Marco Buschini Nov 2016
The pulsating, pearl moon
Harbours the last remnants of romance,
Scintillating, in the valourous sky,
As I surrender to call upon her spirit
To bring her back to me.
I longingly strip, craving the vivacity of her caress.
Irresistible, I would yield to the perpetual
Power of her touch.
Immersed in the shadowy depths,
Rippling serenities of thought.
I glimpse at her reflective soul,
Shimmering upon the ravenous river,
Emanating from the stars
In all their graceful radiance.
Her heart illuminates
The benevolent evening.
The breath of inevitability
Stings my skin, as I dress,
Firing my arrows of impatience
Disconsolately, into the shivering azure,
Hoping for a way
To penetrate her very being.
Jay 1d
I pull open the top
of my head like
a refrigerator door and
scoop lumps of my cookie dough
dreams out.

Fold in bittersweet love,
chocolate chips and a
Pinch of the
things I don’t know how to say.

Make them
My friends’ favorite shapes,
with cookie cutter words
and bake them by the
Dozen

For every stormy day with
rain clouds that just
Won’t go away, I’ll be there
to bake you cookies
Your own special way

Blackened, raw cookies. Never
what my recipe envisioned,
never a good use of the things
in my fridge. Things I can’t
just buy again at a store

So my hands scrape against
bone as I go further in
Pull more of the dreams
Out for them, for you
To chase the storms away,
To make light that I hope will stay.

The bakery room
tile is cold, my fingers blistered
Not a single cookie has been delivered.
My clothes, my floors, my walls
Stained with burnt cookie hopes
And raw cookie dreams
My fingernails bleed as I
scrabble at the floor,
claw at my hollowed out skull
Hoping for
One more chocolate chip
One more kind word
Just one little batch of cookie dough.

But I know there’s nothing.
Only the sound of scraping nails
and the echo, echo, echo
inside my head.
I drunkenly wrote this, and drunkenly posted it too. I hope it means something to anyone else, because it means a lot to me too.
emnabee 17h
I hate to look at my poems.
I am too shy or repressed.

When I see them on the stream reposted
I get embarrassed.

Maybe it's like an actor
who cringes to see himself on a big screen.

His role required blood, sweat, and tears.
There is so much of him in it.

But he is not supposed to be there.

He is a character.
A representation.

That’s what I am.
A hologram.

A ghost in my poem.
Haunting it.

Hoping no one will notice me
and call an exorcist.
Dissociation Alert. Please return to your seat.
Ecstatic tingles keep me alive hoping that someone will cut me like a knife
My buttery redemption deems a perilous pearl
To the fools who fall in love with this treaterous girl
I will break you apart
Suck love out of your heart
And pop your joy into my mouth
Like a delicious pop tart
And rapturously smile painting ruin so smart
Your demise is my subconscious impeccable art
I am sorry.
You’re more tempting then heroine
Especially when you give me some tender love to hope in

My spirit animal might be an evil dragon
Or serpent goddess
Or something
Or maybe I’m just trying to fantasize over the fact that
I. Am. Not. Nice
My advice to you- RUN.
English Jam Jun 16
I feel absolute - sometimes
I feel abused - but I say I'm fine
It's getting harder to find words that rhyme
I feel incomplete - can you spare some time?

There'll be no more suicide under my roof
There'll be no pretending you're depressed, that's the truth
Your mental health is OK, go to school
I'm not gonna talk about this anymore
Just go into your room and close the door
You say you're suffering from depression and cutting yourself
Well I say leave depression on the shelf
And no, you're not getting professional help
If you really want attention, just say so yourself
Just be happy like a little child
It'll go away if you try smile

Think happy thoughts


No
This isn't another argument I will let go
I don't believe in shouting, I believe in salvation
I don't believe in punishment, I believe in patience
I don't condone diversity, I promote
I'm not the one to complain, I vote
Yet I still don't share pain, I joke
Because apparently young people's problems are just a hoax
Because apparently I can't talk about my problems freely
Apparently if I do, it's worse than drug dealing
It's the fractured state of mind
That I try to to hide
This is your decision to remain blind
You call these protests teen rage
You call these problems teenage
If you're gonna dismiss this with a yawn
And ignore the child with guns drawn
If you're gonna prioritise getting rid of pot
And ignore the school shooter firing another shot
If you're gonna waste time
Wondering if the ten year old black kid is spreading gang signs
Just don't be surprised
At another teen suicide

Think happy thoughts
There's a lesson you gotta learn, but I don't want it to be taught
The lesson that young people can experience suicidal thoughts
It's the one thing everybody seems to be missing
But it could be solved if you just stop and listen

Apparently if I have sex
I'm either a slut or a player, depending on my sex
My body's for rent
In my cheap apartment
At my tender age, love is too complicated a thing
My mind can't handle the complex emotion it brings
Yet at this tender age, I need to know my career
Of course, a lawyer or a doctor is what they want to hear
Cause my real dreams are "unrealistic, dear"
They're willing to whisper in my ear
That's not mature
But if we start speaking about things that are serious
We get looked at like we're delirious
And face responses like "you're too young to be so serious"
However,  I wanna talk
About how if I walk
Behind a white woman in a parking lot
She's holding the panic button, hoping she doesn't get shot
Thinking that she's gonna get robbed of everything she's got
And I wanna talk about how a rapist gets off easy
Because apparently now apples make him queasy
And being in prison might ruin his reputation
But I get shut down, cause this isn't suitable topic for conversation
So I'll quote my mother to deliver the message of our generation
She always told me "prevention is better than cure"
And the youth are the future
And there's nothing any doctor can do
About the suicide they're succumbing to

Think happy thoughts
It's the one thing everybody seems to be missing
But it could be solved if you just stop and listen
There's a lesson you gotta learn, but I don't want it to be taught
The lesson that young people can experience suicidal thoughts
The result of spending the day listening to Kendrick Lamar's To Pimp A Butterfly album (if you can read this as a sort of rap, it works out perfectly)
This sadness are slowly taking over me
Your absence makes me feel like I'm all alone,
and it hurts for me to know that the connection between us is slowly fading.

A heart that was once a whole;
A smile that I never thought would gradually disappear
A life that was once spirited and turned into an overcast sky.

I know I haven't said this to you but,
everything around me is better whenever I'm with you
I've never felt this warm and beautiful life's embrace.

And now my zestful heart is nowhere to be found;
I feel so lost and found myself crying from time to time
cause' I never wanted to see us drifting apart.

Texted you numerous times already;
kept on waiting and hoping one day you'll reply
but you didn't so, I kept wondering why.

I've asked myself countless questions
that maybe at some point, I've done something wrong
that might lead me to your disastrous decision

of why'd you left and the real reason
of why did things turned out to be this way.
/                                america, july 18th:
  and the utter media shambles -
like viagra and steroids
for the uninitiated -
     tongues without the rattlesnake
trill of an ᚨᚱ:
   numbed w'ah w'ah peddling
of woe to row the sinking boat:
maniac adult funfair
attempting a nostalgia
for the playground game
of bulldog...

                russia, 25th march:
the kemerovo fire (siberia) -
          children frying, screaming,
perhaps even hoping -
  a shying herod, the example
of: as moloch descended...
          prayers in the fire
                  by the innocents...

england, july 19th -
   alternative to rehydrating
using water...
    a generous 5 hour sleep -
sucking on the remains
of last night's lemon
     used to infuse the subtle
smoky of bell's whiskey,
playlist:

- the jon spencer blues
  explosion (bellbottoms)
- britney spears (criminal)
- twenty one pilots (heathens)
- calvin harris (this is what you came for)
- camila cabello (habana)
- rihanna (disturbia)
- birdbrain (youth of america)
- ghost (ritual)
- focus (hocus pocus)
- edwyn collins (a girl like you)
- the guess who (american woman)
- the knack (my sharona)
- cronica (herr mannelig)

and then onto buckling in
4 beers and thinking
about black holes as the pin-head
of antimatter -
a dead sun...
     dead, but not dead...

   and the first, crude graphic
tomb raider game...

   rather than having completed
it...
     since only owning
a demo...

                 investigating
the possibility of 2D objects in
3D space...
       well: the universe isn't even
exactly 3D: it's hyper-3D...
    but in the tomb raider game
you could walk up to a minor
detail in the game, a fern,
and observe two-dimensionality
in a "three dimensional space"...

   namely: the ferns were all 2D,
and rotated within a "hyperbole"
of the eye -
   however you observed the "object"
it rotated round and round,
never allowing you to see
    its demoniac otherside -

i can only expect dead suns to
behave in such a manner -
   two dimensional objects in a three
dimensional subject matter -
almost paradoxical -

     rotating at immense speed...
invigorating a near but not quiet
a postportem of a death...

       and you really can see UV light
surface
staring at a glaring hot sun with
a naked eye -
   and see the same hyper-rotation -
it's almost like looking at
molten silver, but with a hint
of violet - i.e. akin phosphorescence:
but in the daytime...

and who said you need to
ingest hallucinogenics -
    and enter the labyrinth of a short,
short, history,
    of the chipmunk caveman?

i'm just drunk, you're probably
sober...
    but those guys doing
a timothy leary sermon?
   they're...
     gone.......................... gone -
     they hit the tangens curve.

— The End —