a human seeing
Beyond a galaxy a far shining my mental like a star
A lost slave tryna to behave but I can't and I won't
Til my spirits come and taunt hunt
Down the wickedness
Sick of this life ain't a bliss I'm giving a kiss
From the slugs invested heavily heated and protected
Check the rounds selected as I kick it
Chaos I'm shattering thangs and strains
Things remains the same cuz I'm feelin' so much **** pangsss..

— The End —