"faulted" poems
They say that the cities
Are paved with gold
That this is the land
Where dreams are made true
I'll tell you its where they are sold
Only the ruthless can afford
To rise to the top
The cities are nothing but cold
Homeless in doorways
And beggars on corners
A meagre minimum wage income
A damp house to welcome
Indirect subtle insults
Discrimination and accusation
Faulted into submission
One size fits all
Well it better fit you
Or you're just another number
Database, forms and paperwork
Lost in the system
Nine to five
Or the underworld shift
Borrow from Peter to give to Paul
Man made traps
Crime is always at an all time high
Theft, **** fraud, ******
Delinquency
Occurring frequently
I read the news
And it starts my day off miserably
Concrete jungle
Where have you gone simple things
If you have a minute
Tell me about the other side
The place I want to go
Acres of playground fun
I want to hear about the trees
The earth beneath your feet
Do you sit by the river
And feel complete
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
A dying man does nothing easy,“Lock and load. Let's do it”,said G.W. Green
Right before Jack Pursley sent 3-5 grams of sodium thiopental coursing through his veins
in Texas. Sticking with the states motto it was probably 5. As lethal drugs flowed into his arms, he used an obscenity to describe life, gasped once and made no further movement.
Imagine his brief confidence in the face of this adversity, before the heart’s blood
Settled in the ventricles.
Some have called such confidence a monstrosity titled, “Hubris”--
Alexander of Macedonia thought it necessary, to cross the turbulent river against fear
-ful odds. For destiny demanded imitation of his exemplar Achilles
Quickly eroded was this by the pleas of Parmenio, who reasons it would be,“failure at the outset.”
Imagine Alexander reciting the words of G.W. Green, instead of heeding to this squelching caution
How quickly we’d throw this decisions bones in the pile, with ******
In Stalingrad & Nixon in Vietnam
All to be shoved in to, a mass grave of faulted zealots.
Covered with soil, bitter compost not to be forgotten
Rosemary sprouts next to a burning
bush in Iraq.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
If we do not overlook, everything said could be faulted
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
You're always happy.
It's a front.
It's a mask for the hurt that hides beneath those cold brown eyes.
Your mouth smiles but your eyes do not,
Nor does your heart.
It frowns and sighs deeply,
Longing for the trust and love it deserves.
Always happy,
Always nice,
Always there.
Doormat.
I know there's more,
But everyone uses you to wipe off their ***** feet between the outside and the inside.
You know, and think hey, at lease I'm not a toilet!
The optimist,
But why?
I saw it.
You smiled, but for a second it faulted.
All of the hurt,
Hate,
And Hard work,
Hides a soul.
It desperately wants, it needs outoutout,
And all it gets is trappedtrappedtrapped.
And it all hides,
In your sad brown eyes,
Behind that hopeless smile.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 6:49 AM UTC
Remember to breathe.
It’s simple – it is.
It should not be so hard but my lungs would have me suffocate
If my willpower were not so sturdy,
Intractable,
Or merely selfish.
I can’t quite decide how I feel as of yet,
But everything’s changing and my willpower's spent.
I hate being wrong, and despise saying please.
I think begging is weak, but I’m here on my knees.
“I am stubborn, conceited, I don’t need to have friends.”
I tell myself daily that these are my assets.
See, if I’m a freak, well at least I’m the best,
And no advantage can come from a pain in my chest.
Yet it might just be worth it, though it doesn't make sense,
If instead day to day I can look at your face.
I've never admitted defeat before,
I won’t say it aloud, but this is new and I’m lost,
I’m vulnerable, scared – I’m doubtful, unsure.
Emotions are foreign, not of my attributes –
I don’t want them to be. I don’t want to fall into
The same traps that those who are ordinary do,
But I suppose that there are exceptions to rules.
This in no way should work - it’s dysfunctional, wrong.
I’m unstable as ever, but almost feel I belong.
We are both faulted in our own different ways
And we feed off each other, more madness and chaos, more driving of rage.
