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Questioning life
Living, is this not a purposeful mistake
The world is in choas
In our souls
We all left with distaste
What could have been
I wish history could be replaced
Fix all the mistakes
Caught up in the faked glamour
While we letting our home turn to waste
The earth is our substance yet we killing it off
Is this not the epitome of insanity
Or am I just doff
Josh Sep 2018
You picked me up when I was low,
You took me higher than I’d flown,

But how was I to know,
You would only to let go,

Let me fall so deep,
Then leave me to weep,

Take me so high,
Knowing it was a lie,

Leave me in pain,
Its happened again,

Made me trust you,
Only to brake it,

Told me you loved me,
Only you faked it.
Julian Jul 2016
Hip Service
By Julian Malek

The zeal of cobblestone tolerance arrayed in fashionable hues masquerading as crimson secrecy, elevates the tide of man but some boats leak in their foundations. Therefore a cork to every exuberance and a triumphant torch for every sorrow lives onward in collective time. Larks that abound because prescience and PUGET sound, that brown has become the new orange which in turn prowls as a concealed swarthy black. To antagonize the willful and frenetic pace, a prodrome of lasting but memorialized disgrace. Should I move to a state by first or last name, or is the final appellation worthy of much more lasting fame. I scurry down the aisles, bemused by shimmering tiles and the beguiled audiences who see much in my limitation but doubt little about my debited elation. Ringmaster Barnum, how much horticulture is needed for assured superstardom, how many cloisters must we evacuate from the incendiary plumes of a metaphorical Harlem..  But know that no virtual reality can supplant the reality that does truly exist, or at least our time is too infernal and purblind to resist. Carrey the tops of mountains in the humor of wellsprings and fountains, we engage a menagerie of egos lilting of an etiolated pragmatic concern. Evicted from paradise, littered with say-cheese demise ensnaring three blind mice eaten alive by snake-eyed vice. To feel good without incorporated tyranny, we must see blue and red as alternatives to the same destiny. A world that reckons with the futilitarianism of pacified malcontent and astroturf monikers that lead the impressionable into a slaughter shed. Established or not, any enchantment under the sea must include fishes once a pastiche of me, but to them I avoid their courtesy flush and never even faintly blush as my egalitarian statements are lavish thrush.

Five TO Won baby one in 99, everyone here aboard the titanic stays alive, you got your boat baby and I got mine, gonna make it with babies numbered in surreal primes. Halt the slots game the nines, a stitch in time is going to turn out to be Mine. Flanger goals, girded piles, liminal like an aborted Harry Styles, we climb mountains we issue tithes, and the turmoil is etched into 45-notched bludgeons and two-tucked knives. Excuse you, where have you been all day, have you been sauntering in a gentle rain or a genteel pain, have you wallowed beyond the mires of doubt and ranked above David Blaine. I hope you tell me of your magic tricks, rather than your other flicks endeared I stand to fight an ineradicable itch. But if not, you placid pond dented by so many rocks and so many ripples give your heart over to me, before I clinch the special Olympics *******, we ran, we span the homespun garments of your left and right hand, but death is a specter that ghoulishly carouses along the carousel terminal disease we call life. I beseech your deepest affection and want to console you for your deepest struggle, to be there every time wed with time rather than a throttled scuttle. Moons make you guarded but maroons leave me desiccated, don’t ever let that wilted flower die, always water it with a rich but gentle ties and widened deck for all to at once marvel and pry.  Monsters of Mars Attacks once flanked my bed, as though the **** brain scared every gooseflesh and restrained every frisson of mystery. I lampoon myself for those cold Dark Knights and the protection ended by the plight of the poor mattering nothing to the deliberately internecine rich. I struck gold in a valley somewhere, an oxymoron of paradox that now you have the privilege to dock, to stay aboard to be a vessel of peace less widely deplored. Even if we don’t sprout wings, we garner the exactitude of measured things and our glass elevator though easily shattered by the glower of enslavement is actually our vista to heaven or listening to brethren tingles for rich mans trinkets and other things. For humanity deserves a legend and a princess, a regimented desuetude and a flanged lust but in our mistakes wildly flouted in momentary moments we become purified by the temptations of an alabaster palace.

