"fabrications" poems
My way to hell was paved from his heaven,
Life is now a crossroads of shores.
Destiny has changed its destination,
Blown away by the gust of fabrications.
My million sorrows, all rebelling for civility,
Are lost in my mistake.
I can mull now or forever,
Instead I wait for you, unwearyingly.
I walk on sand of memories, patiently;
My patience amazingly placating me,
Source anonymous, I breathe in my patience.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
- It's a skill that one must practice
A tool to wield with grace
It's a path paved for the cunning
Hidden by a pretty face
- You must learn to keep it simple
Don't add threads to growing web Don't pile on more fabrications
But add truth with it instead
- You must learn the ways of patience
Step back and let it build
Whisper words of sweet seduction
Until agenda is fulfilled
- See, ways of manipulation
Are obscure and gently made
Yet once you start you must dance on
In a lifelong masquerade
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
Suicidal serial killer bashes the bones hoping to feel nothing
because that would be something
A Swelling self-image pops in the distance
is chewed,
then inflated over and over
this routine never fails to cycle, disappoint, and please
Ethanol injections cuz oral doesn't do ****
give it to me ********
***** I'll munch your muffin just fo nuthin like I'm ****** with y'all
Cuz I surf to fall and smoke to die
In the high where life is inconsequential
to question and I feel less than short
Of supernatural
Who are these new kids?
They dress in tights and pick fights
I can't see your face but I trust the feeling
Damsel's are rescued
blood is spewed
Yet insanity is gushing
The drugs are running out
We might just be super
We might just be heroes
Entropy enters me ripping the glamour and with a stammer I know
This isn't a comic book
Marvel
In awe at these elaborately induced fabrications
and schemes to change the pecking order or chisel
the universe to perfection
The line of schizophrenic and degenerate flees
for the hills
that now have eyes
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
The unspoken holds the secret
Of the entire concealed world
Misquoted so often with words
So many feelings yet to be felt
Often veiled with fabrications
Leave the feelings unsaid
As silence will echo the truth
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Touching the
curves of my mind
Fabrications of
missing pieces
Too many
troubles left behind
Filled with ugliness,
and bitter diseases
Thoughts are somewhat
scrambled
Yet I know I'm thinking clearly
Sometimes
Life is a gamble
Gotta roll the dice
To reach your destiny
I cry too much,
Of that I'm sure
I could blame it on
Anxiety
Or all the unjust hurts
****** upon me
But in the end, I know
It's not what you can see
It's where you go
And what you believe
I'm gonna start believing
in me
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
In the face of persecution, one can drift away into dreamy fabrications of swishing and gorgeous hairstyles – jealous of the seagull as it dismounts the lofty perch of the streetlight and gracefully swoops away into the distance.
The moment of self-loathing and raging sabotage is nothing more than a serial false loyalty.
I validate your alphabet where there is simplicity within the intricate complexities, and where the yearling suckles the lactations of its mother.
Trauma has pre-natal connections where silent screams ripple throughout eternity. Therefore, calmly observe the stiff upper lip of deluded professionalism, and describe the realistic mirage before you. Participation in laughter is not always rooted in sincerity.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
I think I'm going blind.
I'm under the impression you've disappeared.
That you're gone for good.
That you've eliminated yourself from my retinas in order to escape my mile wide stare.
That you've constructed homes under tombstones hoping I'd mistake you for
A box of under-appreciated skeletal remains
Because all you've ever wanted is to be dead to me.
Like you wanted my eyes to forget about their day job and resort to conceptualized adultery
Because God forbid I commit to an honest day's pay.
I've never intentionally visualized imaginary fabrications.
But the truth is, my eyes do everything but tell the truth.
1. My eyes write monotonous picture books with your face plastered on every single page
Just to recreate your physical beauty time and time again
So the world knows your look tops my mind's best seller list.
2. My eyes climb mountain tops and skinny dip in stormy seas
Because sometimes crazy is the only way I can get you to look at me.
3. My eyes fly hot air balloons carried by the echoes of your soft spoken sentences
As if exhaust pipes could spew such sweet nothings into the night sky.
