Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ashley Chapman Oct 2017
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.

Good, and so you ought.

Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.

Millions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world; know how dead, inside, I feel.

You, yes, you:

Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind in here,
In hair, hear her: har, har, har…

A box of lies...

A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.

The real thing, the men, the women, their animals,
Made in the wild, wild desert, in the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea; now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
This comes from my fascination with Philip K. **** and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. In this, his future dystopian vision, androids are retired, a euphemism for terminated, when they have passed their legal age limit after four years. Humans, us, have by now ruined our environment and become enthralled to a false religion, Mercerism , a fabricated make belief, spun by an actor, Al Jerry. The empathy boxes plunge the followers of Mercerism into a shared virtual hallucination. I was also enthralled by Jude Law in AI by Steven Spielberg who gave what I thought was a mesmerising portrait of a *** robot, the ultimate Lothario and so tragically programmed to flaw.

Earlier this year Mercerism was the theme of The Tunnel, an art collective to which I am a participator, through poetry.

Blade Runner, the film, now Blade Runner 49, is based on this dark interpretation of where we could all be headed.
its weird to live
where past and future pulls you
in  its black hole
emptying every essence of you
like you are nothing.

its weird to live
where original
is covered with fakes
and being original are
labelled as freaks

its weird to live
where people look
at your mistakes
when the already have
loads of their own.

but its beautiful
to live in the world
where words help me
to escape my own truth
and find peace

its beautiful
that even though life
seems meaningless and purposeless
the meaning of some collective words
makes living purposeful.

hey writers ........ i am a 17 years old mess and i need a help
Syd Hafner Apr 6
Talk on the news,
that you have been used
Well it’s not completely untrue

Because behind closed doors,
She fakes her own skin,
it’s not as thin as she says

You don’t mind the questions she deflects,
Because you see her reflection
Well I suppose she learned from the best

And her bones are aching,
her femur is breaking
Her hair grew and her eyes turned brown,
she took the mirrors out of the house

But given the chance to leave
you still have belief
She won’t change
Please leave, be safe

I’ve known
for 14
put the
in her
And she’s
leaving them
Kenn Rushworth Jun 2015
A world in colour lies
                semi-distant, semi realised,
A near-forgotten future exsanguinates, yearning
              in the weakened glow, of infinite winter morning.
The voice, the voices, the voiceless, my anger, my age,
                Pan-millennial youth in coming years will fade,
It will carry duvet and pillow from hateful home
                to halfway-house until half way home
It will make all its hearts into the shape of cardboard,
                blemish the fire with chemical ****, **** hard,
It will seek forgiveness at the steps of screen,
                beat asthmatic chests, fingers, ribs and seams,
It will see itself cower in the horrible light of mirror,
               sail to the sun on wings of fakes lashes,
And it will burn, burn not in forgiving hangover sodium,
                but burn in the eye of a guilt yet to come,
And it will drown, drown at the blessing of the water,
               drown at its birth time and time over,
And it will wound, wound in scythe and cushion comfort,
                wound the waking dream in Siamese horror of sorts,
And it will leave strangled in the cords of its university hoody,
                leave alone at night, touch itself and cry.

Bursting rhythm from the panopticon, viewing all aspects
                of itself engulfed in ex-disney coloured acid
                spewing forth from the desired wreck,
Hurtling profound and profane into and beyond
                ******* and love and love and *******,
                *****-tinged snows lubricating seasons onward into each other,
Gut-busting, gut-busting, gut-busting societal downpour to harridan office
                from liquor dormitory, escaping and elevating
                on citalopram or selegiline,
The surgeons and nurses, the poets and builders, ever restless
                at the unbolted door, screaming into their unread palms,
                comparing varying hell to holy water lakes of others,
Sipping the dew from paradise wing, discontent with all
                in purgatory-England whilst licking the knee
                of America and imagined Europe,
Wanking itself dry at the lottery of thought,
                crude reckonings spiralling sugar into salt
                landing on the tongue of want,
Feeling crucified at the Atheist tea party,
                climbing the cross of trend
                supplying own milk and nails,
Unwanting in the chrysalis, ignoring coming candles
                but fantasising a thousand symmetrical suns
                to limited avail and idea.