***** the left-field wisdom of a pragmatic paragon ellipsis in prison, slip between the cracks and let my suburban muse become your urban ruse. To enchant a caged world beyond a reality delicately and deliberately unfurled. Squirming toads on highways enchanted but dead, are graves for the blue becoming purple in every dignified red. Gainsay assaults me with platitude, a repeated hitter quit on the first bunted ball into foul-line territory. Those gripes are swiped right in all circumstance no matter the plight. The pronged hearing of a trident sensitive to ambient collection, and suddenly we are all in the mad house even though the house of profaned pain is much worse. Glimpses of gambits that gambol for nickels in transit as occult grenades and known dice waddle through without artifice or device, and the laughter and slaughter that trains collegiate minds, differs no more than the tropes of a glamorous violence articled in sordid rhymes. This surfing movie means so much more than Surf Wax America pristine in limited but sacrilege nirvana. Teen spirits smell muskier than 90s pop dreams, the grasp and grunge of gouged eyes becomes a mummified staid, a scarecrow to those who disobey. Childhood flashes with blinding light, and new sight illuminates darkening blight, A blight eradicated only by two magazines and including one that houses the bullets that ***** themselves between death and comatose dreams both within astral sight. Littoral harbor on a seaside town, a shanty with a brackish gown that glides the gourmand to the cosmopolitan eatery on the outskirts of lost & found. But forever lost in embonpoint and forever gained in chavish that exonerates the gaunt, the etiolated prince in heart becomes irrefutable marrow in minded souls.

If I am a spy you are an ESPY, and if I cry than you are a baby,but since neither are the case my wiseacres will cultivate lava lamp dreams for a new generation and suddenly Boston bets on Harvard, but who knows of this piped blather squirming for relevance rather than voguish but temporary chatter. My regatta knows how to swim, my life now knows how to cringe and yet still win and in stilted plays of bungled sincerity the God of peace reminds us of our transcendent personalities. That we in sincerity top the barnacles of invention a novelty but a rarity. But the guillotine quill of emboldened unscripted parvenus ruthless in their eager dues, outdate and outlive the sued swayed blues that indemnify Clinton and make the atomic dog an amazing Winston hill a church often in sheltered disuse. Imps and urchins sting the sentiment, cloy the alimony of repentant betterment, but neither touches the gilded skies of pleonasm striving for raspy disguise as to dissuade further diatribe investigation. Lurking in those scared days of youth, the gore of unalloyed horror scourged me with a limp, that compassion itself could ever become a gimp. Now years later athletics better and scoring goals making the mildew sweat and the years wetter, not a global warming that can be alarmed by global mourning. Take peace at heart if distanced spears of separation make Idiocracy as a pastiche look exceedingly smart. And spar only with the true antagonists bridging malevolence with expedience. Killjoys sure, will joy even more sure, but still boys fluttered heart stopping dead at a stop-watched alarm the worst tragedy of our sordid sort. Give an African Child a real home rather than a spatial roam, a palatial desiccation of momentary Jonas Brothers snapping back at captives with sexualized foam.

Narrative blinds shuttered in an Island among mountains hardly ever wiser to sanitize the sanitarium among the wasps of stung power. Police crumple their uniforms as they prowl down the avenues, looking for misfits and widened platitudes. Somehow that the vigilance of those corrupted by their very career choice, look even worse when megalomania of private is the limelight of public, to their defense few turrets I can muster but castles in the sky will be the apartheid judge. Those that cling to virtue to eradicate Porsche-driven faked or real deaths at the most breakneck speed, that Fast & Furious operation if disclosed completely would turn the Shire of the ring into the hatred curtailed by a song in Sing-Sing. Immunity must not Yoda implore, that livery Liverpool marooned on islands can also to deplore the R.E.D. and still whet the sharpened stead and the fly-by-night Manchester United alights like militant peer pressure for wranglers in tights. But beating the Beatles at a game of Walruses and egg-shelled eyeful towers likely impedes rinkside hockey from anything over bellicose ballyhoo…it exists as a transient fixated glower. But who knows about soccer speculation when love is the transcendent temptation, when nest-egg hens rather than neglecting rig Bens of clockwork and clocked words designed arise better for their token ken. Do I must repeat the subtext of submarines, yellowed as though ugly unused as though unseen, as though the quixotic earthquakes of tintinnabulations Avatar dreams. Wafted souls console the disheartened thoughts of a dashed dream that Berlin hates more than a Furor’s unbridled and useless scream.
Demotic clips slinging from the bedridden silence of a token moon and its token friends, swimming in a shore of ambiguity whether history mellows or whether its furor melts away momentary doubts. I want to avoid the sting rays exorcised by due providence and become the amalgamated talents gentry and of course the upstart swagger of Jack Dawson. But with the psy-op going on, the people manipulated on all sides of a gray picket fence will the relationship bloom without muttered dissent or pretended smiles. Will we take upon the shuffled shuttle and dig with shovels deep-rooted Christmas trees and toast our lives to Dos Equis. We may never go out of style, but the treacle of illuminated imagery when divorced from sentiment bristle shows a swagger that prioritizes rather than amalgamates all love. I love being brash and brazen and honest because when she finally ditches the grandstand of delayed frenemies fandoms of other tinsel decorations without any substance beyond meretricious thrill. You want a roller coaster on some days, but most often you want the nutcracker to elope to secret hiding places. Swim with adventure not just in love, not just in affection with the starlight now matter how luminous, sixpence all the richer is no centuries any poorer and we could be that gilded couple of star and screen and if we ever have to scream, let our screams unite us in passion, rather than a milquetoast deference to pedestaled beauty. but of course the end times don’t laugh at your crumpled wizened relapse. Not out of convenience wed by a discriminating genetic harvest moon but a deeper engagement that flatters when stylish and bristles when romantic but never defiled, never riled of specious pretense. Promise me that you will always remember me in my flaws and my faults, in my scause factory destructions and the penults of PEN-ULTIMATE wisdom that comes before the grace of God in the annihilation of passion for eroded omission. If your goal is to be remembered, check that out…but the most admirable goal is as the propinquities of souls dusted in the wind returning to a spring equinox of passion and if you find in yourselves reservations do not depart from sacred land, and never jilt me because of a boisterous and menacing friend. You are everything to me right now, and I Hope this persists despite the vicissitudes of star-favored afflictions mixed with utter benediction without the pontification of stilted Benedictines  or rather the hyped ludic effrontery of termagants being made of younger and younger women. Leave it at this ,32 leaves the royal secret in royal hands and the Knights Templar and us we altogether hold hands, if only a prelude for a masquerade ball. But the stilted embarrassment of crestfallen time, let that be relegated and emphatically lets embrace what is like to not ever need a real white horse to get back into your favor, because we never go out of style we can brandish the best elements and reject the sentiments of the too newfangled and the too stodgy. We in our crenellated pleonasm can eager ride the lightning to another tomorrow and another yesterday and if even not that, we virtually make an indelible impression of embroidered love not too distant in ivory towers and not to vulgary( catering to popular sentiments) to become a trash glam movement. We soar, others deplore but let their purblind doubts render them blind to our burgeoning love.