4. My eyes invade foreign lands with every intention of burning down
Prehistoric villages and discovering your secret hideaway because I too
Want to know how it feels to savagely destroy former sacred territory.
5. My eyes struggle out of bed every morning. Not even
Three shots of espresso can perk my eyes up enough
To allow the radiation you still give off enter my pores.
I think I'm going blind.
Or maybe I just can't see straight.
Or be straight up with you and tell you how it takes every part of me
To not gauge my own eyes out for betraying the rest of my body.
It takes every part of me to admit my misjudgments spawned the downfall of it all.
Because I told you I saw the two of us trekking through unfamiliar lands
With each stride another step towards our destiny.
Because I told you I saw something in your eyes
That gave mine the ability to smile.
Because I told you I saw us redefining what infinity
Looks like to the senseless visionary.
But my eyes don't tell the truth.
I'm going blind.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
Love poems rot,
The sensical knots.
I tie, overflowing, the dread.
The Pickwitkin Heavy,
The Verveberry Wedding.
Such shanks, still stuck in my head.
My memories loosen,
The Stopshift Tallcluesen,
Cut to myself dreaming in red.
Full throttle forward,
I'll sail ever toward,
My untying your knots from my bed.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 7:24 PM UTC
"strange"
is declared
of person
who rationalizes
that matter if
non-human
non-animal
non-living
merits recognition
as being good
on it's own
but really
are we
the ultimate stewards
of absolute purpose?
what confirms our judgement
in deeming what deserves
to exist for it's own
and what belongs
to our means
and ours alone?
is it so fantastic
to suggest
that by some means of
indefiniteness
of intangible
comprehension
all matter
is fundamentally intertwined
in the sense
everything is stardust
created by
the universe's omnipotent hand?
don't you
ever get the feeling
inside of your conscious
too?
doesn't your awareness
ever whisper
as a sentience
you have an obligation
from some unspoken contract
signed before birth
to uphold the integrity
of everything
that inhabits this earth
whether or not
it thinks in the way you do?
for what purpose
we exist assembled into
abrupt profound togetherness
remains undecided
earth's fabrications
will survive
harmoniously
but
will you
do the same?
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
pap
pap
pap
I can't breath
my stomach is bubbling
like hot cheese
on an fresh oven pizza
my legs feel skinny
I want to lean into a wall
the floor looks spinny
the wainscoting is squint
my vision is blurry
because...tears?
Why is there worry
in my middle?
I feel fine,
my mind is sound
this fear isn't mine
what’s it doing here?
What is this panic?
Fight or flight I understand,
but this is plain manic.
I need to go
at top speed
or maybe hide?
Either way, be freed
from this distress.
pap
pap
pap
Push someone over,
human shield that ****
reduce my exposure
to hyperventilation.
Shallow in,
shallow out,
I feel akin
to sprinting Mufasa
Pure distress
acute discomfort,
a proper mental problem. Nonetheless,
it’s strange to foresee the diagnosis.
It’s as if I’m watching
from someone else’s skin
as alligator clamps are botching
holding my physiology in.
A sunburn on my innards,
a paperweight within
you’d think I’d feel pride
for finally having something wrong.
Hypochondria being accurate
the years of inventing doom,
suddenly isn't aberrant
those fabrications had substance.
Or maybe all these thinks
are symptoms in themselves
after sifting through piles of shrinks,
maybe I can finally get some help.
pap
pap
pap
Look at my pretty framed prescription,
doctor certified, messy handwriting,
this will take some decryption...
don’t worry, take your time,
this pathoreaction won't go away.
I’m told desolation
is a temperament set to stay
until after eighteen simple payments.
I’m inclined to reject treatment
of drugs that fiddle with the mind
I’d rather stay present,
continue inconsistency.
I would like to try narration,
see how many kilometers I can recall.
I can deal with frustration,
so let’s talk about my childhood.
Public transit without destination
sends me on a revere,
an absence of crippling desperation.
I've found peace before
it was between yellow poles,
in the outside pocket
of a backpack on parole.
