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Dayna Aug 2019
My first ever love, my first ever heart throb. She was beauty in every way, and grand in every place. Never have I felt my face before I met the Sea. Never have I felt my chest before I met the Sea. Never have I ever felt my wings before I met the sea, I could feel them hang on my back since I met the Sea. And I loved her so much, I went out to sea, with a crew, and I Captain. We stole, killed, sang and ate. And we did it all, because every man that stood on my boat, loved. Oh loved the Sea. Every man on my boat, head over heels, for the sea.
Mitchell Mar 2011
Oh you no 7 x 7 isn't 49
And there ain't no way in the world
That your soul could possibly be dead
Cause you seeing those crashing waves
Yes you hear them and their loud
But somewhere deep inside that head
There is something else to be said
Last night I dissapeared from sister
And yes I lie when I say I don't miss her
I wrote her a note while sailin' away on a boat
Oh how I lie when I say I don't miss her
Whisper to the night and expect not an answer
Alone in a world spinning with disaster
Words that twirl eventually are wet with drool
Mary sister yes once used to be my master
A fortnight was alright until the birds started chirping
So early that I just couldn't stand it
I buried the hatchet in this heart long ago
And no the action was not at all outlandish
Passing through years that felt like seconds
As the sound of my sister still beckons
Lightning cracks as I bend my back
For a dollar in inevitable squalor
An open road for the hipster toads
Lures the weak ones with spirit like dreams
But these monsters that linger inside our heads
Our myth with apparition standing stiff
Link the chord and be bored with the music you heard before
Cause' the times that were a changing are now no more
Look forward to the quick and easy fix
A painting that costs one thousand and ten licks
Hang it for coffee, hang it for drink, hang it for the boyfriend who you believe can think
For that is what we are all really looking for
A masterpiece of sincerity a tip toein' with authenticity
Convinced I've felt the real thing
A shadow tells me that I am not here
No never, not at all
The back of a bedroom says that this room is full
My girl is at the end of the hall
Standing alone, no bone but mine
The reader grins afraid and victorious
All at the same time
Tell me what I did, what I said, who the gutter girl ****** in bed
Aftermath of publications punkish in their poors
Metal metaphors of anarchy wishing that they were similes in "the feel"
Goodnight to your grand opening selling that thing with the feathers
Why bother with something that I can't shoot in the eye, bake with a pie
Eat while the year is passing and the cars won't stop to bother
Hello, yes?, I'm here, are you? Yeah, why?, cause you wanted me to get here man!!!!!!
OH YEAH OH YEAH OH YEAH I PLUM FORGOT
Silly at night sinking softly in the morning but the nightlife ain't a morning cause a the stink of her breath
****** tosses a hat in the air, dies, another comes and takes his place
Continue
Black and blue with a ink blot test gone array
The starry night sky with a million cities burning
Minions of monsters move so fast madly that your own thoughts forget themselves and remember the hair of your first love that seemed like an ancient angelic mare
Not a possibility of the sea where there are no currents that can move the memories of transitory commerce that made another guy rich and another guy poor
Oh so poor
Oh so dead
Oh so filled with **** previews that make young men and women rich on clips of fat like a steak thrown away
Concrete pours on the heads of the righteous filled to the brim with ideals of theological fantastics that in the hemisphere spelling never did exists all the while the black lines, yet with yet, tell themselves secrets jingling bells with sapphire eyes all the while caught off guard with a thousand endless secrets still wishing they had millions
A mystery novel produced, never read, but remembered
Hallow in the heart, she said to me, hallow and crazy
Ok then toward the end the street said right or left and I chose up
A girl, mexican, wished one day she could believe that she was clean
A wet spot on the rug told me not to tug at his anxiety and his belief
Ok then, where do we go from here?
No, I don't tink' I know the answer
"Do you?" No. "Do you?" Nope. "Are you answering for me or are you answering for yourself?" I'm answering for the chalkboard cause' I like the sound of chalk on the thick green skin
Forget about it until the time comes for the girl behind you with the *******
Read a note from a girl and she said she loved me
Said I hated her and she still said she loved me
Were married now
Not a thing special when the dance makes up your soul
Forgetting that time ticks for the sure and the scared
OHHH what happiness comes from check good and cashed
Which preferment plan for the milk and the maid
The honk and the duck's blade?
Farming in the depths of dirt that reminds me of my young girth
A plentiful place where images flicker on the edge of sinister
The bar was full
               in the basement of my mind
and i read the manual, my buddy hunched over on a
stool beside me.
“it’s a cinch he said”
not really, though, because people don’t speak in dreams.
(i ascribe to them 50‘s slang expressions)
my beer was magically empty
and others were magically full
studying alien life forms
in this book
this manual
and wanting to puke.
dreaming is stressful
and so is life.
where is the best place to hang
a bathrobe?
MMXI

I've been sleeping in my bathroom, on cushions from my sofa pressed up between the toilet and my shower because my futon is infested with bed bugs and the traffic is too loud in the main room. Needless to say, this is a very relaxing life situation. Since I'm unemployed, I train for imaginary jobs in my sleep with my childhood friend... superb.
I sit and watch the sunrise,
as life unwanted 
courses through my veins.

Once I saw the joy in morning
It's quiet wonder would lift my eyes,
nature awakened by it's tender kiss
as I breathed it's sweet perfume.