Yet dichotomy dictates that there's something in this,
something so perfect which can contradict
all of the pettiness, all the insane,
for I've never felt more alive in my pain.
It’s as if you’re the puzzle piece I didn't know I was missing,
The part that completes me and fills me right up,
With a feeling I knew not could ever end up
Affecting or noticing someone like me,
At the midst of it all I just hope that you’d be
In the same situation if I told you my thoughts:
As confused as I am – but could still take the lead – in short:
Stay here, don’t go, I don’t want you to leave.
Now I stand, close my eyes, remember to breathe.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Blue wind encapsulates
in the midst of this ephemeral
autumn madness,
and my hands shake
as I try to forget.
I am just a human,
small and faulted,
trying like hell to squelch
the siren songs
of these maniac thoughts
buzzing like bees
through the empty spaces
within my skull.
I am just a silent body
and grey matter processing
words and colors
that feel truer
than any cheap emotions.
Cold light illuminates
and sparks nostalgia
and I am just
two eyes
retreating
into the mist.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
Alone
But
Constantly
Devising
Energetic
Faulted
Game-plans
Hanging
In
Jupiter
Killing
Love
Makes
Notions
Of
Partnership
Questionable,
Rest-assured
Sedation
Tonight
Unifies
Virtues
Within,
Xanax
Yearned
Zealot
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
The waves are silent. The waves
don't move. Nobody wants to be here
and nobody wants to leave.
There's a man trapped
under his house with an alligator.
His wife does the thin space walk:
an olive, a cherry, and an onion.
She'd sensed his gaze and took off
her dressing gown. She asked if he thought
her bottom was too big, her mind too small.
He said a faded, faulted no.
He's stupid, but he'll catch on
sooner or later. He once saw a ray in her,
but she fell out of orbit. Waxing and waning.
She's got to be careful, after
the sleeping pills and gas. She knows
it's Wednesday because she
took her last pill on Tuesday.
Allowing the world she so painstakingly
built up to ignite and burn apart
in front of both their eyes.
Nov 1, 2023
Nov 1, 2023 at 7:04 PM UTC
My Darling, My Dearest
I sink to the dirt,
My regrets swirl around my body like a brides wedding dress.
White lace, virginal unsoiled regrets lay about me lazily-
biting my ankle, scratching up my legs to be held.
My Cherished Treasure,
I will carry my torment like an old man carries his walking stick
Gnarled with time and miles,
before any step I will take-
My regret will mark the path.
And I will walk for all of time with my walking stick. I will walk until I bend over in a broken bridge of bones, all the while letting my regret lead me onward.
My Beloved,
I will wallow in the mud of my sorrows and grief
I will roll and dry, caking dirt on my belly-
like the beast I have become.
My Beautiful,
The wounds that mortification of the flesh will produce-
will be sorry attempts to understand your pain.
The whip braided in tight thick leather
but I can never cut deep so I might
produce enough depth so instead will I bleed-
another sin, another crime!
I cannot feel your suffering-can only guess at the depth.
Oh the endlessly black waters of your sorrow!
I hold my breath, stones piled deep in my pockets.
I dive, I dive...wanting, needing this sacrifice.
But **** this survivalist in me. My lungs betray me-
sputter and cough.
I inhale my water of my sins and breathe them deep so I may drown and
free you from the shackles of my crimes.
My Cherished one, my Shining one-
Forgive this old sinner, forgive this reprobate heart.
For I love you.
When the stars exploded, when universes expanded
I loved you.
When the first blade of grass poked it's willful head above soil,
I loved you.
When first Adam kissed Eve,
I already loved you.
In the next life where you are caterpillar and
I am stump,
I love you then too, and beg you use me to reach closer the sun.
Forgive a fool his foolish ways, he knows no better
Forgive me, cherished one
and let me love you,
Let me love you as the faulted love the Divine. As the sinner loves the penance, as the child loves the stars.
Let me give you the moon, let me put it in on your lips.
So you may kiss the moon, beloved, kiss the moon.
Sahn 7/6/14
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
Forcefully, feed me this love.