It smiled at me quietly.
pap
pap
pap
Apparently, it’s the small things
that help you deal with anxiety.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
I drafted my dreams out on a string from window to window
Where they could see some sunshine
So that they could feel the breeze that whipped the willow trees
I lay on the grass for hours hoping something would change
Everything seemed so strange and sadly serene
My dreams used to be such a large part of me
I finished my cigarette as the wind writhed, breathing
Pulled down the preliminary principles made of follies, folded them quietly
Walked inside, adjusting my somber eyes to darker lights
I open the closet door gently, hands full of my old fabrications
I keep lying to myself & trying to tell myself I'm
putting them away for
'safe-keeping'.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Traces of lassitude
Slow down to cruising,
Warmth of the whiskey
Ameliorates bruising.
Putting the feet up
Makes it inane,
That I'm subtly aroused
In mouthing your name.
Subtle arousal
In tracing the line
Of your thin cotton ******
With fingertip fine,
And watching the smile
Slide up to your eyes,
See the blend of your blushing
In murmured surprise.
Oh the glorious sunset
Streams in through the glass
And the shades refracted
Nicely contour your ***
And the whisky is mellow
The mood is sublime,
So the promise of evening
Improves with time.
With serpentine moves
And the grace of an snake,
You uncoil to your feet
And you make your escape.
Mouthing thin fabrications
And utter wee fibs,
You flee back to your hearth
And your husband and kids.
Solace alone Baby,
Solace alone,
With frustration and whisky
All the lonely way home.
As the penitent thoughts
Percolate through unseen,
My sad mind lingers
On what might have been.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
27 January 2010
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
With the magical banner held high
invoking the crocodile rain of oppression by elites
of greed by leeches and bacteria, amoebas and suckers
oh come all come one, join our revolution against dark powers
Oh.. who in rightful mind could refuse
off she went to hear hot propaganda of those high and mighty folks
who took food from baby's mouth and live likes kings in our homes
fed in Le Cordon Bleu a'la Rouge with lashings of aspic fabrications
Without hesitation she swallowed all up,
I'm in and I am an Activist show me the culprit, what can I do
all for one, one for all, that parasite deserves miseries and doom
Easy comrade sister, get to know him and help us do his head in
It's a sport for us that elitist blood sucker
just get under his skin for us, let's play his mind and infest his head
report back to us, inner knowledge is power and we're fighting a war
comrade sister, our hot Activist marched forth on with vim and vigor
comrade sister wholly followed her brief
though soon saw things weren't as the revolutionaries presented
conflicted and confused she felt pity for a rare icon held in gallows
but the majority carries the vote and all is fair in love and red war
At her cost and with a wretched heart she gave her all
did as she was told and played her part as a true comrade in line
Solidarity she give to the fight, was mean and nasty as demanded
It's them or us they say and see comrades I give my services to you
all
No medals for Comrade sister, no epaulette yet earned
rather at her cost her privacy invaded and smears throws at her
tales of dark deeds and loose morals hung on her in dark corners
yet that poor heroine fought and gave so much blood for the cause
where is the honour amongst thieves and knaves
she did all that was required of her
told the lies she was made to tell and played the game as taught
stood at the barricades and ****** her guilt and conscience
yet they still don't trust her for paranoia rules them all
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC
Two sockets to accommodate a pair of eyes
Due to them this complex device cries
But today, man has taught them to become spies
Dwelling in them is lust for ephemeral joys
Two cartilaginous sound receivers on both sides
They can efficiently detect the screams and sighs
But today, they even ignore the ferocious tides
Engrossed in fabrications, for which today’s man strives
Two arms strong enough to lift and support
Are being used to steal and chop someone’s throat
They refuse to help anyone near or remote
‘Guns and shells’, this is what they promote
A small fleshy speaker which exhibits perfect duality
It allures others through its’ pitch and clarity
Today, it has mastered the skills of acerbity
Forgetting that soft speech is a part of generosity
A complex storehouse of feelings which supplies blood
It is covered with rust although made from mud
Polluted intentions have made it their cozy hut
Very delicate, but today, it is like a walnut
At last, a rotten soul which is wandering aimlessly
It has thirst for contentment and tranquillity
But today, man considers wealth as a source of felicity
I shed tears when I can’t find humanity and piety
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 12:17 PM UTC
Its seems that where ever i go people are fooling eachother
Its like we all live in a big illusions
controlled by science media and religion
And everyone is misstreating one another
Multinational companies getting richer every second funding the world's wars death and hunger
It really seems like that nobody cares about what we( all livings , planet) need
They only care about personal needs
Money is destroying everything
Its the reason behind all the bad things
Sure it could be great sometimes
WRONG!!!