Forget the brisk trees dangled in the wind on winding paths through haunted forest or remember them because of ghoulish fortress but with our apotropaic lamp we can avert most evil and call the rest fun and gains and shun but fames never profaned, never inalterable a destiny to magical to be some whimpered catcall. Or we could linger beneath lambent street lights disguised as though wilted garb, attrition of circumstance waiting patiently for the matinee and the vintner to escort us beyond the garb of pretense in a city so abundant with it that it deserves castigation. But I digress, a beachside cliff overlooking tepid waters tumultuous in their power but august in their noises, the cadence of love will sing a half-moon bay on full-moon nights and we will frisk each other like grasping at straws of permanent tracks trammeled of the elite and a sidetracked basque bet. Trim those antlers and instead grow metaphorical wings, to us we all sing but few can match your elegance and everyone would be crazy not to see your ennobled age and together thrilling songs to emulate thriller in sales we will collaboratively sing.
Haughty sneers from lifeless lycanthropy straggling furtively along the pastiched sidewalks of grime, livid because they can’t share the lingering limelight, with as many guarded perks of privacy clambering like a hive of snarky sharks. Lets ditch the big town dreams in terms of posh and stature if only for a caressed moment beneath the unadulterated stars and if you find spars **** to the extent they are amiable than I say guess what my name is Lars! Or wait a second, paused in the big city spotlight our stenciled hearts will guide whatever progeny is yours or mine or ours together we will sing the most comforting lullaby, and caves no longer must we abide. Yearn and earn every inch, as I gripe with my delicate saddened pinch but I think the innuendo speaks . Ripen with our trips to Napa, long afternoon sunsets swim in our hearts as we taste the vanguard’s toast on elegant wine.I console with entreaty to disavow the omen of that San Franciscan church October 2008, the doom implied by Einstein, the raillery of a world grinding down the endless decadence of a railed future inalterable in destiny or partialy amenable to widespread coquetry.

Forget those rumbles in your past that made you feel partial to insecurity and learning the ropes you transcended all and live in all eternity. Thimble and brook, tolerant of all those tokes I took your rebellious side flattens the yeast of Exodus raspy in its begrudged clapping. But the Pharaoh of the modern world sheltered me under his prickly thorns, shielded me from the sickly things that life adorns. We have the numbers on our side, the weight of destiny on our shoulders, dedicate yourself to yourself and I will preen the most vibrant wisdom and love will leap like Apollo across all borders not for camel-****** hoarders. We are culminated destiny in the wings of the best daydream
Life, Love and No Mathematics to God and Gain
Kq Dec 2018
plant girl
you put your fingers first
you feel + forage + never finish
you dont fear morning dark
or afternoon heat
you mimic mother
embody base
use your ears
tire your feet
you are intuition
you are rolled up sleeve
sweat + technicalities, too
you watch in wonder
you support without a switch up
you move in knowledge of permanence
and all of its fleeting
you worship rock
you humble in storm
you frame in friendship
your tired has company
your turn out is everyone
your field is feeding
you forget you ever faked it
and finesse this freedom.
Alex Summers Jan 20
There's a bunch of small things about you that most wouldn't notice,
That I just happen to love.