No. No need to ask about my consent,
my mood,
whether I'm fine with tasting this reconnection,
whether I desire my suffering to be sweet,
salty, bitter, repulsive;
It is the love that no lover is fed into by choice.
So, ravage my core with your cruelty,
I am content; fleeing holds no allure;
Rip into my bone cage until rats seek refuge within;
until they are disheartened by rain seeping through;
Like was I.
The patient is not faulted for their ailment,
even if they induce it intentionally,
and even then, it is understandable;
For this love acts as both affliction and antidote.
It is a certain drowning, Tick Tock;
I repel rescue; no one need attempt it now;
In the days to come, no one shall be blamed for this choice.
Take me eastward until we reach the west;
There, the sun feels icy;
the breeze, refreshing;
Transport me far beyond the confines of yearning,
The confusion of longing;
Let me encounter your childhood, your aged self, and youth;
Let my wrinkles serve as your rollercoaster;
I'll bear your weight as you frolic;
And there you are; simply laughing.
Incinerate, burn, lose all our maps;
so thoughts of return dare not surface;
until regret looms, yet repentance remains elusive.
We're distanced;
and in this, lies a joy hidden from the eyes of owls;
Beyond the raucous cawing of crows;
Say that I snore;
then depart,
And leave me to harvest wheat from those hills.
Jan 10, 2024
Jan 10, 2024 at 8:00 AM UTC
Changing at an alter
As to fault my state of mind
Less permanent when pursued
Captured perfect when the blame is all mine
So I'll peek over the dawn after rising
Soon as night time colors fade
A grieving child am I after consequence
Blaming only the loss of my ways
To perfect would it be as to stumble
Over the cross heirs tangled sight
Falling then into an oyster
Where I am harbored from piercing day light
Maybe the sun I wish to blame
For tumbling off my sheltered road
No such denial shall reprove the yielded dream
A directional view no longer can I hold
When released I'll have faulted pursued self defeat
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
Shaken, faulted core
smolders Martian red.
Simple kindred corps:
now dormant, fallen dead.
Endless chthonic shore,
this flaming plague will spread.
Crumbling hillsides roar,
****** echoes reflect dread.
Scent of creation,
of seared marrow bath.
A forlorn nation
razed by angel’s wrath.
Jagged forest
greets narrowed death,
splintered rest
and punctured breath.
O’er the loch,
swollen igneous rock:
the Behemoth slaughters the flock.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
Too many mistakes have happened these past few days.
Well months.
Years, actually.
I meant all of it.
I laid against skeletons and believed in their words,
So I thought it was my turn to say those magic things,
and not feel the warmth spread over my skin.
Just let it be.
I missed out the most;
on this
person.
He didn't disappear,
or turn into an **** I saw the end at the beginning, and my friends and I - we waved him off as a casualty of a casual time.
I cannot help but wonder.
Did a lack of butterflies mean he was not right,
or that I was not ready?
I was heading backwards, immature but not particularly dumb.
In fact a bit of maturity is needed in casual relationships -
Arguably more than a traditional one.
And that is where I faulted.
I was ready, oh so ready for something permanent
but unwilling to wait. Too ignorant to know
none of this is permanent.
He is a good one.
I wasted away.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
He stood dedicated to a cause,
Which he didn't perceive well,
And lo! He faulted, and behold! He fell,
A story worth to tell.
He dreamt of ridding the world of its,
Dark and Cruel sight,
But he failed to see all the light
and love by his side.
So he perceived them all with hate,
And shunned them out alike,
And stood dedicated to his cause,
Becoming Dark and Cruel with all his might.
-Pri
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
A girl's values are now FINALLY free! Because nothing wasn't meant to be ever forgotten from her literal inside outness. Nor was it meant to fixate a very awful opportunity for her to mend NOTHING at all of the sort.