Thats what they only want you to think about
Money, buying, selling,
it doesnt matter
The economy is a big lie
Fabricated to keep us enslaved, limited and entertained.
In a way that we never reach our potentiel
Its seems that the world i've been taught about is FAKE
So i plan to run away
Living FREE
Running away from CONCPIRACIES
Words Of Harfouchism
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
“Where am I?”
Have I been transferred to hospital during the night?
I raise my head. Before me is a seemingly endless row of cubicles, each containing a bed upon which some person lies. Each person wearing a helmet and wired and piped into the back wall.
To my right is the side-wall to my own cubicle. To my left an identical wall. Some male doctor is sitting next to me, to my right, and to my left there is a female nurse.
Doctor: “Welcome back Paul.”
Me: “Where am I?”
Doctor: “Reality Paul.”
Me: “Reality???”
Memories of “The Matrix” and comical “Red Dwarf” flash across my mind. MMM. Yes, I’ve still got a mind.
Nurse: “Relax Paul, everything will be all right.
Doctor: “Paul, you just died from old age, very old age, in your sleep. Best way to go.”
Me: “Really???”
Doctor: “That’s right. You really bought it didn’t you. I’m sorry, but that was not Reality! This is. And you have not really died at all. In fact, Paul you are very much alive.
Earth, The UK, London…they are all fabrications. All fiction. And all that history and science those experts told you, it was all wrong. Only this is real!”
He gestures at everything around us as he speaks. But now he reaches for a dial on a console next to my bed.
Doctor: “When we put you into ‘Earthworld’ Paul, all your memories of reality were temporarily erased. But now it’s time to debrief. Now it’s time for you to Remember The Truth…”
And he turns the dial…
Paul Butters
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
chests heaving across telephone wires
spouting resolutions
to preserve the data.
Alive by machine
digital life support
I am connected through the circuitry
I am binary.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
Alike likes alike
RW Dennen-
Pretend I am your mirror
Pretend that reflections of yourself are only my words
of *********** about you coming from me
Pretend attributes about yourself are extended
from my familiarity about you into your existence that holds truth
Pretend that the fine glass is always cleaned from dirt
by questioning whether my thoughts will ever harm you
by not using fabrications upon your life's story
Pretend to handle me gently, at times, because I could possibly give you way more than seven years bad luck by merely dismissing you of my obligation as a friend in deed
Now realize that myself, as a true friend, that i am your
living and breathing mirror,at times, about yourself
and if CrAcKs show, use your logic and kindly DISCARD
ME!!!
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
You cringeworthy, evil pismire;
Your father did surely miss-sire
This personification of flatulence,
The embodiment of self importance
Overflowing with abject peccancy
Devoid of any sign of respectability
Replete with gross odoriferousness
Horribly and infamously unscrupulous.
You have reveled in misrepresentation
And tried to elevate your calumniation
Disinformation and deception exists
As capitalistic dissembling persists.
You’ve collected an evil government
Built mostly of human excrement
And have such a lack of veracity
That you speak in constant mendacity.
Sycophantic eructations of dogmatic bile
Issue from your unsympathetic smile
And your inauthentic glad-handed gropes
As if we all of us are unbright gullible dopes
That buy your fabrications completely
While you pilfer and prevaricate indiscreetly.
You are a Vaudevillian villain miscast as star,
But most of us know exactly what you are.
Deceit, deception, dishonesty; a tragedy
But not for you, for us and our country.
Distortion, evasion and fabrication the rules;
You despair of any other kinds of tools.
Falsehoods, fictions and forgery are your tricks.