Like the star-like pattern of little golden flecks in your beautiful brown eyes,
Or remembering how soft your lips were against mine.
Or that goofy smile you give whenever someone actually makes you laugh.
It's different from your usual, kind of faked smile.

I doubt anyone but me and you
Remember the fact that, well,
You called James Madison a little *****.
Or that my running joke with you is 'smonk the wed.'

I doubt anyone really sees the way a few of your teeth are just a little bit crooked,
Or the way your eyes and nose crinkle up sometimes if you smile wide enough.

I doubt anyone remembers that time you wore my cat ears to comicon,
Or, really, the fact that you still have them- somewhere.
Or the goofy way you called me out on instagram for not liking pickles.

I still remember feeling your hand in mine.
I still remember stealing your definitely too small for me hoodies,
I still remember being in theatre with you.

I still remember admiring your eyes,
And the way your hair curled into ringlets when it got down to your ears,
And the way it felt between my fingers.

I still remember the way your voice calmed me down,
Or the day before thanksgiving when you called me, crying,
Begging me to stay on the Earth just a little bit longer.

I still remember you next to me.
I still remember all the little things, too.
I saw this as a prompt for NPM like two years ago?? but I got Gay Inspired so I wrote this about a boy I fell in love with last year
Jordan Rains Apr 2018
[Him]

I was napping
Woke up all of a sudden  
Don't know why I feel like
Something bad is gonna happen
Now I need to find my pen

Been battling anxiety & depression for few years
And there's more that you probably don't wanna hear

No one knows how much pain I bear
All they see are the fake smiles I wear

Somedays all I want is someone near
Sitting next to me and I hope they would say
Don't worry! Everything is going to be okay
Today is not the end, tomorrow is another day

You know, when **** happens
I am not able to find what I had once

Both good and bad moments I had tons
Now it's just darkness

And that's why I write
To bring the light into my life so I can fight
my enemies who are hiding in the darkness of the night

And one day I might run out of ink
And when it does, I don't think
there will be much left of me
And the leftovers will be swept off to the sea
of bipolar depression, mania, and anxiety
Man! I don't want that for me

Truth is, I just wanna be me
Like this, on a writing spree
So, I can stay forever free
And rest under the shades of poetry

So here I am
At 3 in the morning
Awake as night, trying to fight
All the demons inside my head
So, I can move ahead
And leave my enemies mourning and trembling, in dread
And end this chapter once and for all- dropdead!

I know it's easy to say
But the reality is somewhat different
There's only one way
And when I look ahead, I only see the end
I simply pretend to be happy all the time
The only time you get to see the real me is when I rhyme

At nights, anxiety and I are a team
For me, sleeping is like a dream
You know what I mean- that **** never happens
Because racing thoughts never slacken
And when my days blacken
Uninvited thoughts come to my mind
They pull up the roller blinds
Letting darkness enter my mind
I close my eyes but they make me blind
And when they hit rewind
I go back to my past to find what I left behind
And what I always find is more thoughts intertwined

I always find it hard to fall asleep
I even tried counting sheep
But **** it! It never worked, I just keep
thinking about things that I don't wanna think
I told all of this to my shrink
Because of this ****
I'm not able to keep my life in order
Even he doesn't know why I developed this disorder

Somedays I can do many things
Somedays I cannot do anything
Somedays I feel like a king
Somedays I feel like I'm nothing
Somedays I cannot even do the simplest thing
Feels like I'm always on the brink
Slowly shrinking to nothing

Anxiety hoodwinked me into thinking
That I'm a distraught soul
And my life stands for nothing
but pain, stress and worrying thoughts


I know I worry a lot
Even about the fraught relationships I've got
I'm not able to hold all these thoughts

I'm slowly slipping off like a broken rope
I'm tired, I tied a million knots
but there are novemdecillion thoughts
So, a couple of pills I pop
Still no hope, I'm an undying mope

It doesn't matter how many battles I've fought
This time I lost, I'm not a dreadnought
Don't know how many more rhymes I need to jot
down to stop my mind from getting trapped in nomadic thoughts

I'm cutting my veins on both my arms
Death clouds on top of my head- my blood flows
There are blood spots on my bed top
Wait a minute!
What the heck am I writing?
Is this a death note?