I see no glory now
there is no song lilting gently on a breeze.
All birds have flown
only silence remains.

I will hang my heart on broken bough
to rot amongst the fading blossoms
and bow,prostrate before the coming storm.
sura Jan 2017
Your shoes,
I saw them lying neatly
Side by side upon the bridge.
Laces untied; socks in a crumpled bundle inside
As if you had just stepped out of them,
As if you had just left them on somebody else's doorstep.

Gingerly, I picked them up.
In the air I let my questions hang.
At what point in your life
Did these blood-red sneakers turn almost white?
Since when did its crisp signature logo
Turn into an unreadable smudge?

Worn out and faded,
Tattered and almost unrecognizable,
I barely knew the thing I was holding in my hands…

Perhaps you were too busy running
To even notice its deteriorating condition?
Never mind the cracks on the surface,
The thinning soles already caked in mud,
As long as they take you away from the darkness
Which seems to follow you everywhere.

For the last time, these shoes have served you.
Brought you in this unlikely place, on this very bridge.
Where you left them lying neatly side by side
As you took the way out, barefoot.

Hoping someone would step into them,
Feel for answers with their own toes.
And finally understand that
There were no haunting shadows in your pursuit

Because all this time

The darkness has always been inside you.
Alex Watkins Jun 2017
My efforts to contribute are poorly noted,
Because I don't understand the rules of being social,
Translucent rituals projecting me on a platform to perform,
But I play the role and I play it well,
Mr funny,
Mr Charismatic,
Mr ******* personality,
A novelty every room needs to make others feel healthy,
Every brush of shoulder,
Makes me stick to them like lint to their shirt for a passing gesture and joke,
Only to eject myself from conversation just in time to evade the question,
"How are you?"
On the rare occasion some negate my strategy only to trigger my fail safe,
To redirect attention to the success of those I love.
Because they are an extension of myself and they are the only part of me that's doing well.


I hang myself with my vocal cord,
swinging from one room to the next,
Instead of gasping for air,
I scour for words,
Instead of turning blue,
I turn manic,
Hoping that the next thing I say is the last thing I say,
But it never is,
So I pray wit doesn't abandon me like half my audience when they notice I'm rambling,
I collect the last of the laughter in the bottom of an empty red cup and watch the sun turn full circle.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2018
Hokum, poke ‘em
Fill ‘em full of lies.
Hokus pokus,
Tricking the unwise!
Hinkum dinkum,
Hear the trickster shout!
Joke seen; smokescreen,
Never will find out!

Two, four, six, eight
Stand up and holler
If you think Republican’ts
Should wear a shock collar.
Every time they bark a lie
They get it in the neck.
Maybe then the Democrats
Could fix the D.C. wreck.

Olly, olly, oxen fee
They’ll hang us from the Liberty Tree.
Huff and puff and blow them off
What a perfect thing to see.
If you want to hurt them
I’m sure it would be funny
If every time they lie
They loose most of their money.

Let’s all shout it together
Neener, neener, neener!
Check the Congressional ledger,
The Republicrooks of today?
None were ever meaner.
Isn’t it time we tell them
Nanny, nanny, boo boo?
After all, there’s no debate
They stuck us all in doodoo.
Chris Saitta Jul 2019
Here hang the wine-sotted troubadours of sadness and clouds,
~Having played serenas to paramours lipping at the cup of an evening bawd~
Like tethered donkeys now with their packsong of pastorela and alba,
No more musical mensurations of the ****** Mary, Cantigas de Santa Maria,
But slung over the railings of dawn-blotted taverns or courts of renown,
Here hang the wine-sotted troubadours of sadness and clouds,
Like drinking gourds, their stringed citherns dangle from their shoulders,
Leaking the strummed honey-wine of sound like the retchings of the nearby sea.
The troubadour flourished in France during the Medieval Ages (circa 1100-1350), primarily traveling from court to court.  

The “serena” (evening song for a lover waiting to consummate his love), “alba” (dawn song of a lover), and “pastorela” (song of love from a knight to a shepherdess) are all song forms.  

The “Cantigas de Santa Maria,” the well-known “Canticles of Holy Mary,” are 420 poems sung by troubadours, each mentioning the ****** Mary.  

“Citherns” are essentially the precursor to modern-day guitars.
Live or die, but don't poison everything...

Well, death's been here
for a long time --
it has a hell of a lot
to do with hell
and suspicion of the eye
and the religious objects
and how I mourned them
when they were made obscene
by my dwarf-heart's doodle.
The chief ingredient
is mutilation.
And mud, day after day,
mud like a ritual,
and the baby on the platter,
cooked but still human,
cooked also with little maggots,
sewn onto it maybe by somebody's mother,
the **** *****!

Even so,
I kept right on going on,
a sort of human statement,
lugging myself as if
I were a sawed-off body
in the trunk, the steamer trunk.
This became perjury of the soul.
It became an outright lie
and even though I dressed the body
it was still naked, still killed.
It was caught
in the first place at birth,
like a fish.
But I play it, dressed it up,
dressed it up like somebody's doll.

Is life something you play?
And all the time wanting to get rid of it?
And further, everyone yelling at you
to shut up. And no wonder!
People don't like to be told
that you're sick
and then be forced
to watch
you
come
down with the hammer.

Today life opened inside me like an egg
and there inside
after considerable digging
I found the answer.
What a bargain!
There was the sun,
her yolk moving feverishly,
tumbling her prize --
and you realize she does this daily!
I'd known she was a purifier
but I hadn't thought
she was solid,
hadn't known she was an answer.
God! It's a dream,
lovers sprouting in the yard
like celery stalks
and better,
a husband straight as a redwood,
two daughters, two sea urchings,
picking roses off my hackles.
If I'm on fire they dance around it
and cook marshmallows.
And if I'm ice
they simply skate on me
in little ballet costumes.

Here,
all along,
thinking I was a killer,
anointing myself daily
with my little poisons.
But no.
I'm an empress.
I wear an apron.
My typewriter writes.
It didn't break the way it warned.
Even crazy, I'm as nice
as a chocolate bar.
Even with the witches' gymnastics
they trust my incalculable city,
my corruptible bed.

O dearest three,
I make a soft reply.
The witch comes on
and you paint her pink.
I come with kisses in my hood
and the sun, the smart one,
rolling in my arms.
So I say Live
and turn my shadow three times round
to feed our puppies as they come,
the eight Dalmatians we didn't drown,
despite the warnings: The abort! The destroy!
Despite the pails of water that waited,
to drown them, to pull them down like stones,
they came, each one headfirst, blowing bubbles the color of cataract-blue
and fumbling for the tiny ****.
Just last week, eight Dalmatians,
3/4 of a lb., lined up like cord wood
each
like a
birch tree.
I promise to love more if they come,
because in spite of cruelty
and the stuffed railroad cars for the ovens,
I am not what I expected. Not an Eichmann.
The poison just didn't take.
So I won't hang around in my hospital shift,
repeating The Black Mass and all of it.
I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.
ellie Nov 2013
guess what
i have some shocking news for you!

the boy you kick and call a ******
goes home and cries because of how you treat him!

the girl who you call fat and who your friend told to **** herself
actually gets really upset by the words you say!

that friend who you always leave out and whisper about behind their back
is getting really fed up of being made to feel like trash!

so guess what
all those people today that you called fat, or flat chested or any other comment about their weight
all those people today that you said had disgusting acne or a wonky nose or anything else to make them feel ugly
all those people today that you instructed to slit their wrists or hang themselves or **** themselves to do the rest of us a favour
all those people today that you punched or kicked or physically abused in any way shape or form
all those people today who you ******* about or laughed at or whispered about behind their backs where they can't defend themselves
all those people today that you made feel bad about themselves
were affected in one way or another by what you said

so next time you speak just think for a minute
what if someone pointed out your flaws
the things you were self consious about
or things that you hadn't noticed before and now hated
what if someone told you to take your own life
because nobody gives a **** about you
and you don't deserve to live
what if someone punched you and beat you and made your entire body hurt
just for being you

because guess what
these people have feelings just like you!
because i'm fed up of bullies thinking they can get away with their words and actions
because they can't
st64 Jan 2014
(oh, if you don't like lengthy-reads, do not read any further.. thank you)





how I long to hear you
I am silent now
just like you



1.
from the curtain rail, hang paper-butterflies in gentlest-breeze
you made for us in vacation-time
we loved living and being with you
      so quiet and so serene
never loud, nor ever shouting
you gave us the love we often had to steal at home


2.
dear lady, when our parents couldn't cope
they dumped us at your door
you took us in for days on end
and how we flourished in your care

momma in her perfumed get-up.. always out and about
I couldn't stand her smell
she hardly took the time of day.. to get to know her own
they quarreled all the time
one time, we saw her pull in ugly-anger, a knife on him
      and he punched her hard in the face
      we-took-it-in.. the three of us
      they saw us standing there, looking on
I tried to shield the younger ones' eyes
but the lesson sank in.. thickly


3.
so, off to you.. we got bundled, like hastily-wrapped parcels
and you took us in
and we gleaned the worth of stability

you spoke to us in quiet-tone:
right, now we will read.. alright, my dears?
    we responded with three silent nods
    eyes up at you.. like open-flowers
    our smiles inside slowly blossomed
as a powerful-routine came to life

sit us down near koi-pond in the yard
     after milk and choc-chip cookies
     green dappled shade-cloth overhead and potted plants
she opened up a book - Gift from the Sea.. and she read
     we listened with rapt-souls, open and accepting
     drinking in the delight of her well-intoned voice
she tempered that sickly-void with deep-respect and lasting-admiration

how we filled the hours with your special-technique of patience
        we discover life.. along with title and the author
        one buck to read the first sentence of a new book
        two for first paragraph
        five for first page
we earned a keep to last a jolly ol' lifetime
looked forward to the end of every weekend
when we'd spend the week with you
off to school, you saw our tiny-feet and welcomed in the afternoon
      warm greetings with firm hand, discipline fell in place
      but when chores are done and homework, too
that's the time we'd settle quietly into the routine you set so well

cushions at the koi-pond and each one gets a turn
granny-dear, granny-doer.. you took the time
you read to us and we read to you
and then, we read to one another.. while you did your tasks
        we learnt of the classics and many obscure artists, too
        writers' names became familiar; we discussed at length
        and from your fine library, came three very well-fed beings
who each had a jar filled with love-pennies and mind-notes

tranquil-nap in dimmed-room in the afternoon
eyes sunlight piercing through in stippling-slants on polished wooden-floor
we fell into peace

thinking expanded beyond the lore of words
you'd engage the width of our seeker-imagination with so much
         drawing fine-lines into the unknown
         and paper-mâché and Rorschach-ink
         and let us see how earthworms could be useful
         and transplanting our seedlings from disposable egg-cups
by my teens, my special botany-project grew: orange saplings
how the time, it flew.. weeks and months.. years..


4.
then, one day, our momma said.. no more time at granny
          we questioned and we queried, but to poor avail
          evasive-looks met our searching eyes
and vague answers, even poppa with the *****-glaze didn't talk
we failed to swallow their awkward-energy

the three of us could take no more: affection interfered
      and I took two buses and snuck out to her place
I crept in silent, found her resting
but her eyes were covered up
      her face had blue blotches and cheeks were puffy
sharp-inhale!
      I shrank perforce and cried inside.. and softly touched her hand
she woke up, startled and turned away
     but she knew it was me; she'd learnt my smell so long ago
bowing my head, I gently wiped her brow with unscented-towelette
and I saw her shoulders shaking
she quietly accepted my comfort


5.
the routine continued, thankfully
after we got wind of what really happened
how you were mugged in the subway on your way to work
you've lost the use of one eye and you now slump on one leg
this fall in health did nothing to dampen your ardour
       we read for you when you could no longer see at all
       and when your pensioner-status made you penniless
       you rewarded us with hugs pressed into the psyche
       our night-time pitter-patter slipping to you from nightmares
       and you stitched our broken-pieces and sealed our cracked-assurance
never finer devotion bred from hands so kind


6.
you let us read and it sparked the mind
the penny kept on rolling with great success
long after you left
    my brother now lectures in languages
    and guest-speaks at many places of higher-learning
    and my sister became a lawyer
I became a drop-out early on, but I never sold my dream
I struggled with their help.. yes, I know.. I was always slower
and melted-crayons still do yield.. colour in the twilight of cool-eve

yes, and I bought a farm not long ago
and I tend my own keep
granny, you'd be proud of us
three silent nods to an angel in disguise


now, I stand here.. quiet in my beautiful-orchard of oranges
              stare at the leopard-changing shadows on the tiles
and long to read for you
so, I open up a dream lying next to my koi-pond, an auburn-tail flicks handsomely
and it all spills forth in reams..




can you hear me now?
in silent-vow, I unveil the finest of my heart-words
to you..




S T, 2 January 2013
man, what a day.. what-a-day!


sub-entry: thank you

.. for reading!

;)
Ottar Apr 2016
The grounds echo sounds of gardeners grooming.
The blue sky canvas and a wash of clouds,
hang lightly, dressing up the place for show.

Pruned branches and piled neat cut grasses show,
uneven sweat stained shirts, on grooming
gardeners, hoped on winds below the clouds.

The vaulted layer heightens heat, no clouds
move, the breeze blows no reprieve, a no show
by day's end, the gardeners need grooming,

without clouds, a shower shows good grooming.
Tritina ABC, CAB, BCA and final including all three
I must be a stairway
The way I get stepped on
I must be a nightmare
The way I get slept on
I must be a ****
Cause all I got is *****
Life must be a maze the ways
I bump my back into walls
I must be a toilet cause
I'm constantly **** on
I must be repulsive rejected
Whoever I hit on
Must be a ****** as I'm spit on
Must be a door cause they push me
U r wut u eat and on good Friday
I always eat *****
Cause I love chicken *****
At Chinese food spots
I must. Be a target like a sponsor
For target the way they take shots
I must be in pain the way
I take pain killers So
I hope the pain stained is detained
And not refrain from slow
Pain removal and it soon'll
Tell by time but I'm weary
Mirrors seem to fear me
Homeless people are less. Needy
They don't. Need me I'm
Depressing and it stinks my clothes
I must have aids cause I can't even
Get laid by hoes
I must just be gross
Net pay and gross shows. Nothing
And I must. Be associated with
It as I'm nothing unless I'm something
Along the lines of an
******* or a *****
Or so I'm told by people cold
And wish I'd die but I did
Die because I seem to be a
Ghost to most I know
Only call me when there problems
Are so ****** up they know
No matter how ****** up there
Situation. Is that I've seen worse
Which is insulting and flattering
All in the same verse
I must have a curse
Like Toronto maple leafs
Who coulda had a cup by.now
But the phat cats are cheap
But stupid are we not them
Because there's no sense
In investing in a roster if merchandise
And seats commence
To sell and they do always
From loyal die hard fans
Who they rob of bein part of a
Contender team but the stands
Are full I guess losings just
A pass time now
But I'm so off track where was
I, **** I forget now
I believe I was ******* in my
Own special way
And I always get ****** cause I'm an
*** so I guess I'm gay
I must be a runaway
Cause I don't got a home
I can go back to, am I a dog
Cause in my pants is a bone
I must be a **** pad
Cause my wings don't help fly
I guess I'm not a big girl
Cause big girls dont cry
I must be a fat *** cause my
Fat has a fat mass
Equivalent to precious eaten
By fat joe and thats
Not the type of mass with
Stained glass and religion
Where an alter boys farts are
Never heard if u listened
In an amplifier I'm ampped on fire
But nobody sees it
So if I said president Obama
Had ****** diseases
No one would protest and say jesus
Christ that was wrong
What would Jesus do?
He would probably write a song
About his long slong his **** and
Very long hair
He'd. Never sleep with delilah
But still a cross he must bear
But I would never cross a bear
Are u aware jerusalems where
Darker skin toned people appear
So why is Jesus so fair
Well I don't really care
Not even sure why I asked
90% of the world is unattractive
Sounds harsh but do the math
Am I a long necked giraffe
Cause mom said I belong in a zoo
Which is appealing as the monkeys
Get to masterbated and throw poo
I have no hint let alone a clue,
Was. nEver quite clued in
Too busy angry collecting debt
Feeling disrespect and sins
I now and forever regret since
Ii grew up a little
Had to stop substituting ****** pills
For my bag full of skittles
So I must be a riddle
An enigma to ponder
I don't journey with destination
Only have patients to wander
So to be a doctors patient I
Saunter and walk into a walk in
Clinic so in it i mimic a ******* to
finish with a script for poppin
Perkecette oxycotton
Clonasapan diasapan even
So my back pain I make so real
It starts to hurt as I'm leavin
But giving. doctors are decieving
So deceiving them does not
Pin guilt aide it wilts knowing
The real drug dealers the doc
Sending people who got
Addiction problems to phone
A Clinic to start u a new dependency
Called methadone
So leave the **** alone, such
A mess and known
If ur not an ignorant clone
That can't see on there own
It's the same drug dealer
Just a different drug
So how does **** for oxy heads
Really help them its rough
I must be a mute cause all
My opinions arnt heard
And I protect my pocket with no
Pocket protecter so am I a nerd
I must be a bad ****** word
Cause whenever I am. Brought up
Eyes go wide as if I am a bad
Influence like I'm hopped up
On morphine and more fiends
Are. Created each day
As doctors seem to just
Wanna give there drugs away
Well I'm done for the day
That's enough complaints for me
And if u didn't like it call 1800
I don't give a **** and Plz
Remember if it's busy just hang
up and try ur Call  again
Cause I always look forward
To being **** on for when
I use the freedom of speech
Giving to me as a right
So those opposed your all *****
So that means I must. Be a ****
*** yikes ewww a **** yuck
Get it away
So what I say I had to say Plz don't play
With what lay in my spray
Of opions in the way I say
What I say when I say it
If u hate me I'm still on ur mind
And worth hating so go ahead hate it
Poetic dues I payed it
Roads I pave it so those
Who chose to be a voice for
His beliefs always knows
There way but in dismay
I may not pray for others
Cause they may see a dead end
Even though they are covered
And smothered in talent
But if never discovered ur covered
Lucky if Facebook will even read
Let alone brothers and mothers
Cause to hypnotize the others
Selling out lurks in the way
And wut defines selling out is such
An area of grey
So goodbye again I'll say
I'm on my way out and gone
Not even a penny for my thoughts
And it's so sad a penny's beyond
What most would pay
As they say I'm just one of alot
But I maybe a snowflake looking
The same but actually I am not
PAGE ONE SIDE ONE

      The diffident boy’s chameleonic anguish sought to be cordial movements, only projected shaking and quivering hands while strolling along with a girl into a saunter down, down the street on a bridge hanging over a lake in a park.
      "Hold my hand" the boy said in a swoon to the girl, continuing - - "I love the shake, I love that frigid quiver, lets walk, jostle too beat, beat down the wind and jostle the street!"
       “Let us move further toward the illuminated illusions of the sun adjacent with the moon’s reflection blurred, misguiding us from shade for our eyelids, hiding,” the girl deviled, “but I know where, here,” she put out her palm, “that ****** glow is the heart of mine; take it, it is only our own warmth you will find. Let us be it. Only Be. Shade the other rays, for the other way to leave."
       She goes to hand the boy her heart, the boy abducting his hand to his side, distracted with the sun falling from the sky.
       “Oh, I must be here, here at this solemn lake, when it stills,” lightening and thunder from yonder occur, “Locomotion accompanying rain like pillars plummeting into walls capturing you and I becoming the storm’s echo. You may know where it is hiding, however, you will never go to where it is hidden.” each word pulsating from the boy’s mouth, his vision lost in the horizon of the sun burning out like a cigarette’s amber, “If I could only flick dawn into an astray and always be this high, then I would devour that glow in the palm of yours.”
       Tips of leaves sink to point to the ground, the sky begins to cry, and the boy and girl mourn.

PAGE ONE SIDE TWO

            “What the **** are we doing here, we, well I, must leave!” deep breathes in between each word as he spoke, “the air is dry, I can tear off the skin of an idol, spit up a song verbatim, ***** visceral vanity all over your tired hand.” The boy softly said, “To say that I care my dear.” Before the boy could finish all noise in the park inverted, causing sparkling wormholes splashed across the fields and meadows, slices of the moon shimmer on the rounded puddles. “I feel rested, well,” the boy paused, “the surroundings are spoken easy, calmed,” resonating, “calm, only small, smaller than the other."
          "Once… no only once I was told I was cold!  Consummate partner in your parallax! Whirlpool mirage, muddy pupils in the pits of hell, where at least? Is it scene that they are truthful devils?" The girl asked, “You must know, **** it!”

PAGE TWO SIDE ONE

The boy cried, he bellowed out killing, the sound killed,
whistles of felicity disguised in
a distant tree planted far, far over
on sides of mountains, where birds play a poet, creating, projecting the outcome of  this universe evolving, stepping-up the eardrums to shake… vibrate… create...
       "Noo…" the girl held herself under a tree with leaves stealing her. Roots absorbing her warmth, using it to darken the amassing shade, she’s dead, she’s a ghost now.
Killed while the sound killed, she's alone, holding herself, chancing upon her own to keep her memory alive.
       “Heed her advice, heed her owns. Draw pictures of her, with her face clear, photograph her face filled with tears.” The boy facetiously said.

PAGE TWO SIDE TWO

       "Oh, oh, I was a ****** fool, ******. It's graying out, the skies are dispersing, splitting into bluffs, let's go inside, forget about all of this.” The boy diverted.
    “Boy drops dead! Boy is dead!" the girl sedately said, "BOY IS DEAD BOY DROPS DEAD." She said, "lie down, grab hold of your chain, I will hold you no more, I hold only till I warm."
      "Chained? The links I combined on my own, with only you dragging me along. I'll speak easy, hang from this chain where I belong, and carve my epitaph into withering bark. I’ll starve until you deciduously leave this bright park." The boy’s eyes shutting as he fawns his final plight.
Boy dies changing his shoes.
Girl dies draped across roots.
Dre G Apr 2013
goodmorning
the **** convinced me
not to move the black bracers-
killer whales wanting to dance
but i stuff them with threads,
knots of ebony and fishnets,
so they hang over my body
at night during my journeys.
are they looking after me or
are they after that red bead
in my center?

burning woodsmoke now, patchouli
melt creamy- as venus sways one
hip from the fire pits of aries
she ends up on the other side:
the dirt finger grove of the steady
bull chanting "hold and touch and stay."

goodmorning
when has the sun glided his way,
as if upon the hips of a sea nymph,
across miles and angles of what
was a dark night?

keep your water, i am weaving.
i am breathing every taste of it
i am touching infinitely that center,
so sought after, like the walls of palaces
when tongue touches lip
i am rubbing every color through me
i am watching your scent drizzle gently
all over my pools of skin.

tend me like the earth, goodmorning
string me like the grape vines bursting forth from soil.
Notes tightening the headphone noose around my mind,

Hang me on the wired gallows!


Chords like choking chloroform covering my ears,

Smother my infectious insecurities!


Songs like shotguns splattering self doubt against this screen,

Ready the rock 'n' roll revolver!


Bass-encased bullets blasting rounds on repeat,

Annihilate these acidic anxieties!


Suicide solo

Sing me into reverie

*Bury me!
~I play Russian Roulette on shuffle~
Laokos Jan 2021
i live in a brightness
of worlds
paper-thin

a screenshot of
malleability
introduces my reckoning

today, the serpent
lays hold of
the egg
and starvation
is kept at bay

belly full
cut the cord
the descendants
hang heavy

all my life i've wanted
a reason to
die well

tonight, I hear it
in the sirens...
I hear it
in the coyotes...
I hear it
in my soul...
tonight, I hear it
in plain sight--
as clear
as a daisy

i was allowed
to slow down

to see my life
in a different gear

to venture a guess
towards life in payment
of a different path

i was
hungry
and hung-up

i was held-up
with my pants
down

i was a man
living his life
in the modern
mouse-trap

and nobody
cares about the
man in the
modern
mouse-trap

forget about the
cheese...

find your
own way
out
Person, friend, we hang about
Maybe too much, day in day out.
Night in night out, its now routine
We can't turn off like a machine.
I wish I could just flick a switch
And not seem like I'm being a *****.
But maybe space is what we need
Until desires elsewhere can feed.
And lie about we will all day,
No doubt at night we'll likely stay
But company is good from friends
And more than just a means to ends.
Cristin H Apr 2013
You walked in slowly and stood there
staring.
and I am the ******* who just wouldn't look.
You stomped,
heavy-footed with your soft voice
blaring,
I sat, heart heaving, with my head in a book.
You said,
"I'm leaving" then some other words followed
I stopped,
The first two were all that it took.

I left.
Then you left all the clothes you had borrowed.
You left.
And you left me to hang on this hook.

I came home
to a house whose foundation was shaken
I came home
to a house, whose foundation you shook.

I left my home
and came back.
And came back to a house.


A house with no owner,
A house forsook.
st64 Apr 2013
I couldn't know you'd need me then!
Just a human with all frailty and much fault....
  
Do you think the wind blows differently
When  it passes over leaves and trees?
That it says: "Wait, lemme stop here a bit
And blow on this one leaf  in a special way"
  
Hardly! Time to get with the manure beneath
And see that sunrays shine on everything
And indiscriminate clouds shimmer on all,
How haphazard, the way the wind blows.
  
So, don't hang your head and moan so much
Time dawns for you to get over yourself
Don't you see that I'm still here?
Now quit getting your knickers in a knot!
  
You rant and rave while I pant and slave
Dissect my every move, make me aloof
How can you possibly go counting
And re-arranging all the marbles in my head?
  
You're so insecure, you make me mad
So exhaustive are your constant jibes
So tiring to soothe your unfounded fears
I'm having to placate you so often of late.
  
Before it all gets blown out of size
Sit a while in  (h)arboured thought
Confront the dreads which cause disquiet
A trove may wash up....but broken, on your shore.
  
The wind comes not with tardy tidings
For it isn't the what you say or do
But forsooth, the how which carries weight
Let's not over-whip each other so.
  
My thoughts may be wanton, wild or reckless
Telling tigs bend on a riotous grind
Yet feckless deeds don't follow suit
Pardon my slightly-misbehaving mind.
  
Patient and respectful, I remain to be
Just guard against esurient whims
Paucity of faith and clockwork trivial'ties
Will lead us down a road of trials.
  
Fallen martyrs should not feign, see
The wind makes no pretense. It just blows....
Now, I really couldn't know you'd need me then
'Cause, baby, that's the way the wind blows!
  

S T, 5 April 13
How the seasons and nature can teach us things.....

Let's ....lisssssssssssten to that wind whistling in the treetops or howling late at night......

However it blows, it tries to say summat....if we but....spoke wind...lol

:)
Styles May 2014
The creaking and creeping sounds of the old, rotting house, hang in the background. The aged, hardwood floors; snap, crackle, and pop under the weight of my footsteps. The scent of burnt; cinnamon scented burnt candle wax, slighted tainted by the stench of cheap cigarette smoke lingers throughout the room spilling into the hallway.

The broken ceiling fan humming, as it rocks back and forth as if it will soon fall off of its axle.

The cigarette; still lite, hanging on the edge of the ash tray – smoke trails floating up towards the window, escaping as it’s pulled out of the window, dissipating off into the dark, cool, midnight air.

The alarming sounds of alley cats fighting; shrieks and high-pitch screams echo off in the distance. The loud hissing and screams suggest two cats, within close proximity to house, furiously fighting over freshly picked dinner scarps.

All starch in comparison to your disposition.

You wept that night, the tears pouring from your eyes, spilling into your tissue boxed; tucked closely beside you. Lip stick smeared *To be Continued
𝐕𝐕 Jan 2018
I love the past.
Not only because of the bad and good memories, but because of how I managed to glide through things easily.
all of it is rather unbelievable...
i don’t believe it myself and the thoughts just keep poking at my mind like they’re sticking knives in my brain!
I just want them to stop
they won’t stop experimenting on me
I am not a hamster.

regret is on my mind and alcohol seems to be my only friend
no one understands my pain of what Im going through.
they just wouldn’t understand.
the kids look at me as if I killed another man.
but here I just walk on a straight path that leads to nowhere
the never-ending road with the white light at the end that I can’t reach.

no matter how fast I run, no matter how intelligently I think, it goes farther and farther away.
the daily thought that rests in my god-forsaken mind is when will I ever go home?
when will I experience the warm feeling of returning home after a long day and seeing loved ones?
take me home, alcohol, take me away to the sweet paradise of liquor and whiskey that I was destined to go for rehab
I’m sure everyone there would like me.

the next thing you know I blinked my eyes and I was strapped to a wheelchair.
my hands moved by themselves and I felt a shadow loom over my shoulder
it was a nurse in a white gown with a red and white hat
she asked me how i was doing and I replied I was doing terrible.
she reassured me I would feel better once I got to the hang of things here.
socializing she said was the thing to do.
I didn’t learn of her name but I’ll remember her by her firm feminine voice.
her voice was rather comforting, just listening.
to her made me feel like I was actually talking to someone who could understand me.
I wish I could have spoke with the unknown nurse more, but she was already occupied again.
the moment she was gone, that light I see at the end of the lonesome path I walk disappeared.
I came to my senses and noticed the neatness of the rehab center.
someone with OCD would embrace in joy seeing this.

a man in a blue suit walks in with a silent expression, eyes down and face forward
he pulls a chair out of darkness and sits in it unpolitely
then, his eyes come into contact with mine, as if they mean to startle
i glance at the man with pursed lips, then i notice he has a card.
but the card suddenly snaps with callous fingers releasing the card.
"this is you. your life, your everything. you became an alcoholic, hamster, and a alcoholic. you have no family, and you have nothing. all you own is your past, present, and future."
looking down at the broken white business card, i imagined the card from the man's analogy as my own life.
piecing it all together one by one, it all started making sense.
i can be something from nothing, i can have something, being born with a purpose.
from nothing to something, i am me.

the strange chat with the peculiar man changed the train of thought going through my brain.
suddenly i no longer felt the needles poking at my brain, i was reassured in being a better person.
my bones suddenly became thicker with the covering of more addition of healthy fat.
the dark cloud slowly disappearing into the moon...
from the days passing by ever since the interview, i realized i had changes happening within me.
my paradise of whiskey and liquor was no more, and my brain married a new paradise: freedom.
when you think of the past, it's a place you'd like to be in for sometime unless someone snaps you out of it.
mistakes are just old memories and scars
Caitlin Deaver Oct 2011
In a daze,
We stumble into our own oblivion.
The mistakes,
The misunderstandings,
And all things that render us unworthy.
Every ounce of confusion,
It marks us profoundly.
Frayed and longing,
Still we stumble.
We search for what we want,
Not comprehending what we need.
When they are the same,
We are dazed and confused once again.
Always on the turn,
Stumbling and bounding through life,
Eventually we fall.
Falling;
It’ll never stop.
Grasp for support,
Because when your world falls out from under you,
You’ll need something to hang on to.
Aaron Combs Jul 2017
Today Grandma sinks in the seat, and smiles

at the fake trees, while the black
and brown crosses that hang over
her  shoulders as cancer calls her name underneath.

Holding the heartbeat monitor with her eyes,
the priest says "she's been cleansed, she's been cleansed,
it'll be alright, it'll be alright,

She's God's favorite."

Today in the mirror,
her
reflection removed from
her
beauty she once written with
her
lipstick, yes,

beside her
coffin, I mean bed.

the doctors notes declare
her
hope as thin as a paper cut,
the smell of fake smiles and dreamy prayers
stain the white walls, but with the families
tears run like razor-blades against the
skin, this may get better,

She still sits serenaded by silence,
baptized into a cloud of gloom.

Today it feels like a black Christmas, but with
a green moon, and red stars, and weak blue angels,

Gee, thanks, oh young Mary, for all of today.
Emma Aug 2018
A shadow like me
Its leaves are blacker than black
Against the grey sky

Post-apocolypse
A cloud of billowing ash
In the aftermath

Of Vesuvius
Rain falls on cold embers
In this film noir

As my hair turns black
And clumps, black as rotten stumps
Black as mottled roots
Clung to a pale corpse

Droplets play in golden light
Then a lightning strike
The gravel sound
Angels passing on the ground

Wandering lost as moths
From light to light
My eyelids hang heavy
Ready to close me out

Phoenix in the night
Burning
Burning her broken heart
Misael Lopez Aug 2017
We Carry Depression,
Depression Carries us,

A Daily Battle is almost always Fought,
For some, almost always lost.

The trick, if there is one, almost always is,
To Keep battling minute to minute.

One moment you may walk through
A door, feeling lower than low.
But the next thing you know...

A sudden change so small you wouldn't notice, renders your woes mute.

All you have to do is hang in there,
Fight Minute to Minute.

Drinking a cup of Starbucks Helps Too.
First poem in a while :)
LUNA Aug 2018
What if I die
What if we all die
The world would be better without all the misery of the human spirit
All the fake words spit out of heartless mouths would be barred with our not anything more than carbon body
Daily dealing with existence is a pain in the ***
So much that I often think about purposing a global suicide pact
At noon we would all jump from buildings, bridges and cliffs
Cut our throat and hang ourselves
So beautiful
Our blood would make life grow
And there wouldn’t be a single soul to destroy it after
a new career opportunity
has come Tom's way
and it shall pay him well
for many a day

some have said he's left
his run too late
but this vocation is of
the right time and date

you may ask what Tom
is going to pursue
if you hang around for a minute
I shall tell you

his tennis coach says
he's got potential
to become an older player
with fine credentials

Tom sharping
his ball tossing skills
and doing a lot of baseline
and net drills

he's been working
on his serving technique
so too on backhand shots
which are so oblique

the over fifties
singles title is his aim
which he hopes to win
with great acclaim

his coach reckons
he perform well in the competition
as he has the right attitude
and volition

Tom's entered tournaments
here and overseas
the ones on grass courts
he'll take out with ease

he's confident the tennis circuit
is where he belongs
his first match will take place
in Hong Kong

Tom has signed
a sponsorship deal with Wilson
all of their racquets
and tennis equipment he proudly don

Tony Roche has offered him
his valuable support
as he embarks on his tour
of world tennis courts
This piece is of my imagination...
AnnSura Moon May 2014
"I understand."
You don’t.
You don't understand the self hatred I have for myself.
You don't understand how it feels to be constantly compared
To someone you will never become.
You don't know what it’s like to lose yourself.
You don't know what it’s like to feel as though you're a failure
And you don't know what it’s like to know that you're different
And constantly reminded of your fault by your own mind .
If I could cut off my head I would,
Because the more I think,
The unhappier I am.
I'm convinced that’s why people hang themselves.
The head is a source of;
Power,
Knowledge,
And Control,
But also Destruction.
You don't know what it’s like to be so desperate and so tired of who you are
That you just want to quit
And i hope you never have to experience the mental and emotional pain that I have.

That is exactly why you don't understand.
WickedHope Jan 2015
the hurt hurt hurt please make it stop i cant breathe anymore i wanted to call you at one fifteen this morning when i wanted to die but i knew you would just hang up or tell me to ******* so i texted him god knows why i choose him he helped some but ten minutes later i was worse and worse and im internalizing everything and im going to explode god i want to die last night i drew up five separate plans for suicide im not sure which i want to try this time but im so done with hurting my breakdowns and panic attacks are more frequent and i dont know when it was last this bad and im scared i cant compete with all the things dragging me down i dont know how to get back up and im scared so scared i want to **** myself but i cant but i might but i dont know anything i want to run away from everything but everything always follows me and i dont know how to stop the cold blood that somehow keeps pumping though my heart has stopped i feel like the dry leaves in the fall no matter what you try to do what i try to do i end up in more pieces so much so that you cant recognize me or put me back together yeah i feel like that nothing and everything and too many and im so alone empty gone gone gone make the pain stop i beg of myself but ive always been such a *******
welcome to my head
vacate immediately if you want to maintain your sanity
PK Wakefield Apr 2012
deep with kissing easy trees Spring
wells like blood between the imminent
corpse of day where pennyeyed kittens
and ladybugs mingle with the deliberate
breath of the earth a flower meagerly strives
fragile homely limp and flush Spring languishes
an instant collected warmly into the salient brush
of ******* tingling abruptly pricking a loose cotton
with marble hard ******* round rosey cheecked apple
blossoms in Spring hang briefly like youth without youth
Spring i draw your quivering uglywonderful mouth to my
mouth and creep into your winsome shrill maw my blood

— The End —