But idea there will be, birthed, blood-hungry
                gnawing at the heel ‘til bare bone,
And it will rip apart fat riddled arteries,
                Deconstruct, Reconstruct all the bodies and the cites,
And it will write and spell all the words wrong
                realising that what ‘they’ are selling is sign language for the blind,
And it will note of itself as harsh but not unkind,
                reject bribe bread and water be it divided or divined,
And it will say of cartography “No need as of yet,
                I have seen men lost in the lining of a suit,
Crying into their shoes, uncombed, unfettered, unfertilised, without hope,
                after laughing into empty lakes.”
We can each say “My God, my empty sky, my cartoon prophet, my local MP,
                I have seen everything and want none of it,
                I am alone in a narrow shape of time,
                watching us all unfurl to the scent of burning feathers and hair,
                to the sound of punctured veins.”
We watch silent litanies for graceful pardons of filth,
                in “Amen” then nothing,
We watch our age’s world rend lung
                through hollow cheeks and air in our bones,
We watch ourselves into eyes or no eyes at all
                watch ourselves read last lines and then
                watch ourselves realise and whimper
                from ulcerated gut, tongue or pen,
                the everlasting knell…

                “…And it will happen again…”
Just Me Jun 2015
A friend of mine, not just my mind.
A friend of mine I can not find.

My honesty to blunt.
My best trait.
My honesty so it blunt scares people away.

Am I not bold, mistaken with cold?

My friendship is honest my friendship is real.

Is this not what friends should feel?

Treat people as you want to be treated.

I thought that was the way, but still to few friends find thier way.

No time for fakes, no time for games.

Only time for those who value honesty.

And so till then a diary a pen, a piece of paper, friends till the end.
Black Mar 2017
Eyes of dull with rage to shed,
a hair displayed the crimson red.
Soul of stains like wine on bread,
remove the waste, recall the dead.
Vicious is as Vicious says,
a simple schiz without his meds.
Reptiles dwell where the climates dynamic
fakes only sunbathe and copy the tactic.
Delicious is dread which is born out of sin
such the slyest of styles and guile with grin.
Just remember the words of your elder and kin,
eggs are good for dinner but you're much to small for Dragons.
The Lonely Beast With Hair Of Bleach, Vicious.
Sin Dec 2018
Hopes and dreams inside of me
It’s giving me anxiety
Give it time and they will see
I’m greater than they’ll ever be

All the doubts
And all the hate
And all the fakes and poor judgement

I don’t care cause y’all are lame

And when I’m gone you’ll miss my face
Y’all are two faced can’t relate
Lying straight up to my face
Do you really feel no shame?
Do you think of what you say?

Wake up early
Stay up late
On my grind
So **** your hate

I don’t need this energy
I don’t need no enemies

Y’all don’t mean a thing to me.
Sethnicity Apr 2017
Yet I Am Ready
Watching the waves eat away the castles made of sand
Staring at the way wind is churning at infrastructure       land
like a big bad wolf who found the fear and lean foundation of a brick house
I am ready for her hand

I am all ready
Traversing fields filled with fruitless wonders
burning tundras rolling thunders
A Man attempting to put out its grand made funeral pyre
with nothing but a Jack and Jill bucket filled with reverse osmosis electrolyte infused hydrogen oxygen expired prayers
I am Ready for no man land

I have a radio already
Listening to Nokia raven chirps and bubble bee gyrations.
Evergreens whispers as wild blooms break concrete and asphalt and building plans
giving smiles to homeless man and woman
dreamers flowering in the night lights that were supposed to replace stars

I am ready
for the woods to takeover the hoods
for bear feets to take over the streets
for napkins to become extinct
to write with my god-given red ink
so that my being will dye into stone and dirt
To leave my DNA on my mothers belly and hear her cry
As she covers my mouth closes her eyes tearful from radioactive winds
let her know that I loved her and hugged her every chance I could
I am ready to give up me for we have not given back enough
We have devoured the essence and forgotten how to seed and harvest  
the nothing has become us
which is why Earths flesh is colored rust
like  blood mixed with scratching dust
we have bruised the body
and wonder if we can blame something someone else
but US
Every time the finger points the object of our deflection disappears
Rearrange the letters she was trying to help us HEARt
Rearrange the letters EARth is trying to make us Heart
I'm trying to make us Ear

