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Landon Velasquez May 2014
Punctured are the lungs I've used for breathing
This seething ever-romantic feeling
The peeling of skin that reveals the concealed
And opens up the undying existence of the unseen
As my own existence is also undying and unseen
My mind and ego trying to convince me otherwise
This is my illusion
Intruding my mind and infecting it with disparity
And with no clarity of what is to come
I drown in fear that I will succumb
I keep feeling like I'm sombody else,
every time I reflect on myself.
I know I stay true to my inner being,
but I'm always
compelled to be a better me.
While never losing
what I've learned before,
I keep it similar to what ones adore.
Is this what I want and even more?
Or is it a facade I tend to abhor?
Am I completly there?
Am I even me?
That's what people think
it's not what I see.
I've loved
and lived
this life gone by,
but now i have the need to actually try.
To become the way,
I knew that I would,
while staying true,
to doing good.
I create my day
and tend to say,
that I live life,
in most interesting ways.
Staying spontaneous,
keeping unique.
By realizing that,
I'm merely one of the meek.
Is there any life I'd rather seek?
Or is my existence completely freak?
Am I all that one's made out to be?
Or am I blind to what others see?
No reason to care,
for they matter not.
For most lose themselves,
their true self forgot...
Johan Nel Jul 2018
How beautiful a phenomenon to behold, the act of learning without thinking.
The nature of living things.
I do think upon what the effect of making my bed every morning may be.

I do think about the ending of a sentence, the pause and effect.

But can I know every such thing about my biology?
Can I know more about my every atom in the space of being?
A terrifically ungraspable question to ask.

What do words do, to the firing of each synapse, in every language that has been?
Even the machine literature.
I speak to the god of life within reason, cause and effect.

I speak of collisions.
I speak of patterns that are too perfect in a beehive.

How fascinating it is to ask this in so many cryptic ways.
© Johan Nel 2018.07.06
Tom Spencer Jul 2018
standing behind
a wall of reflections

gazing into a canyon
of steel and glass

movement
from the opposite wall

a curtain sways
and a silhouette turns

from the glinting
and the figure

standing
in the polished glare

Tom Spencer © 2018
Martin Dove Oct 2018
I had no idea how terrible it all was
Until I matured a bit and opened my eyes
It cleared the mist that I often now miss
From the eyes of an unwilling devil
Seeing the tragedy unfold from a first-person level
I remember it all from that god awful view
The bad things I’ve done, over which I had no control
The outcomes I hoped with the manifestation of some
Who am I kidding - I’ve been among a fortunate few
Except for the fact that life dealt me an ace with a ****** *****
Not quite like anyone - an outcasted sole
With depressive thoughts - eating them straight from the bowl
Until euphoria strikes - then I’m a lightning bolt
These emotional storms - they strike me as cold
Who am I to cry and complain about life
Everyone is united by the suffering light
The random subscription to a life with a set rhythm
If only I could command my heart not to wither
Cunning Linguist Apr 2017
S
  p
   i
  r
a
l
   i
   n
g

   d
    o
   w
      n
-
[an
infinite
abyss]
-
A temporal anomaly
peaking your drift
Perusing the cosmos,
within Dude's rocketship

Quarantined as a species
from contact with the Gods-
Odds are they're too busy banging
new milky ways into the stars
While you're pensive, quantum-plating
the nature of existence
Prayers fall unto deaf ears
too apathetic to listen

Godspeed towards the rift,
Time bends at the edge of a black hole
-But only the tip

My seeds melt into the motherverse
So I get down on it,
Cunning Linguist eats his words
Oedipus'd be jealous,
In slow motion
Impregnates spacetime itself;
With a big bang fellatious 
 
Thus, the holy seed of life
Was ****** into the void~~~
Perpetuating strife
Into the *****, of beyond

Its not a paradox if you simply process
0 and 1 at once
1 can go into 0
as many times as it wants

8====D~~(Y)

Preach level = Jim Jones
just the punchline's too long
Your golden idol,
Holy ****,
Bless this nut that I bust
I'll stretch my luck
To the sum of existence
Until it comes full circle

Voracious, bodaciously
Spatial in stasis
Without patience
Inseminating your eyeholes
Through lines of text

Transcendental
Entangled in a
  Δ,
With a devil & angel
Dimensions oughta coalesce
At just the right angle

Y'all haven't the wherewithal
To feel my *****
Slap-happy against one's skull
Put the rock in the hard place
Neanderthal
Meander tall, in the wave of thought,
The photons in your DNA are all but shot

I will abduct your subconscious
To probe through your thoughts
* testing Testing *
are you turned on?
Feel your ******* tingling ~~
I'm simultaneously dichotomic
Jerxin off my dingaling
playing your heartstrings like a harp

Allow me to go deeper
& ******* your very reason for being.
Is the life that you're seeing
-Just the information eyes are receiving
-Only what your mind is perceiving
-Abstract thought is just too deceiving no
Can you even conceive it?

Why bother

Wanna switch positions
so you can see
where I'm coming from?
Go ahead and tell me,
are the heavens not
what you've dreamt of

A smoldering ember
in a once burning sky
Life of a former divine,
Masquerading as an angel of light
A furnace see:
 **nihl
Tethered,
To the nethers
On the outskirts of the universe
Michael Kariuki May 2018
Am I really that unusual
if unusual people
like me
exist all around the world.
When will I
stop being unusual
and accept my
usual existence.
When will my symmetries
become symmetrical
to those of everyone
around me.
All that I hope for
is the unlikely realization
that I
have begun a revolution;
A revolution that involves
my unusual self
realizing that I am
not unusual
which thankfully,
remarkably and
ultimately makes me
unusual
(because such absurd realizations
rarely occur).
Yet with this revelation
remains the vile truth that
somewhere
down
the
line
I shall become usual again.
Well,
At least I have begun the future,
and I am not stuck in the past
like something
usual.
Amy Leigh Jul 2013
What is our state of existence?
                                   ( This I'd like to know! )                                  
For smiles fade, for seasons change
for people come and go.

Think about our universe.
                                  ( a wee pebble in a pond! )                                
There's an entire space out there
but in seconds it could be gone!

If the sun were to actually
explode within our sky,
it'd take us nearly seven minutes
before we'd know
                                   ( then die )                             .


© A. Leigh
Some say
I am a Vagabond
in my own flesh carrying a heart
desperate enough to fly with
wounded wings.
My tears look like a
wondering rain-forest filled with
white lilies and baby breath.
My words ache to write you into existence.
Who am I? I am poetry,
but you can call me a Vagabond.
Zell Jul 2017
Could it be that our souls have already stumbled upon each other in another existence? One which sets no boundaries and requires no certain standard of love. For there is a sweet familiarity in the flow of your sentences and the heavenly scent of your perfume which lingered even when you’re not around. Maybe too familiar. That even the slightest touch of a hand in the most unexpected moments sends a feeling of connection as though i’ve known you for so long and yet the heavens forbid us to recall.
© 2017 D.A. Barreras
Samir Aug 2014
For dead is where I begin, Indebted.
& that is where I’ll stay,
Despite the way I feel today
Despite my tiresome aversions
I will hang myself before the opportunity for any detour

Deter…
I will deter myself.  
I will prove to myself, once again,
That I, am the master of my demise

The rue in ruin
My own failure
and then…
I’ll lay my head to rest.

For tomorrow is over.
A new beginning in which to distract away from a new
To make the same mistakes I’ve grown so familiar to…

To a broken neck, one in which reflects my irregularity

To walk with my head down…

Past the bridge of contemplation, contemplating-
suicide.

Despite refrain,
To spite restraint
To the end.
& never make it-

to the end,
My End.

I shall be received
GreenTrees Aug 2017
A line or a dot?
Which one of these am I not?
Do I exist just to hold this spot?

Is there a reason or a plot?

Blissfully, he said

"No Sir, to know, no I do not!"

© Karl V. (2017)
KM Hanslik Jun 2018
We were laying down our lives
from the beginning, but we didn't know
how cold the nights could be
or how heavy our feet would sound
on wooden floors, we didn't know we were built
for more than coughing up new ways
to pass time, no we were only
practicing for this,
we were only fighting for our lives,
we were only cutting out new patterns & fitting ourselves with
our wrung-out hopes & dreams,
but those fell limp & we didn't realize
there was anything else
I didn't realize these shards in my lungs were leftover
from the first time learning how to crash & burn, the fall left bruises printed
up and down my arms,
under my ribs, but I thought that was
a good thing, I thought
we're supposed to fight for what we love
we're supposed to feel the pain
but,
we are only a billion lonely strangers
laying down our lives here, I'm hoping
you'll pick mine up before it gets trampled on again
although we really do make the finest doormats
for feet heavier than ours, maybe
we will remain in the dust & the sand until
we are buried, or our throats are filled so that we can't ask whose deadweight
we carry today;
so come lie to me,
tell me that this all goes away
I'm tired of playing in the shade by myself, I need fresher dreams
bigger things than childhood fantasies
they tell me I am only make believe
I am only a lonely star, I am only pretending
they don't see the corners I cut or the nightmares I chase,
the graves I dig just to survive, just to bury
the rot of older skins I shed on the daily,
we don't like the way the gas in the atmosphere
hides the stars so we seek
open spaces & we lay our hearts in felt-lined boxes thinking
they'll be safer there than in our chests, because our chests might be
caving in tomorrow
compressed under the weight of passerby, if you need me I'll be here
(we didn't know how cold the nights could be)
I'll be laying down my life over here.
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