Next morning, the dead wakes
With ******* headaches
My mind and heart are having a debate
I hate me when I can't think straight

My mind is a prison and I'm the inmate
I don't wanna repeat my mistakes
I doubled the pills I usually take


While making decisions, I contemplate
Every possible outcome I calculate
But I'm extremely anxious, I change lanes
Followed by the unknown, no nameplates
They tailgate, I'm in a dire strait

Au fait with this mess but I conflate
Everything I've got, I don't take things the way they are
But I have to go very far
Oh, wait! I think I'm carrying too much weight
Need to stop hauling freight
Before I break down, I need to hit the brakes

Somehow I reach my office but I'm late
It's like a disaster waits for me at the front gate
And as I step in, I'm gifted with more
I slowly open the door
Feels like this day I've lived before

I'm shambling towards a dangling bait
All I can do is keep on rambling. Wait!
Have no idea what's written on my fate
I don't know why my heart is beating at a faster rate
I'm not able to concentrate
Even the simplest thing I complicate
I hope there's someone who can relate
to all the tales I narrate

So, here I go again
I sent a text to my friend 15 minutes ago
Why didn't I receive a reply yet?

Maybe the network is slow or maybe the text didn't go
I should check my phone now; Oh no!
It has been marked as read 10 minutes ago

Did I say something wrong? I don't know
Maybe I did or maybe I didn't
I check my phone hoping new notifications it will show
But it didn't; I think something's wrong

Should I text a hello?
So I sent a few texts in a row
My mind's in overdrive as more thoughts start to flow

Maybe the phone's battery's low
And like this, I go, there is no stop
Oh god! What should I do?
Feels like everything is falling apart

This feeling is not new
Still, I'm worried to go through
I wish there was a how-to guide
to peacefully & happily live your life

I just wanna be carefree and happy
But I know, it's never happening
Maybe the day I die will be
The happiest day in my life


[Her]

My mind is on overdrive.
I can't let go of this anxiety clouding my mind.

Incessant worry all the time.
People telling me "it's okay, you'll be fine."
They don't understand how anxiety affects my mind, my body.
My whole life.
Most of the time I just want to crawl in a corner and hide.

Irritable and restless, my mind begins to race.
I can't concentrate.
My breath runs short and I feel like I can't breathe.

Peace and quiet is what I need.
But the world keeps spinning around me.

My face turns red.
Inside, I feel a sense of dread.
I tell myself to quit while I'm ahead.

Just let my worries go.
I wish it were that simple.

Every day is a battle
when you are fighting against yourself.

I have an inner struggle
buried deep inside but hide it well.

I bury it so deep,
no one can tell.

I am in a brawl with my demons all the time.
No matter how hard I try,
I can't escape the darkness of my own mind.

I feel trapped.
I feel alone.
I feel like no one can hear my screams.
Too often I get lost in vanishing hopes and unreachable dreams.

Happiness dangles in front of me like bait
dangling in front of a fish.
I wonder if I will ever experience true bliss.
Or if it will always be hit and miss.

Happiness likes to tease me.
I try my best to live freely and be happy.
Anxiety and depression take over every time.

My mind is never pleased.
I can never fully be at ease.

My brain is self-destructive.
Always beating itself up.
I just want to tell it to shut up.


I wish there were a switch I could flip
to turn off the anxiety in my mind.
If only shutting off my anxiety was as simple
as hitting a light switch.

We can't all get what we wish for.
I accept my anxiety as part of me.
I manage it, I live it every day.
There are days where I really struggle.
Others where I'm okay.

If you're okay, take a walk in my shoes
Let me tell you a secret, only a few people knew.
Now it feels like a lifetime ago.
It started because of my depression and anxiety.
When I was a teen I used to cut myself.

I never told my parents,
that I used to take a razor to my wrist.
It was a feeling I couldn't resist.

The razor called out my name.
Every bad thing that happened in my life,
I was to blame.
Cutting myself was a way to escape
To a temporary place where only I could go.

I could give myself the pain I deserved
for everything that I did wrong and those
that I hurt.


Cutting myself gave me temporary relief
from all the pain I harbored inside.
From time to time, I took the razor to my arm.
I was already ******* up I didn’t think it would anymore harm.
I hide it well, covered my arm in long-sleeve shirts. So, one could see a trace of my hidden pain.
I wanted to keep it tame.
Under wraps, so my life wouldn’t continue to collapse.

My whole life was a charade, one big lie.
I faked smiles and happiness.
Yet deep inside, I wondered how long I would have to go on like that.
I eventually stopped because I realized I was only adding to the chaos of my own personal hell.

And on a night where I was dark and depressed.
At my bitter end.
I downed a bottle of prescription pills.
Luckily there were only five left.

I felt the pills lurch deep within my body, begin to leave side effects.
I was on edge and wondered what would happen next.

Taking five times more than my recommended dose.
Almost left me comatose.
I learned my lesson.
I will never do that again.