These MTHFCKRS are among US.
We have bred them with our love lust
still unaware that they a fungus
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
they save a life to **** it from us.
they manufacture fakes to stunt us
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
Ideas devoid of what we need to come up
She must go now and rip it from us
We must shed our blood just to fund us
Cause these MTHRFCKRS have out done US
What have we become?
I have not given up this is not about surrender it is about sacrifice.
What are you willing to sacrifice for a Better way and Better World a Better Future... or are you just another DMN MTHR FCKR
Sydney Oct 28
Cakes, cookies, cheese
Oh can I have them please
Burgers, dogs, fries
I can’t live with all these lies

Friends, fakes, foes
Oh what I’d do for some ** hos
Mascara, lipstick, eyeliner
I wish I was in a greasy diner

Short skirts and high heels galore
I’m starting to look like a *****
They say they’re worried of my composure
They are the reason I changed my figure

Skin and bones they say
But they said I was the size of a sleigh
I did this for them to make them happy
But here I am unhappy and former fatty
If you or someone you love is going through an eating disorder please get help as soon as possible. This is very dangerous.
Waynepatrick Dec 2018
The year is new and my plans are far
from few,
Love all those dear, hopefully face my fears,
Learn to say thank you,cause I know what it can do,
Bring more smiles,make my presence worth the while, make better choices,avoiding mistakes and doing all what it takes,
Distance from the fakes, find new chances and get in shape,
Listen more to what people say,carefully plan making the best of each day,
If I'm ready,find love and get on her best nerve,
Learn to be more open,make new friends again and again,
Finally be more mature cause after all it's my final year in my teens.
Welcome 2019.
Samuel Hoffmann Aug 2018
Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And I wonder just how long people wait for that day.
Because everyone fakes something and makes something too,
Everyone just tries their best and barely gets through.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And some people, like myself, fake it every day.
Because inside their heads they say today they’ll make it through,
Everyone also wakes up and says that tomorrow, too.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And I don’t know how people wake up every day.
Because I wake up blue and brush a smile on my face,
Everyone else seems fine, but I doubt they can paint with grace.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And after almost twenty years it all just fades away.
Because I see others lives, and say hey that looks sweet.
Everyone looks fine, copy them, they must know reality’s beat.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And people say whatever, wake up, and go on their way.
Because people just accept realty is meaningless and lame,
Everyone gives up hope before they even know the game.
Honestly I believe that this mentality of Fake it till’ you make is inherently flawed as if its away to justify that you don't currently live in the future you want.
guy scutellaro Jul 2018
Bob O Malley's Wedding Reception - part one.

The front door of the Wagon Wheel bar explodes open to Ziggy Pop's "You Got a Lust for Life." Jack steps over the curb and vanishes into the dark doorway.

"HEY JACK, JACK DELLETO, the lanky bartender shouts over the din.

Delleto makes his way through the crowd over to the bar, extends his hand. They shake hands. "How the hell have you been, Snake?" Jack asks.

"Just great," Snake says. "Hey, you're lookin pretty fucken good for a dead man. I heard you fell off of a mountain."

"Who did you hear that from?" Jack wonders.

The bartender points across the room to where a man dressed in a pin stripped suit is swinging from one of the wagon wheel lights hanging from the ceiling.

"George! ****, I heard he was in jail."

Snake hands Jack a shot of tequila. The men touch glasses and throw down the shots.

"How's the other George?" Jack asks.

"AA." Snake tells him.

"How about Tommy? You see him anymore?"


"What about Robby?

Snake refills the glasses and they drink them. "He's livin in a nudist colony in California and he's got two wives and six children"

Jack looks across the room and sees a drunken Bob O'Malley trying to adjust the rose in the lapel of his black tuxedo. Satisfied it won't fall out O'Malley looks up at the man swinging from the lamp. "Quick, George, name man's greatest inventions!"

George shoots back, "Alcohol, tobacco, and the wheel."

Bob smiles and then suddenly jumps up on top of the bar, and although he is over six feet tall and weighs two hundred pounds, he demonstrates the grace and dexterity of a ballerina as he pirouettes  around and jumps over the shot glasses and beer bottles that clutter the bar.

Wedding guests lean back in their chairs as strangers, fearful of his gyrations, ****** their drinks from the bar. Bob fakes a slip as he dances along but he is always in control and never falters. Forty three year old Bob O'Malley is Jim Brown who dodges danger to score the winning touch down.

When he reaches the end of the bar, he jumps to the floor, pulls to aluminum lids from the ice box, and with one in each hand smacks them together like cymbals.

Some people clap but the bemused just stare.

In the back of the room at the wedding table the father of the bride leans over and whispers into his crying wife's ear, "If I had a terminal illness, I'd shoot Bob."

The bride raises a glass of champagne into the smoke filled air and Bob takes a bow but then heads for the kitchen at the other end of the room.

"Hey Bob," Jack Delleto shouts to the groom over the music.

O'Malley stops under a wagon wheel lamp and turns as Delleto steps into the dim circle of light. "Congratulations, you're a lucky guy, Bob. I mean that." Delleto offer his hand and they shake hands.

"Thanks, Mister Cool. You must be a rock star."

Jack takes off the sunglasses.

"TWO black eyes," Bob says astonished. "You know your nose is bleeding. What happened?" Bob wants to know.

Jack takes a handkerchief  from his back pocket, puts it over his nose, and squeezes tightly. "It's broken."

"What happened?" Bob asks again.

"Bill Wain."

"He turned pro didn't he?"

"He's 5 and 0. Felix thinks he a natural but he's nothing special. He out weighs me by 20 pounds. Hell, he couldn't even knock me down."

O'Malley shakes his head and then just smiles.

"She's beautiful," Jack tells Bob.

"Thanks Dell." O'Malley puts his hand on his friends shoulder and squeezes affectionately. He looks across the room at Theresa. "Yes, she is." Theresa's mother has stopped crying. The father just stares into the void.

"I 'm feeling real happy today." Bob O'Malley tells Delleto and then he looks away from his bride, passed the archway that divides the poolroom from the bar, and into the dark poolroom. With the light bulbs from the lamp above his head gleaming in his eyes, Bob seems to see something fleeting in a far distance. Slowly, a peculiar half smile forms showing his white uneven teeth.

Curious, Delleto turns his head to look into the darkness of the poolroom, too.

Bob looks down at Jack. "What are you starin at? " O Malley wonders.

"Do you hear them, Bob? Jack asks.

"Hear what?

"The shadows."

Puzzled , O'Malley asks, "What are you hearing, Jack?"

"Nothin," Delleto  succinctly tells his friend. "Nothin."

"A concussion," and Bob shakes his head. "You've probably got a concussion."

Now, Jack doesn't understand, but it does not matter because for a brief moment the two men have shared the same corner of darkness.

Bob says something to Paul Keater and Keater smiles broadly. He slides the rim of his Giant baseball cap to the side of his forehead and the two men disappear through the swinging kitchen door.
Elsa May 18
Her heart was once full, happy, and joyful, it became empty, and dull. Her eyes, once bright have become full of void, and her real smile was nonexistent, no happy, and not real, now just shows how hurt, and depressed she really is. But she’s gotten used to faking everything that it became apart of her.

She’s got so much pain inside her, she just wants to release it. Her head spins, the voices ring. She doesn’t remember how to not cry at night, but hey, she’s smiling, so she’s okay, right?

She fakes a smile and does her makeup,if she looks just fine then no one will care. She acts like she’s fine so no one can tell. She’s smiling like an angel but she’s living through hell.

She’s fighting a battle that no one can see, and she’s the greatest warrior no one could ever be. But who is she fighting that no one can see? The answer is easy; she’s at war with herself and the voices in her head. She’s a mess, but she can’t clean herself if the voices in her head, telling her of all the horrible things in life.
King Tutankhamun Sep 2018
Looking at the times the way these dimes
Droppin' like flies as time goes by thinkin' why?
They living up to a ** status tryna to be the baddest
But forget that you beautiful the way your are
a shining star that's going dim
Tryna impress them ?
But they ain't seeing yo who do believe in?
Me or next man
Setting the masterplan at hand got ****
She fell to the design that was planned
Insecurities rushing cuffin'
to a disease
Invisible melodies stringing her menality
Wake up and stop following these fakes in society
Cuz they don't care about thee
just another bill ya need to seal and ****
These fakes tryna make fame off of a fake name
Only to end up ashamed

Now the next girl was giving her self to the world
Eyes glistening like a pearl yo it makes me wanna earl
She was lusting each scene for the cream and it seems
She can't break away from the siblings
Aphrodisiac beings
spiritually killing
Her soul outta control to many energies swarming a hole
Thoughts dug deeper than an abyss soon to kiss
A gravesite from having to many one nights
Momentarily she's feels good from.the morning wood
And if I could
Change her views but she stuck in her ways
So I guess the pain is there to stay floating away
Me I'm on cloud nine tryna place my self in unison to the sun
an unbecome a fallin' one

Little lost women lookin' for men
To take in can't amend
Their problems but we all got problems
Can't resolve 'em only evolve 'em above the rim
Word to birdie lookin' for the enemies frenzy
See the past I peeped the scenery since the age of three
a golden taste of the coke and Hennessy
Gave me a second chance to glance into the 9th D
A Time traveler wisdom unraveler I'm the savior
Resurrected from death in the form of a fetus
Baby girl wipe ya tears no need to fear
And compare against these buccaneers
Most close their ears so they can't hear
Ya sighs ...bawlin' no stallin'
let's rise
above all of those fallin' say...
Hands folded
Left over right
Frontal silences temporal

Lobes fear duodendum
Heavyweights fear welters
Humans; robots
Sons their fathers
Sinners, a god

Art too fears
strap-ons, fears fakes
Fears sterility
Fears youth,
Fears age. Now old.

Serande us with
That which we cannot, or will not

As seeing Khatia sur la sable makes her desirable
How can we honor her, that
I do not understand.
Briscoe Aug 27
Here I will take part, for I have before
If or since my path includes to suffer me.
I, through air's hue, weave invisibly
Something I said, jagged and jaded
Spiked and broken, woven with my things
Angered and sad. Fermented by grievance, demented
Thoughts and motions meant to be said
And instead are in this,
My collection of pink demons' chants.
A fool's flaccid stabbing into darkness,
Who tickles ears and who fakes consciousness.

All this my air. Fair evenings
With my mornings of no meaning.
My indeterminate verse that does
Flourish into the key of our sea.
A pretty sentence circling around my neck
Threatens to tighten with each re-edit.
These are just words in a row.
Mary Rios Nov 2018
X's of red rest upon her hand, as small drops of hope & dreams flow out of her hand, eyes once sparkled with many joys & hopes for a life much greater to make up for the many hells she got caged in now dull & empty, lips long to smile the biggest smile she ever smiled...she fakes her smile to keep from hurtin' a single soul that surrounded her with their hearts shown to her that rest on their hands, on her hair rest a crown of midnight blue roses, the color of which fits her eyes the many past x's still rest on her hand...& many more will come for as long as she lived & of wolves howlin' to the flare celestial body who lives in her dark forest worl...
He stayed afar, afraid to get any closer. Yes, he admits he changed so much that no one but those closest to him in his past recognises him. He often wonders, if stepping out and leaving is the right choice. It always seemed right, but after all these years, he started to doubt. His white hair, pupil a glowing light blue as a star in the constellations, the iris swirling with the universe in it. He has changed too much. He yearns to go back, to have a peaceful life before this mess started; but the scars of the past still hurts oh so much. He tried, but he simply cannot forget. Call him a coward, call him weak, he pretends that he is strong, not letting the words get to him. But inside, he is still a child, lost and cold, not of a soldier fought in wars. He is broken, his eyes' hollow, he fakes his smile, giving hope to others, yet never himself.
Next page