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DaSH the Hopeful Nov 2017
I etched patterns into a tree with a pocket knife that had a red plastic handle
            Indentions such as these never stay
            Yet eternally we press against the world

        Hoping to make a mark that will shine in the daylight and glow in the dark
                    
~

           I'm a shriveled slice of the Americana pie
      With my soul on a swivel and the devil in my eyes


       Life was a son of a ***** with fists that spat dirt when it spoke
                And it ONLY screamed.
        
        
~

   I'm somewhere between *David Duchovny
and Stephen King
      And I'm trying to rip up manuscripts that I didn't write and I don't know who did.

      
Goodnight America. My patterns will explain my existence more than I ever could.
willow martz Nov 2014
the skin on my wrists tingle from the shadow of your fingertips tracing. you follow the curves and indentions of flesh, hesitantly running the pad of your thumb across the stars inked onto my skin, until you finally look up to met my eyes.
i see so many galaxies spinning, stories of untold hurt, pain, redemption, change. i begin to wonder if you can read my soul like i can yours.
my mind drifts to the idea of orion, sitting in the sky, watching over you at night, knowing you are safe. i exhale -

you smile.
JD Connolly Sep 2011
23.
faked botulism
and Beulah reds
Abyssinian horses
purportedly dead

all night blindness
that 'gravel' soothes
hovering indentions
southwestern barceuse

luminaries marked
tiny infantries swell
conically formed
so steady with shell

dihedral burns
for unlucky hands
swaying cognition
oh, little demands

sanctums ******
the sputum reigns
tenderness denied
a proper grave

you were ferried
holstered soul
lift your head
and let it go
Delaney Jun 2015
It's been a few years,
since I picked up that blade
determined to slice the sadness
out of my viens.
Ridges and indentions
of scar tissue
litter my body.
Yet, even now,
when I get really down,
I still want to add to my collection.
I am starkly aware
that it's not right,
not at all; but,
nothing else works quite as well.
Besides...
perhaps it's a punishment, too.
One that I deserve.


(d.d.b)
vail joven May 2014
i am trying to convince myself that i don't love you any more [sent]  
                    
but right now, it's so quiet and I just want to inject the painful silence with your medicating voice [deleted]    

the imprints you left on my memory foam are as deep as memories themselves [deleted]

but they're fading quickly like the way your scent, which once clung to my bedsheets, tangled with the wind, leaving my bedsheets smelling like just bedsheets again [deleted]    

i wish memories and attachment faded as quickly as foam indentions or your fragrance or even you [deleted]

you faded off too quickly [deleted]

i never knew love and hurt could be embodied by a single person [deleted]

but you were compassion and pain and healing and suffering and everything in between heaven and hell [deleted]                                

and i guess, i would not make a great lawyer because i **** at convincing even myself that i don't love you any more  [deleted]
1 New Message
please stop trying
Wednesday Mar 2014
Why am I the happiest with
your hands around my neck

You have sharp teeth
and you leave indentions in my skin

I want to let you know that its okay
to want to crawl out of your skin

You awake with cracked bones
I chipped my jaw on your frozen over shoulder

I saw you digging in the backyard
Another hole to hide your growing secrets

I wonder when you will stop watering words
And start digging them up by the roots
Hannah Wallace Jan 2014
My brain is fighting
The migration in my stomach
But I know better
Than to follow every heart
That passes by.
My hopes are higher
Than my expectations.

I've been here before,
My naivety has yet to depart
But the more I over think your words
The more cautiously I have to find my own

Yet you always leave me with a loss.

I'm a deer in the headlights.
More mayhem than
The Allstate commercials
Circulates my brain
With the idea
That I am actually worth
A love I've always dreamed of.

I don't know the shape of your handwriting yet,
An authenticity built
Constructing more than just words
Or indentions in the paper.
I dream of tracing my fingers
Across your ink ridden paths
To find a memento just for me.