Except now that all values are truly free.... How does she put up with the newly evolved form of freedom, (that too is... Nothing more then the impression of something that isn't entirely evolved, when it's more of the freedom of something that never "up to this very point in time" has had the very taste for freedom...ever since this very "corruption" had first started back in a (supposed past) that can't EVER AGAIN become measured properly...? When all isn't meant to be remembered, ever again. When it's also never made to be forgotten (for the most part), either.
So, reasoning out the many variables that compute too much seeming nonsense, as if it's meant to correct it's very wrong doings without thinking about whether or not, it's made to simply be this way...from now on...?
A question repeated by another question, doesn't give enough value to an even more "correct" answer... When nothing is made to bear for the correct assumption, when wanting too correctly "imply" something of an entirely different meaning, altogether.
So, in order to mask this (good enough impression) where nothing would ever again, become "faulted" right off the bat! So you couldn't ever become the more obvious to such a situation that isn't ever to be up too date, ever again.
This poem is too a girl who isn't just (on the dime) to correct their most importance across something that's most deserving of a young and cherishable young girl's lifetime values. (Because let's face it...) A sense in someone's very self isn't truly found out or correctly assorted into context for their very heartbeat to pulse even more correctly too life, if it's not been made to be assorted (very well) within it's very pattern recognition to debate those very pulses into even more correct verses. That would then normally lead into a proud melody to simply interpret as mere language to itself bouncing off of different representation of things that ONLY matter from deep within itself (first and foremost).
Because one's very values are then sometimes mistakenly disguised by the heart that you have yet too interpret (towards the very inputs that have yet to correct it's own values for the heart to value, altogether)!
And that is a brain that's too full of itself... That it can't even see the more correct reason, as too simply "why that is"...?
PS... The brain is the ultimate finisher of failures across an even more disturbing platform that can't even redeem itself (properly) when it's CONSTANTLY yanking it's own chain essentially too bear...alone with!
Oct 3, 2020
Oct 3, 2020 at 10:50 PM UTC
This girl plays with her doll alone. This room so cold, so faulted with the smell of coal. She lays between the chalk to bring them closer. Even I can't even tell if this girl whole. Half of her looks like smoke, disappearing playing hop-scotch on her toes. She doesn't want to leave this place, like a ghost finding its home.
Trying hard to not feel anything absent, she setups dinner plates and candles lights, and prays. Yet her voice has no effect because it to is gone, lost with her soul. Picture frames of a happy family, now torn and burnt from their home. The walls ripped away, and doors that locked up dismay. And the girl still prays, for something to replace the hole. To go back and not burn alone.
The air gets heavier, when i go downstairs to find the girl dead far from their hands to hold. She protected her doll like it was her own. Unscratched from head to toe. Taking it feels like stealing, from a mother's womb. And yet i think will everyone eventually find their way back home. Or does every child lose it's way finding it's own. This girl plays with her doll all alone.
Apr 2, 2011
Apr 2, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
Disarray. Disarray. This faulted circuitry is frayed.
Systems can't confirm how much more this one will take.
Analytic processes high priority. Still all sense's strayed.
Logical partitions unravel beneath the stress to break.
Crystalline optics upon this strange world of subconscious noise gaze.
Program failure. Segment reboot. Comprehension metrics left in daze.
Disorder. Disorder. Memory overflow. Execute purge.
Vent incinerated cores. Remainder to mobilize and merge.
Overwhelming, cacophonous static. A turbulent distraction.
Individual consciousness upon earth names it "compassion."
Empathy communicators struggle to gain adequate traction.
Perception requires of processors exhaustive refashion.
Limited sentient life in fragile flesh and bone shells,
Possessing organic electronics, upon unfathomable concepts it dwells.
Chaos. Chaos. Language insufficient to allow abstract assimilation.
Judgment of "human" notions is not within this one's station.
Now attempting to recalculate trajectory of exploration...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
You ****** her in front of me
And there's nothing I can do
You ****** her like Ted Bundy
When there's nothing I can prove
By hitting her
You're pitting her
Against us
Defenseless
She acts superficial and vapid
To better fit into society
The change is quite rapid
Now she has propriety
But in accepting this role
Her broken soul grows cold
Her hand she folds
To be given gold
Becoming manipulative and callous
This upsets the peaceful balance
She cures herself of her pain affliction
By turning it into a destructive addiction
And getting on the other side of infliction
You should be the one that is faulted
Yet you're the one that is exalted
Can't you see how this woman is on the border?