Sometimes I tell myself anxiety is the price
I must pay for all the mistakes I have made.

I know that isn't true.
The thought fades.
But my anxiety remains, locked in place.

Anxiety is like having a demonic voice
In the back of my head.
It fills me with worry and self-doubt.
Tells me I am better off dead.

I get so frustrated.
I don't know if I want to cry or shout.
Sometimes I do both.

I vent to others and let it all out.
Yet I don't feel like they truly understand
unless they have experienced mental
Illness themselves.

Anxiety is an illness, but it is not like the cold or flu.
Medication can help it, but it will never truly go away.

I don't want to be dependent on pills.
My whole life I have tried to handle
depression and anxiety myself.

This might be the time to ask for help.
To realize I'm not alone
Mental illness is a solitary battle but there is hope.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel  

Lying spirits. Those are real you know. You know? Don't you?

Mad is ill defined, dis-ease, decease, desistere, eh? You Roman?
You serve a mad man you know.
And the Roman said,'I serve the empire, a' and he stopped…

Might right be virtuous and power called might
be not-right,
like hands, chirality? Right and not.

Shame, we should not know that.

Perhaps the vector was the chirality connection.
Hers was upgraded.
So when the shame bomb hit, it was him,
not her, who blew it?
He did that?
Yeh, I see how now,
It's the hypo-thalish, estrogen receptor steward system.
Who named that ****** thing?

No, left-right brain variablity was designed
to counter the estrogen-tester if it went mal.
This is the Left HIS Branch, a resistor,
it changed the way breath gets to that "It is,
good" receptor complex just inside
the ventricles
where the first sparks releaze
the ozone reaction.
The reaction to that lost loving feeling,
That was the shame bomb.
The action taken to a switch burned out
in a rush of knowledge of good and evil beyond
the heart's experience with expansion.
The opposite seems to have happened in the wombedman,
he comprehends hope is a new treasure.
Hope. Who coulda seen that coming?

A witness.
Some mind saw that happen and it was never washed into the sea of forgetfulness, so

Wow.

Like in the mountains, that ozone,
first breath feeling, that's great!
No, like that first free hit. That's it. You will pay…

Like, this first reaction is not "That's wonder-filled",
but it's
"that was not deep enough,
not good enough,
too shallow,
faked it".

On every breath the man takes,
a voice in his head is saying,
"not good enough, keep
trying/dying/breathe/harder.
Sweat it all.
Shame on you."
Shame.
That was the trick.
Make him think he is not related to God,
on any level?
Make him think he does not have a knower
in good working order,
save for that tiny electrical glitch in the
official HIS bundle builder gene. That's nothing,
Who told him she was naked?
That's evil.
What he knew was good, what he believed was evil.

How did it work out?

Okeh. It took several millennia longer
than first estimates.
Starts out kinda dun'dat, don't it?
Things get brighter near the end.
According to the legend I learned.

Knowing liars lie does not make every man a liar, I think,
Only the ones who say they do not
lie have no truth in them,
if they can truly believe that.

It's a chapter, a colloquy of consciousness grounding out.

The story is told,
this is the way men were built, original specs,
able to do anything they agreed to do.
But their hearts had been corrupted because
the whole heart building system in Adam
was dis - turbed, mixed up with that sweet deceit.
If it weren't for mitichondria the sifting needed,
could have taken forever.

By Noah's first beard, the gene pool was so turbid, no one could see the bottom.

Living water flowing from men's bellies,
ta, lemme say,
that be some evolvin' involvin' some
a priori
somethin' or anotha.
Ax that wombedman at the well, what the hell?

There, here, is a whole story about ****** and the seeds of all the myths that point so straight
to Jesus as they red-shift into historical
mysteriums twisted and warped by time and chance tyrannies.
Holiness hierarchical hegemony funds
that sprang from Eve's first hope,
have no hope at all for
cowards and fools and fraidy cats.

Heroes, those compound interest, all things are possible,
except
God can't lie, or die, or fail.

Is living heroic, no. We choose to live.
Life favors life.
That's easy.
All things are possible with life,
as a whole.
Very complex plots and schemes and schemas and media
and magi-level tech
this is working, you know.
We agree. Who could make us enemies?

Still, any plan men made was clear in the minds of all the planners
and the builders and the men they used as tools to
multiply the strength of the ideas that possessed them.
They built cities that way.
By agreeing together to do it. Gobekli Tepi?
You know, what was that ? A
thousand years of CCC park bench building and trail
marking benignly buried with never a mark of destruction?
They, the men planners and builders and laborers, right after the Ice pulled back from the Caucusus
or the Levant lifted up, 12,000 years ago, or so,
somebody builds this place called Gobekli Tepi
about a morning walk, a Sabbath Day's Journey, from
Terah's Local god shoppe in Urfa
the Turks are said to say..