You demand we build with straw-less bricks
Your erections that are planned to be palaces
Filled with your giant golden carved phalluses.
Those monuments, inanotomically correct,
Established to celebrate and somehow protect
A mountebank on the way to an overseas bank
Claiming to eradicate the scoria he creates
That decades of privation will not quite alleviate.
But you, the Great Prevaricator, will always blame
Other players in your sick, unconstitutional game
Instead of admitting your complicity and guilt
About the disgusting, putrid swamp you built.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
Place the blade against your wrists
Let my metallic lips give you a ****** kiss
Murmur pain and pleasure into your bloodstream
Incisions of my cold stainless steel falsehood
Leaking liquid fabrications of happiness on your skin
Stinging your nerves at the reminder of your failure
Knowing that you will always tolerate it
Just to feel the razor sharp rush of it all
To feel anything at all
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 4:29 PM UTC
He let them win
Somehow their repetitive chatter & noise crept right in
Quietly & unseen they anchored their lies & fabrications
Truths were quickly fading into arguments & altercations
In his head their noise just echos & echos in a shout
He battled & fought, but it wasn't well enough to keep them out
The echos only got louder & louder
More & more he began to doubt her
Thoughts began dwelling
The echos were now just yelling
Hoping truth he'd soon forget
& Trusting was something he'd always just regret
Proud of what they've done
The echos thought they've won
But his thoughts weren't able to convince his heart & soul
He knew without her, he would never be whole
Feelings, really now, this time they were true & real... truly not a chance to break
& As for the echos.....well they were just a silented mistake
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 8:12 AM UTC
I was born wrapped in a black body bag.... They call that foreshadowing...so to lighten my appearance they try to remember me as a white outline.. chalked......upon asphalt.... and say it was this *** fault.... I was only known as an A...4.0 but I never made the cut... as I got my first F....Foolish Acts....Of being born Black... Or Incomplete...As I lay holed in the street...I hate the facts...that I will be a nigga...even tho I know better...But my Ipod teaches me to ***** better... to be a NWA....a ***** with Attitude.... Not a NWP....a Negus With Pride... So I walk in stride... influenced like my ancestors... by music...rhythm and beats... See the devil knows what you'll bop to... rock to... So he muffled the sounds of Love and Peace...and Boosted the way of the streets... hoods.. and Lifeless... So that You would automatically see me as ratchetness... When I could have grew to be the very definition of peace... Now I'm just another problem... and you'll never see me as a victim... only the agitator...because You've listed to the same beats, watched the same feeds and ingested all the fabrications as truths...They have taken it to far making the stereotypes WorldStars And All I ever did was become what you wanted me to be in the first place....A Pale Lifeless outline of white Dust....That you will inhale without justice... #IamBrown
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
I used to wake up missing him, as if we didn’t spend almost every waking minute in each other’s presence. As if I didn’t hear his voice more than my own.
“Your shadow doesn’t belong to you. I know where you’ve been.”
“I have no reason to lie,” he would recite to me.
That was our nightly tradition.
I would watch him sit across from me at the dinner table,
telling me that he never did mean to hurt me, with my heart on his plate.
I packed ahead of time, and reorganized my regrets to make room for our relationship.
I crumpled up the letter I wrote and put it in my back pocket.
I couldn’t bring myself to explain why I had to leave him; my absence would be devastating enough.
He would make his fabrications fit into the palm of his hand and smack me with them.
I was born and raised by the backhand of heartbreak so it was home away from home when I ran away to him.
Instead of standing up for myself
I wrote poetry so hot that I would burn his mouth every time I tried to feed him.
He was a better cook anyway.
My grandmother, when I sought her wise council,
told me that I should accept the pain and try to make something out of it.
I remember when I tried to make love out of my pain for the last time.
He clawed my spirit out of me, put it under my head like a pillow.
He laid on top of me, grinding into my pelvic bone, making heat that burned my skin.
The bite marks on my chest stung when his sweat dripped on me.
I closed my eyes and saw the manifestation of my fears.
My body finally gave out after running from my ****** and he came when I did.
As he slept, I cleaned the blood from under his fingernails.
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC