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It's all a crock..
a body shock
a kick in the nuts,
don't forget the 'if buts'
another load of tripe,
when you're ripe for the knackers yard
and falling ain't that hard when you're already down,
for you,
who are out on the town and having a good time
let me remind you that tomorrow is mine
so
have a ball,go and get ******,there's nothing in that,
that I've never done and never missed
I could
write you a list of the wrong turnings you'll take,
but
you'll make them anyway,
you'll go your own way
and we'll meet at the end of it
buried up to our necks in a pile of horse ****.

Yes,
it's official,life is a gas,pass go and collect your money,don't you know life is funny and if you don't laugh you will die?
I tried and died twice,can't remember the laughter as I flew through the walls of the great, hereinafter to be known as the great ******* throne room.
And so soon,he said,
'you're leaving and leaving me grieving'
not really
because I don't give a monkeys *** where I stand or sit or who rings the bells,
I'm already there where you'll be one day
and hell is the price we all pay
for getting old and going grey and it's getting a bit late in the day for me to care
or bother to share this
so ******* if you will
and let me sit
still
deep in the ****.
Julian Delia Sep 2018
‘Playing it cool’ – defined as follows:
Lacking visible emotion as a rule,
Trying to avoid looking like a fool.
In other words,
The pretension that your heart is merely an engine,
That it is clear you feel nought beneath your veneer.

Of all the people I meet hereinafter,
I shall ask only the following:
I am no lord or master,
No unduly glorified *******.
Thus, with that in mind,
I hope your true voice is mustered,
And it no longer becomes difficult to find.

Please, if you are around me,
Don’t play it cool –
If you need to, DO act the fool,
Do display your emotions, **** the rule.
Do not taint your soul with undue restraint,
Do not hide behind platitudes vast and wide.

Cry, be bitter, rage if you must!
Never say die,
Be a hard-hitter or become a sage one can trust –
Open up those clogged channels,
Feel it, as your soul unravels!
Cherish it, as an adventurer does his travels!
Only a fool would be slow enough to conceive
That the act of playing it cool is something I believe.
I ******* abhor political correctness in all its forms, including the proliferation of such social norms.
Headed towards mine demise,
Shed no tears and hear no cries.
Water shall not fall, and none will spout.
Not even the darkest clouds will let rain out.
Hereinafter, smiling laughter,
Will be the name of our new chapter
Sunday sewn on Saturdays seams and dreaming freedoms stitched in black and white,
night light salad greens and where sleep used to lay grows a new day.
Tea,at most a slice of toast,the morning views,who's in and out and what's news is this?
kiss the crumbs of toast goodbye,licking lips,another dry day in the dock,pock marks on the hoarding,lording advertisers selling premium this and other things and the Baptist church brings pamphlets to a table set before the door,selling the hereinafter before we've been before.
It's City Sunday when the marketmen come sell their wares down in the lanes and trains are full of gawkers gawking at the hawkers and the good Samaritans which are few and far between are seen along the dusty tracks collecting tax from income earned,where nothing's taught we never learned the basics of how to live a life of ease.
I please myself as to when and where and who I share my hard times with,just give an inch and some take the whole **** mile
but it's Sunday for a while and so we let the dogs at bay go on our way as if it's Sunday everyday and nothing's new,
Sunday sews a string of beads around the neck of late last night and pulls it tight and we might decide that Sundays are alright or not.
Spot on spit upon my hand and shake it well,agreed that Sundays ****** Grand a day of rest and love to test and takes the best of all we've got.
I like this day an awful lot and there's not a lot I like no more and tomorrow's Monday,what a blinking bore.
We did it then?
busted through to get to god knows when,
a new year, blue year,
do I know what year?
but it's done now anyhow
so what's the use in me denying
that the new year's just the old
year doing its dying.

I glue feathers on my arms and I am flying,
dying to get home to her and
wanting very much to share my hopes for twenty sixteen
between the sheets,
dare I wake her from the sleep in which she's crying?

We did and do when we broke into
the new year and I
am still here
with her.

Breaking
making
dying laughter,
afternoon's spent in
disaster
hereinafter known
as the
new year.
Goblinssi Sep 2018
We socially constructed
By age, by title
A hierarchy

What if we didn't?
What's the alternate
Of family, of community?

Perception...
Are we wrong?
Disillusioned?

Innovation...
Can we undo
What was done?

But how?
What it'll be like?
Chaos.

Did we follow biology?
Did we follow culture?
Why?

In the hereinafter
Or in eternity
I wish it's better

Life on soil
Ups and downs
It's good still

Life in sky
Or in blackhole
Please be better

Joy or pain
In love or heartbroken
Any other choices?

Boss, chief
Client, customer
Idol, fanboy and fangirl

Why are we here?
What about ranks?
Slaves of time

Can we ever imagine
Everything we are not?

Can we ever become
Anything we are not?

So help me... God.

— The End —