----
Original specs, reset, it's all software.
We can cipher this out,
if we keep our heads
while others about us are losing theirs.

Men with the new softer hearts can do that, they can,
when they put their heads together,
they can make anything happen.
Knowledge is increasing, as we know it.

Nothin''s done in darkness that shan't be made known.

That's no threat.
Never was.
It's a promise. Like, the meek inherit the earth.
This is raw. I am hoping for feed back that tells me if the voice and time and pov swirl I am attempting harmonizes with the idea of a golden meaning in life that spins out from the source of life it self. It is a sc-fi-fantasy poetic philo-loving essay, esse. How can it be better?
Miranda Mondino Sep 2018
Another sleepless night begins as the blood slips past the torn flesh on my wrist

Another deep breath as I steady my hand and aim the blade carefully across the skin

Another stunningly blue vein torn for the sake of the plead for happiness

Another month full of long sleeves and transparent excuses that are growing old

Another faked smile and forced laugh that causes more pain than the blades

Another question I wish wasn't asked because I can't find the answers

Another night spent wide awake alone in my room with every mistake i've ever made playing on repeat

Another moment of seemingly collapsed lungs and sheer terror swallowing like a tidal wave

Another splinter in an already shattered heart inside a broken girl

Another bottle of pills that should've been locked up properly

Another note written but this time not crumpled and tossed

Another 'sad' kid written off as a lost cause

Another goodbye that will be forgotten come tomorrow
Infamous one Sep 2
She faked a smile as the crossed paths
In a bad relationship for years
Never able to walk away
He was single hoping for the one
Still single the one of many
Being friends since high school
One wanted more than the other
He pursued a career came up short
She became a mother her life changed
Both had plans that turned out differently
Crossed paths again from friends to strangers
Starting over new find new common ground
Would they remain the same friends with a crush
Yes, I do converse with all the crawling wishes that keep slamming me for never letting them stand and chase the dreams.
Yes, I do converse with all the broken dreams that linger on their shape they thought my deeds would provide.
Yes, I do converse with all the uncovered routes my feet still long to kiss.
Yes, I do converse with all the tough decisions I escaped that considered me gritty enough to not give in.
Yes, I do converse with all the choices I avoided where my soul found solace in.
Yes, I do converse with all the smiles I faked that had the elements of happiness a morsel or two.
Yes, I do converse with all the let go's that I could have stopped, grabbed, hugged and preserved, but I did not.
Yes, I do converse, and it keeps me going and it keeps me growing.
  -Aparajita Tripathi
Lae Mar 3
From the smiles i faked,

to the tears i've wept,

the path i took,

left me lost in just a hook.



If i could just rewrite the past,

i would still bring back us,

back to those times,

where things weren't a mess.
Yenson Dec 2018
I am just an onlooker
what makes them think I'm involved in their drama

They casted and gathered their actors
started their theatricals
So commence the Love Scene...Act One
You...join the Club, play the leading lady

If it was love, why didn't I jumped there when she moved

Why did I call my sister when she visited
Why did I go there with my sister the one time I visited

Why the long interval before the last contact
Why refuse to see the symbolic gift.
I know you like pink
or miss the essence of the pointed finger
placed near your groin.
I am not that slow, was I to hold your finger with my palm resting
on that warm soft place
I did not, I reached over for it avoiding any touch there.
I don't do sneaky touches or sneaky anything for that matter

what about those words spoken during the performance in the store

" my job is done, I can leave now "

I only ever wanted to reciprocate a debt of thanks I owed to a father
thought maybe I could in some way to a daughter
I tried in my own way to value people, be there if needed

I stopped

Nothing to do with respect, nothing to do with desires
Nothing to do with faked angry rudeness
or theatrical screams - a childish act for little minds
The hurt was from seeing an 'educated' contemporary sister
coming from oppression, an emancipated modern educated women
who I thought would easily see the dynamics of political oppression and the insidious ways we are manipulated
only to realize, even she couldn't see
and is unable to break free from mental *******
or even understand the mechanics of 'mental oppression'.
OR the unalienable truth that
'If one person is oppressed, we are all oppressed'
a concept too complex for the simple mind

Education is not intelligence, that hurts. c'est la vie

write your dirges, live your delusions, fantasize your love story
formulate your scenarios and talk of unrequited love
heartbreak, pain, loss, pink, rainbow  
or whatever silly minds un-think up.

I am only an on looker, just a plain disinterested onlooker.
I am not part of you!!!
bebita Oct 2018
there was a moment in my mind where i thought of you,
but in that moment i realized how you made me feel
emotional abuse
the constant name calling
and all the times you threatened me
you broke my phone when you thought i was cheating on you
but it was the other way around
you were giving another girls the attention
and pretended that we never were in a relationship
i was invisible to you
there was so many secrets withheld
i loved you
and there were no mutual feelings on your end
you constantly faked what you were feeling
and i stayed out or went out with friends
as long as i could
before i had to go back home to deal with you
when does it ever end?
The film, my greatest of all time "Once Upon A Time In America" beautifully
made a film directed by Sergio Leon
About a group of kids growing up together
to being adults making money from prohibition
selling
alcohol
to one them played by actor James woods becomes a corrupt senator through stealing all the money that they had all saved
together as a gang over the years, who had faked his own death and changed his name but authorities were closing In on his corrupt
dealing
he doesn't want to **** himself so he tries to get his one time a best friend played by Robert De Nero through an elaborate plan to ****
him
but his best friend won't do It  Don't want to spoil It for those who haven't seen It
But the film and music score beautifully by Erino Morricone you have to watch the full version because It was thought too long by censors for cinema
so they had to make large cuts which with the film being  told partly In flashback ruined It, the cinema audience couldn't understand what the film was
about
so It was redone full version no cuts for VIDEO then DVD all then made sense and It's my favourite film of all time
Once Upon A Time In America my choice for best film ever a great story wonderful actors
Beautiful music score by Erino Morricone
HTR Stevens Jul 23
The crickets jump...! The crickets hop...!
Chirping in the dark, they won't stop...
Telling me where they are and where they're not
But they are not there, when I reach the spot.
Little crickets, the chirps you make -
Oftimes your location is faked!
Where are you? Along the long grass I look - ;
I just want to give you a gentle stroke.
Little crickets, you're such a tease!
You jump! Then you ride on the breeze...
You sing thro' the night, on a summer day;
I listen to your song from far away.
We both told each other everything except for the one time of how we died.
Remember back when we dived into an ocean of lies that strung us together very tight.
The high tides of the Atlantic were fantastic everytime we ran away from detention.
In order for us to get fresh air we had to hold each other mid air hoping the parachute does not fail.
How I wish we faked our deaths so we could escape to the Capes where our Mothers hoped we would elope.
We are in-separable as the Atlantic and Indian oceans everytime we swallow it to keep our bodies adrift from the dessert we deserted a long time ago.
Wow, how I miss you everyday even though I did not get the chance to meet you my dearly departed Sister.
Blake Jul 1
I faked everything
and for once I felt something,

with every
dead arm beneath you
hair in between my lips
the gentle squeezes
your eyebrows turning angry
the kisses
the connection
with every ****** feeling

I finally actually felt something

and for that to go,
it just feels like
I felt something to make me realise
I never was anything

                                            I was nothing
                                              I'm nothing
you look at my eyes and tell me to stay
you hold me back and tie my chains
so i stay in my chair molded like clay

i stay in the house and notice your hair turning gray
and my respect for you wanes
you look at my eyes and tell me to stay

you faked a disease, the world was your pray
and the iv cords entered my veins
so i stay in my chair molded like clay

i open my world, it's a new place they say
and meet a man who sees me without my pains
you look at my eyes and tell me to stay

we made a plan to free me one day
and now i look around me at the carpet with stains
so i stay in my chair molded like clay

as the threads on my jail jumper begin to fray
and the color on my face drains
you look at my eyes and tell me to stay
so i stay in my chair molded like clay
this story is centered around dede and gypsy blanchard's story
Betty H Sep 15
I slowed my old truck
a dead deer was in the road
Hmmm, or so I thought
Haiku
I wrot a letter to you once and asked you if you love me.
I faked a letter once that said I'd love you to the end.
Grassy beaches, giving trees.
A mourner crying on his knees.
To the wife who told him "I do."

Faster than a moving train, unpredictable like the acid rain.
A tragedy I knew would come, but I prayed.
I prayed.
I prayed for it to hit me swift. A gentle nudge off a cliff.
But before I fell and broke my heart.
I prayed, to be loved.
A short simple poem of a tragedy.
Lea J Sep 5
I always assumed I wasn't capable to love
Not romantically anyway
Not one lover managed to stay
Love seemed a film element I could only dream off

So I faked my feelings for them all
Silently building my defence wall
Waiting for a brave knight to come along
Who would finally be able to prove me wrong

One day that knight actually appeared
And helped me realise that loving someone isn't as scary as I feared
Maybe that is because he wasn't a knight
But a prisoner reaching for the light

Yet in the end I wasn't his light, he was mine
As it was I who sat in the dark thinking all was fine
But searching for love in the dark is quite hard
When you never open up your heart

Thanks to him I've finally figured that out
And I'm not afraid to say out loud
That I am indescribably, madly in love with you
And I'm convinced that you do too
This poem is written for the man who made me believe that love actually does excist.

— The End —