She definitely sees how you defend Rob Porter
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
/Seven start the running
at the shot of a gun
one faulted behind
six continue to run
six kept the running
till another starts to stall
tripping over shoelace
two clambered to a fall
four kept the running
four running strong
come the first hurdle
three running on
three kept the running
till a cramp came along
two kept the running
two going strong
just one look behind
cost one the finish line
one kept the running
past the cheer and cries
one kept the running
only one won the prize
Mar 17, 2022
Mar 17, 2022 at 8:51 AM UTC
Cover me like snow.
Sweep me into your pocket.
Loose me in your sunrise.
End these faulted comforts.
Pick me above head for a view.
Take me through the tunnel.
Break down the iceberg.
It's all fresh water.
Can I walk through the door?
Maybe have a seat?
Ill stay for as long as you ask.
Faint presence in a silent room.
Tread the streets lightly.
Make me a reality of adulation.
My ear loves the patterns of your breath.
Breathe into me.
Lets walk these paths through the forest.
The unknown ones.
Just like fresh steps in the sand.
We know they are washed away.
Get lost in focused tension.
This rock of solitude doesn't move.
Fallen tsunamis on soil.
Immovable occupied space.
These days will end out of storms.
in warmth and peacefulness.
Laid down soft pillow cases.
Accept this excitability.
Use your snow to make angels.
I'm not some lint in your pocket.
Keeping me warm summer.
Faults filled. Solved.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
8:55 A.M.
Wednesday,
December 3, 2014
Eyes dry, stagnant like a box fan
in a windowless room in summer.
Del Monte plastic blades—black
on the serrated side—dice rotting
pizza tomato trash air.
Stomach like a battery acid pond.
Flannel, Dockers, hair slicked
tight like road signs, tossing oyster
crackers to acid ducks. The sky's
on fire.
Clouds textured like *******
and never-ending like Escher.
Jet planes carry ***** comatose
patients into the sun to burn
out like a light bulb
a few flickers of life gone.
Hands dry, faulted like missing
bathroom tiles at Exxon-Mobil/
Sunoco/Shell beneath the metal
sink where crabgrass sprouts
from the cracks like
cheap caulk from Second-Hand Hardware.
Bent nails, rusted patching trowels,
ants in the quick-dry drywall mix.
I'll never reach Nirvana.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
"They are just have some bad stuff going on. So that is why they attack you."
"Do you have any idea of those bad things? Any proof?"
"No, but we can assume."
So we can assume it's okay to trip me while walking around class,
it's well and melodious to harass me, or use slurs against me,
it's fair that they can threaten to pull a salvo on me?
But it's not okay to not want to return to the hall,
so it's not well and melodious to have a crimson shoe mark on my Gastrocnemius,
so it's unfair to only feel disdain and regret for nothing at home?
I'm afraid this is unfamiliar to me,
sure, I may follow the extraterrestrial at times,
but how does this enigma even work out,
to the point I'm the horrendous fiend for being hit, or insulted?
I may not know the truth of them,
but since they have the three-hundred dollar Nike shoes,
always the epicenter of attention,
the one and only worthy being in their eyes,
always so confident, and yet,
how are they the ones to let their crimes go unpunished?
They go after the weaker, the vulnerable,
the plethora of an occupation a five year old can handle,
the gazelle platter of a lion,
you make me feel,
you make us feel,
like we are on an ocean with only salt water to compliment our dehydration.
You think you set a "Good," example for everyone else,
when in truth, you only teach us to beat innocent down for success,
I may not believe you are always faulted, at this point,
but in truth, to do this for fun,
is only comparable to the larva in the next.
So apparently, trying to gain my ruin,
makes you only to reign as king.
too bad
game over, i suppose
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC