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patty m Dec 2015
I'm a poetry **

addicted to the high,

the ******* ride that always finds my sweet spot.  

Maybe I'm a ****,

it doesn't matter if I'm paid,

when I steal away from loved ones

to ride the waves of poetic passion and sensation.  

Undressed thought

either beautiful or lewd

slides across the sheets

embedding itself in the core of me.

I squirm in delight or

struggle against restraints,  

the whiplash of panic

bringing tears that need to vent.

until euphoria erases sight and sound.

I'm a lost cause,

spilling my heart, my love, my lust

for everyone to see.

Do you have some time

to take a ride with me?

.
all innuendo pertains to writing poetry :o)
A broken little heart entangles his tears,
that come from a person that he'll never see.
Wet rain boots and ***** feet make him forget
about the darkest nights. His bed and blankets
are like souvenirs from home; a house he'll never
remember. Lies and "I'm sorry"s are trapped in his
hair, dangling behind his ears, whispering such
morbid pain among his lullabies. With every cry he's
screamed for you, can you even hear him? He's afraid
to sleep alone, as the TV erases nightmares oozing from
his eyes, do you care at all? Lost toys and old photographs
make him plead; Oh, but why? He'll never understand the
love he couldn't have, the love you wouldn't give-
I made this poem a long time ago.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Garments stripped from worn bones and weary mind
Feet dragged on tile; hands grasp plastic veil
Stepping into a tub; near swoon divine
A pure, naked self emancipation,
before the squeaking running metalware  
that erases the daily equation.
Dancing, singing tunes of own devices:
Cupid, Shooting Star, Sister Golden Hair
Rocky Mountain High, American Pie
****** bosses gonna kiss ***** here
Astronauts, cowboys, and rockstars meet here
Best yet, the individual is here

Although merely hidden by a curtain,
all for your view is but a damp shadow.
Andrew Jul 2017
Oh, what a horrible night
Definitely not late December back in '63
These are the Frankie valleys of my days

Night is always black
Night always comes back
Night envelopes us in the abyss
And makes us cherish light
Heightening our senses
To help us handle the unknown

When my days are filled with stimulation
The stillness of night sinks me
Into quicksand mixed by
The current of my mind
Overflowing into the sands of time
And reminds me
Of the stillness of my eyes locked on you
Or the stillness of my actions as you walk by
Or the stillness of my heart when you call me a ******

My frustration boiled
Night's black tar
So I bottled it up
Placed it in a syringe
And medicated my love with darkness

I worked my first job at the local Kroger's
People would leave with everything they wanted
And I'd push their empty carts back into the store
The artificial lights of the street lamps
Lacked warmth
Their hypnotic buzz highlighted
The stillness of night
Making me wonder if there was any way I could be happy
Similar to when activity would die down in rehab
A pitiful wretch left to his faculties
I'd stare out the window
Into the concrete chasm
And wonder if happiness could be found by someone like me

Night continues
Night confines
Day comes
And goes
Night returns
Night reburns
Night relearned
I really hate to see the day come to an end
It'd be alright if I was on the bay with a pen
But I live near sulfur vents
Inside a searing tent
Where the hellacious temperature rises rapidly
Despite the absence of the sun's warmth

The hellfire of night
Reminisces of those
I have thoroughly failed
And my overwhelming remorse
As I stare out my window
Into the bramble ravine
I wonder about the possibility of contentment
The stillness of night answers me
But at least now I can open the door
And charge into the night headstrong
To search frantically
For someone who
Erases my history
And writes my future
And makes me wonder if I could ever be happier
zebra Mar 2017
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful

ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think

can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology

is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension

if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality

imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival

time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light

everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation

yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******

if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater

is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?

we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions

not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies

we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
we definitely can!
but do we dare?
FromMySoul Apr 2017
She takes him away...to places he has never been
With every stroke releases all his pain, erases all his sin
A slave to the battleground, a willing soldier of the war
****** as it may be, he'll always be back for more
Always be back for more...
Doesn't matter what is lost, all the years he can't get back
She has all he'll ever need....the monkey on his back
And through prices paid, all her jealous rage....she won't let him go
Just one look was all it took for her to possess his soul
Still, he believes he lost it, left it somewhere behind
But there is no seeing, for a man that's bleeding and doesn't know he is blind
All reason gone, dreams dissolved in fighting for an endless plight
Cuts and bruises, broken bones, lines blur between wrong and right
Donall Dempsey Nov 2018
TIME FALLS SLOWLY

Still. Unmoving.

I gaze into her
gazing.

Eyes full of snowflakes.

Time falls slowly.

Just like the snow
she erases her drawing

turning it too
back into white.

Quiet falls slowly.

She tells me
(in a whisper)    

not daring to
take her eyes away.

“World gone! ”

“World hiding
in the snow! ”

“Look! Look! ”

“Slowflakes! ”
Sahil Sharma Aug 2018
Time is supreme, erases all with it's flow..
Upgrade yourself, time doesn't get slow..
It's like see-saw, sometimes high sometimes low..
The flowers, the thorns you reap are the seeds you sow..
If experience is bow, then hardwork is it's arrow..
Expand your vision, and your comfort very narrow..
If success comes, don't let your ego grow..
If you lose, don't let your passion bow...
Fear escapes when the lamps of faith glow..
Lust dies when the winds of struggle blow..
Your journey is a noisy brook, learn to row..
Make your own script,life is a messy show..
Martial Teacher Dec 2017
Hold back your degrading thoughts
And embrace who you are now
Time doesn't wait for you
To make your decisions
The morning sun will rise
And only ashes will remain
Of who you once were if you spoil time.

Time isn't a healer for pain
The more time you waste weeping
The more chances you lose, The love you could have had
Nothing in life last forever
In this life memories are a blank slate
Slowly everything you experience
Paints itself onto the frames of your memories
Time steals and time erases
Memories forever bonded to your heart
Is the only thing that lasts forever
A key to treasure
Locked in your heart of such sweet and blissful times.

No matter how many tribulations we face
The dreams and hopes we set ablaze
The love we would sell our self for
In the end every moment
Is a moment we have lost
You gain to lose
And you lose to gain.

Time oh how it's the butcher
People tell us time heals scars
Time heals our pain
But little do we know
It also takes away from our happiness
Time just as much it heals stalls our healing
We fall into relapse the more we're bitter.

All this pain gushing through our veins that we cant explain
Time forever changes the knife
And takes away the life
Of one innocent person
Who fell so deep in
Lost their sight
Lost their chance to climb the mountain
To see our destination
All comes burning down.
pa3que Feb 9
I read about her somewhere.  
                 ...
   About a lady in a white bralette.

Always bloomed alongside the flowers, with a scent, that made you look at her like she’s one of them. She came into a life with the waves. Crashed into you like the ocean onto the shore. Her touch was feverish and her steps were light.

Like the falling leaves she tiptoed around you, danced with the flames and got you lost in her madness. The kind of madness, that makes you walk through the forest in the middle of the night. The kind of madness, that erases all gravity and lifts you high up in the sky. The kind of madness, that makes you drop sanity out of the palm of your hands.

But her unexpected visit was just it. A visit. As soon as the wind blew she disappeared. And she was gone. Gone with the wind. The gravity reappeared and your feet we’re back on the ground. The sudden twist of events was often too much for most to handle. I live, but many have fallen deeper in the madness that existed only with her existence.

Their souls will forever be heated, but their eyes will never see again.

If I loved her?
kB 2 Sep 2018
I missed you today.
At the coffee shop.
On the bus.
In my chair at the office.
I wanted to say
Yes I’m feeling on top.
There’s a seat here for both of us.
Doing well, uh oh, here come the bosses.

I sat there all day.
I looked up every minute.
Stirred hands across the keyboard
I wanted to be in it,
Involved in this life and the people
And plans.
But all I do is keep tight lipped
With tremors for hands.
Spider webs for brains
And an undisciplined bladder.
And when I get up to go, it didn’t seem
To matter.

We say fake goodbyes
And look down at our shoes
As if clues to these blues would just
Jump out in twos.
But not even two, not even one.
There are no clues
It’s in front of our faces.
The glow of a screen
Humanity erases.

I missed you today, at all of those places.
Because every single stranger had buried
Their faces.
Not one smile or hello or greeting.
And this is now how people are meeting.
You don’t know I’m having a rough time.
I could speak up.
but I see your headphone lines.
Eyes fixed ears shut.

I just wanted someone
To acknowledge me a short while.
But we’re so disconnected,
I can’t even get a smile.
~kb
Skaidrum Jan 2016
...
"Take your crimes and medication."

Pill one.
I have come to loathe eating.
Countless days pass without a morsel of food,
typically weeks without a real full meal.
I find it remarkable, really;
that my sense of taste and hunger became living corpses
that linger within my mouth like something died on my tongue.
I have a few options at this point but here's my choice~~
~~leave the silverware clean, bare and cold---
it's purest when cold.
I don't even know why I am not hungry.
I never thought I'd see the day where I'd decline the offer on raspberries.
(They always will be my favorite...)
Now, my ribcage blooms like a garden~
~rib bones that beg to flower through
the soil that is my skin.
Skeletons don't sit at the dinning table because
starving is a special kind of beautiful.
Yet this is oddly okay to me.
And when I do dare to silence it,
the mild sting of hunger that pulls you like the moon;
It's regret that's delivered in a bullet or two.
Disgust crawls up my spine and drags nails along
the lining of my stomach.
Don't eat that, it's poison.
Rejection becomes my immediate releif.
Family and friends can't help but worry
Eyes flicker to the length of my waist,
voices question my weight when I'm lifted
the subtle stare at how my bones scream against snowy skin.
I don't blame them or the rumors;
I know I am skinny, and I know am empty.
I just don't want to eat anymore...
I am so sorry for that.
(Am I supposed to be sorry for that?)

Pill two.
Don't ask me if I got any sleep.
The answer will always be "no", or "not enough."
I was diagnosed two years ago with insomnia.
You don't know what suffering is until
you can't ******* sleep.
I didn't think it was that bad,
boy, I must've been related to ignorance.
It's torture watching the world never press pause.
My record is six nights and seven days, almost a full week
Caged myself in because my thoughts
were killers for freedom.
Why can't I sleep?
Here's the catch though;
I don't like sleep either.
No comfort calls your name,
not when you can remember every dream you've had since
the year 2009.
I don't have happy dreams, for those of you that do not know.
They call this disease hyper-realistic dreaming,
it's something my doctor hesitates to openly discuss.
(They don't have the answers to my mother's panicked questions or my father's accusing glare.)
They're terrified of the unknown too.
The concept of dreaming in such detail,
of every person place or thing
isn't exactly treatable
Fun fact:
I talk to the dead sometimes.
You know, people who have passed away.
They tell me it's the regrets that ******* you behind your back.
Hyper-realistic dreaming is absolute madness.
Pretty sure wonderland doesn't look any different than
the waking realm.
The word nightmare,
yeah, I don't like using it.
It visits whether I'm awake or not.
Doesn't make a ******* difference.
But the doctors only care about my insomnia.
Figures, I mean.
"It's just a sleeping sickness, strong medication should fix it."
Liar.
Rest has become a form of torture for me.
I'm sorry for whatever I did to deserve this.

Pill three.
Speaking of torture,
I own 19 scars that I never asked for.
My father is responsible for 18 of these scars.
Abuse is just a 5 letter word.
Funny how death sits lightly in 5 letters.
Pain is just a 4 letter word.
Oh look, so does life.
I've been waiting for salvation but I know I'm not worthy.
My father is the root of my depression.
I am his flawed design and greatest disappointment.
"YOU *******----"
hands crash into my lungs
nails engrave wounds like some sick reminder
you don't need to remind me
I already know what I've done wrong
please dad, don't hit me

Yet instantly I hit the floor harder than any stone does.
I cry quietly, forcing the sobs to talk the language of silence.
If he knows I'm suffering it'll only make it worse.
Praise is something that does not pass his lips.
"You're ******* worthless, you **** girl."
Insults act like vultures that never quite leave our house.
"You stupid blonde *****, DO IT RIGHT."
My grades weren't high enough to please his highness.
(I had a 3.975 GPA this semester.)
"I can't wait to watch you fail."
A disgusting disgrace of a daughter that's never going to fill the shoes of "enough."
There are so many times where I have been punished for
my "crimes",
kicked, beaten, scratched, sliced, man-handled, hit, and bruised..
I don't think it's fair to name the rest.
It's all an act of order to obtain my obedience.
The secrets within these walls sneer at me~~
~~how unfortunate that our walls are white.
You see blood is a hard stain to remove and red likes
to leave the ghost of orange upon the white paint.
I don't think you understand,
that this has been happening ever since I was his little 7 year old.
Or, you know, maybe longer.
Oblivion flew south and reality crawled in long ago.
You can't just chase reality out,
she's a force of nature that takes the life out of all of us.
I have been a victim to my father for as long as I can remember.
An example of the cycle of abuse continues tonight;
Tonight my father told me,
"I wish you were dead."
That can be arranged, dad.
You don't know pathetic until you've seen me lying there
after the aftermath that was my most recent "mistake",
clutching the ground like maybe if I pretended enough
it would hold me.
They tell me it's just the alcohol talking.
That all of this was his own father's doing.
My dad had it "so much worse."
I'm sorry your father hurt you, dad
I'm sorry you feel like you have to hurt me.


Pill four.
My wounds make their homes beneath my heart,
six inches to left, furrowing downwards.
This is the nerve that throbs in death's long fingers.
False strength will save those who you love.
Good thing I "believed" I was strong.
It's a ******* joke.
I'm not strong.
I am a white angel dressed in lies.
Yet there I was;
Standing with perfect posture as the universe
and my friends stacked their troubles
up my trembling shoulders and back.
Nicknames spilled off their tongues,
I was proud of these titles that I don't actually deserve.
I am the psychiatrist.
The Healer.
The Caretaker.
The Mother
The Saint
The Kind Maiden
The Helper
The Keeper of the Dragons
The Poet of the Wolves
The Moon Warrior
The moonlight weeping through the willow branches;
The Person Who Fixes Everything
The Wise Guardian Angel.
How couldn't they notice I was nothing divine.
Plucking them from the coffins of depression and despair
that they laid themselves to rest in.
It is no easy task.
And sometimes this means their words are
the gashes to glide down my arms and sides,
blood making the puddles at my feet.
Physical pain is bearable when it's for them.
Again we revisit the word
"Abuse."
As they are humans and they practice this sin
upon me.
I accept the harm with no self-defense.
Because I was cursed to love them.
Even the ones,
that reek desolation upon my soul.
They have all gone for the **** before.
You can take it out on me,
I will balance your burdens.
"Let me help you..."
I'm sorry you're hurting, I'm here for you
I'm sorry I became like this?
(I definitely am not supposed to apologize for that.)


Pill Five.
I have a past lover, she is my Wolf Girl.
I have learned to love her like ambrosia in a bottle.
It doesn't matter that I am no longer her lover...
She is and always will be my best friend.
We once talked about our friendship like a legend.
One man that went off to war,
and how he left his loyal dog behind.
The loyal dog waited for his master until the man returned from service and suffering;
the dog's love never swayed.
For many years they remained apart and alone
paths refusing to entertwine,
but once reunited they picked their relationship up and continued like nothing had ever separated them to begin with.
We never decided who the dog or the man was.
But we both have always known.

I hold her responsible for saving me, and uncovering
the remains of a silver child.
She ripped my heart open to expose the stitches and raw emotion;
below my feet sung the wolves,
along my collarbone perched the stars.
The moon basked in my skin when she told me,
You are beautiful.
I knew she was lying but I still forced those words down my throat,
swallowing the growing flame of black lies.
To this day I will never forget,
even if she has forgotten.
I don't see a reason to hurt, I knew I was unworthy to begin with.
Sifting through a jar of ashes I found our memories,
the day we first met, first became best friends...
She was the wolf and wasn't afraid to bite the hand that fed her.
That was how she taught me to survive,
Trust me when I say I learned more than just survival.
Casting a glance at the past 5 years I recall
what the value of strength was.
She lent me her own,
~so I bargained my way to the heavens~
a prayer for the day I would become a goddess of divinity-------
---- I found out Naïve was my middle name.
The demons found me and I had no fangs to sharpen,
so they tied me to a willow tree.
There I was possessed, and hung by my wrists,
humiliation and weakling branded into my ankles.
"This is how we put dreamers in their place!"
Is what the shadows screamed in octaves of smoke.
And that was how my wolf girl found me,
hanging and half-alive in my favorite crying tree.
She....
She laughed with sunlight flashing in crystal teeth.
Before plunging vicious knives into my stomach.
Until the  words gouged at places hidden beneath tender poetic flesh...
My screams never reached another living soul.
Dragging open my belly to reveal what innocence I had left,
I watched as poison caught fire to her words;
I was annoying
I was clingy
I was loud, unaware, and
oblivious.
I loved the same she had loved
stolen the moon from her nightless sky without realization
and caused heartbreak and spread disease in her wake
she knew what the demons did~~~

"And yet you loved every second of it, didn't you Lycan?"
~~~~
I know, I know
all of that was so long ago, yet I cannot help myself.
I don't hang from trees anymore,
and I don't talk to wolves in sheep skins any longer.
That doesn't stop me though;
The questions slither into my palms and onto the page
where navy ink scratches letters
into rotten white paper;
Like snakes in the tomb of my heart.
"Why did you save me?"
"Why didn't you save me when I needed you most?"
"Oh wait, right, you never had to..."
"What love could you possibly harbor
for me?"
"Did you ever love me?"
"No, probably not."
"Will it ever be okay again?"
"Why didn't you let me in when you needed me?"
"Was it worth it?  Jack I mean...was he worth it?"
"Was it worth those seven months?"
"You're more than lust."
"Did your sins finally catch you, Lycan?"
Wolves find glory in preying upon the weaker species.
You knew I was weak from day one.
"Why didn't you **** me when you had the chance?"
I'm sorry I defiled you.
Apologies that you went to the trouble of teaching me the hard way.

And finally,
I'm sorry that I dared to love you, Allie.


Pill six.
Let me put it in simple terms;
I hate myself.
I have come back from the brink of death for the thousandth time,
and I'm so sick of it.
My mind is a battlefield of depression and
I am no match for the darkness that borderline feasts on my soul.
They never left after they hung me pretty in that tree.
Thoughts that take my life piece by piece like casualties in war.
No, you don't understand.
I am beyond saving.
I have been,

for a very long time.
No matter how long I look into a mirror
I cannot find a trace of beautiful.
The glass doesn't bother lying to me, not anymore...
That's how I know all of you are lying to me.
I have let the insanity slide a dagger into my spine
ripping a **** upwards to my neck.
This is where bone touches the air and I don't recover.
R e l l a p s e
I hate everything about myself,
what I have become,
wallowing in the pity because I am far too tired;
to swim, to try, to leave.
I descend into the black sea of ink that
I bathe myself in every hour to keep from feeling agony.
As a poet, it's the only title I hold onto with an ounce of pride.
Among the fields of grief I lay in my oaken coffin
pathetic words snaking into my mind
betrayal chewing at my insides,
memories play hide and seek between lost and broken treasures.
There is nothing left.
Not anymore.
And never again.
What more can I give when the nightfall erases me?
How much longer must I endure
my punishment for being human?
I was never mighty but
my how I've fallen.


"Are you okay?"
Don't think, just lie.
"How are you feeling?"
Lie faster.
"Oh my god, what happened?"
Lie for their sake.
"How are you?"
Whatever you do
"What's wrong?"
Just lie
"You seem kinda off today..."
If you tell them it's all over.
"Kira, are you alright?"
Lie until the truth becomes one.
"Seriously, you're...you're sure you're alright?"
You can't let that monster out, she'll destroy whatever you love left.
"Are you lying?"
"I'm so...so sorry everyone.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm......s--"


I forgot to mention I have pills to take now.
For my insomnia, way back up in pill two up there...
Special pills that play roulette with the grim reaper.


Instructios:
"Kira, take only one pill at a time.  Please make sure to count if you swallow several at once.  These pills are very dangerous, potentially deadly if not consumed correctly."
"Alright."
"Take one pill, and if you can't fall asleep in an hour wait til tomorrow night to take two.  If that doesn't work, then the next night take three, and then four.  Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Kira, please be cautious if you take five. I cannot stress enough how much I want you to be careful, it could damage your internal organs. It's like asking for a light coma, for 20 hours you'll be asleep."
"Okay."
"And Kira...whatever you do... NEVER take six pills.   You won't wake up after that.    Promise me you'll never take six...
"I promise Dr. Cline."
Well, I lied.  Shocker, right?
I am so terribly sorry that I cannot keep my promise...

One
Two
Three
Four
Five...
Only....Six
that's all it takes.





I'm sorry is the only signature I leave on my suicide note.
...
.


I couldn't keep this in,
it's not poetry it's a rant.
Apologies for my confession....


But it's over now.
Mr Morningstar Nov 2018
Now I  think in poetry there is a line in my mind like one that I have drawn in the sand
separating my sanity from my insanity but
With my high tides and low tides the line has become so thin it's like a trip wire waiting for an explosion that erases the line.
I've Crossed that line. The grass may not have been greener on the other side but beyond that field is a land I had never seen
I have discovered I am a dreamer of insanity
My mind is consumed by beautiful pastels of stories That i wish were reality
My thoughts they are indeed treacherous
Electrons moving like traffic in the city sending signals and hallucinations so vivid I lose track of what is real and what is not, I am tricked by false memories
That are destroyed by my harsh realities
I am a breather of instability
My lungs, they fill with poison
And never beg for air
They crave their nirvanic Asphyxiation
A mixture that is toxic to my brain
This Further Supplements my insanity
I myself am a consumer of depravity
My body devours the hedonistic side
A craving for flesh in a ****** sense This is done gently at first to watch her tense then loose Its cut in sadistics way
She is a ******* so our days are made
marks we make are beautiful but never meant to stay
I am madness
Crazy in content
Beautiful in art
Unsavory at first
But preferred long term
I think in poetry
This is my blessing and my curse

-Mr. Morningstar
AsianTapWater Aug 12
It's all right,
He's not going to snow for a while.

Black and white sand
Shifts through the hourglass.

A large black pile collects
While a couple flakes of white drift on top.

"Enchant this inkwell to fly up, touch the ceiling once, and fly back into my talons."
"Enchant this bracelet to shield the wearer's thoughts from mind readers."

As time passes,
More spells are cast.

More white sand falls to the bottom,
As much as there is black.

"Enchant my scales to be invulnerable to harm of any sort, heal instantly, and shield me from any threat of death."
"If I can enchant my body like this... what could I do to others?"

The hole is too big.
We're going to fall into it forever.

The arctic wind howls around me
As a whiteout erases the dark.

"There are definitely going to be consequences."
"Now I know who has to pay."

"Cut out your tongue.”
"Rip open your stomach, and show us what you're really like on the inside. Pour your life out on this stage."

Fear me. Respect me. See me.

It's too late.
The sand is falling.
I recently reread Darkstalker and was inspired to write this poem. The poem is about Darkstalker (of course), his soul reader (hence the sand), and how he slowly goes insane. With a few quotes from Whiteout. The title is a reference to another quote from Whiteout, and the fact that the Soul Reader uses black and white sand in an hourglass to show how much good and evil is in one's soul.
Matthew Mar 18
It seems to
always be
about regrets
about mistakes
about worries
about pains
the knife doesn't
solve those problems
It erases you
for others
to sweep the shavings off their desk.
sarah ann May 25
truck & drove into town & it was raining a little & warm enough to not need my sweater. Bakeries were closed so we went to a coffee shop & i got peppermint tea & he got a cappuccino & i took a picture of him sitting on pants & a car drove by playing Our Song by Taylor Swift & i sang along, holding his hand. 'i thought you were shy.' we walked around the pink net & went to a playground & played tag. 'no tag backs black magic no erases.' we stopped in a gas station & got 'girly drinks' for me (ian) & went back to the apartment & watched AHS.
woke up at 7 & made pb&j & drove to Hanging Rock State Park. walked up the wrong section first, drove & parked across from the right section & walked to another wrong trail 'yah this is it'. & hiked up the trail, it raining the whole time. the peak was tangles of rock & strong wind blowing rain in our eyes, 'dont slip sur,' sitting under a tree & watching ee climb around, soaking wet all the way through, but never in better spirits, kisses & ee helping me up & down. 'princessing is a verb', & we climbed to the overhanging section & sat on the edge, & I've never been cozier in wind & rain & at great heights, cuddled against ian, sitting probably in a puddle, a little cold but next to each other warming up. before hiking he gave me his raincoat & it didn't look like i was wearing pants. & sharing halves of sandwiches & looking forward to dry clothes waiting for you in the car! cozy in ee's shorts & a t shirt & i put our wet clothes on the puddle under my feet bc his car leaks & we drove to a little family diner (putting wet shoes back on) (& the sun came out!) 'I've been there before when it was nice out & liked this time better' coffee w/ salt & pancakes to my french toast (w/o syrup, honestly the best french toast I've had in my life) & country fries are like chicken tenders but potato. & ee & hot sauce. forgot the 2 cars in the parking lot & i walked to the wrong one. & his teammate Alex making us vegan dinner at coffeology & our bike rides to the skate park & back & carving pumpkins & early flights & crying bc i'm cozy.
Bruce Levine Nov 2018
Fall is for color
Bounty and splendor
Spring is renewal
But fall toasts
The future

Nature’s own blossoming
In earth tones that
Shatter the rainbow
With rock solid
Treasure to last
The year

Harvest *****
October fests
Foodie’s delight
Magnificent moments
For taste buds
In sight

Fall holds a promise
Crisp air to breathe
That cleanses the lungs
And erases the lethargy
Of summer’s heat

Thanksgiving to all
Mother Nature raises
Her glass
Mulled cider and cinnamon
Roast turkey and corn
Remember the season
Of color and bounty
Remember fall
Throughout
The year
S B Yerns Sep 4
The sweet burn that erases the pain,
The same sweet burn that takes your image away
Might just be the sweet burn that will **** the pain for good.

So I no longer have to hide behind my hood,
No longer punching my bare knuckles against the wood.

Because when we thought we found heaven;
I knew at the bottom of heaven was only hell.
Now this sweet burn is causing my liver to swell.
Thanks to this sweet burn I might finally ring the bell.
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