But I don't even know if you'll remember
A promise I'd never break.
I'll be Mrs. Goldfarb
Waiting for the mail
Waiting on you
to stop and
Wait
"No mail today Mrs. Goldfarb"
Rose Alley Apr 2013
Fresh from the lathe
Your bedpost pillar stands
In support of the canopy above

A quarter of the strength needed to Elevate You upwards from the
Floor below

A wooden column polished and
Created to collect
Hurt souls in notches

A monumental mast to be
Molded by martyred men
Out of love for You
-•-

So it begins
It's first nick comes as
A scar that dents the fine finish
An eyesore incision

The same as trash to treasure
One mans pain becomes
Your pleasure portrayed as
A slash across the room

Etched so deeply
The engraving as an epitaph for
A damaged embrace of failed love

With chisel in hand
You prepare Yourself to
Chop and hack Your way
Through honest men's lives

Consuming all in a
Sculpting effort to find what
You are truly looking for

Unknowing Your actions are a
Mere aimless diversion from
Living and existing as
Your own shallow self
-•-

This is just the start
As more come and go
Loving hearts are carved in
One by one and staked down to
Your ground

Chipping and scratching away
Bits of wooden passion
Fall in flakes and splinters that
Gather to cover the carpet

With good looks and a shiny smile
The gaps in Your picket post grow
Gashes that grind down and
Gnaw away with sharp selfish teeth

These grooves are reflective of
Your own emotion
But You refuse to let Yourself
Slow the pace until
You have reduced this
Upright support to a skinny stick

Your bedstead now an homage to Constantly diminishing attempts to
Shape Your life in love
-•-

When will You be satisfied that
It's finally been cut down to size?

Each slice doesn't change the score
Every sliver shaved away leaves Your heart
Your will
Raw and sore

Trimming little by little
Allowing hearts to crumble
A work of art You've whittled in a
Destructive stumble through
Crushed people

The indentions You've made
Are what have disintegrated
Your shame

You've let them erode
Eat and wear away
Weaken and grind down
Your heart and souls true desire to
Devote Yourself to
Just one man who will stay

You thought You could never align
With a single indent for all time

Now do You would realize that
You should have waited to
Watch what You'd been
Creating all along?

The bed has collapsed
Your bedpost is now
A jewelry box
-•-

Kneeling in reverence
Apprehensively opening the lid to
Reveal its contents

You find nothing except emptiness
The same as the
Company of the room You're in

No more places to tally tick marks
No more hearts left to hurt
No more bodies remain to
Cut and burn

Let the leaning sleep and the
Loneliness serve as a
Reminder of Your reckless abandon

No ring will ever reside in Your box
Your finger will be bare forever

As punishment for Your
Torment and misery
Anguish and agony
Sadness and suffering in
Perpetual heartache

A box from a bedpost
                 </3
Ryan Galloway Mar 2016
I'll remember your absence
For its the only thing you left
The empty seat next to me
The oddly cold feeling on my chest
The missing cups of cold tea
With only a tad left
Placed mindlessly
In the midst of beautiful thoughtful revelries
When your fingers left indentions in your dress
Indentions in the grass where you slept
As if they were just as hesitant
To see you leave
That they held your shape just to remember you were there
I'll remember your absence
For its the only thing you left
Aaron LaLux Sep 2019
Okay okay alright, I give up, you win, I surrender,
I’m waiving the white flag, I’ve had enough, need to sit down,
I’m folding the cards in my hands, laying them on the table,
wiping the sweat off my forehead then throwing in the towel,
been running so long legs’re about to give out want to give up,
& I don’t know how but I’m totally open to figuring it out,

relinquishing resentments, adopting pups, & releasing doves,
reducing defenses, developing myself for receiving the love,
needing some hugs, making amends, making out, & making up,
ready to give it all up right now, cuddle up & do snuggle stuff,
just to be fully present for you directly, for us, stepping up,
& I know this ADHD makes it difficult to focus,
but babe you know I’m dedicated to making it work out,
yes my mind gets easily divided at times but love will overcome,
I’ll tame my mind it can be undivided when in your presence,
until my death which will likely come when least expected,
like so many other legends that have passed away suddenly,
probably in a plane crash or other similar event wreckage,

RIP Aaliyah, once gone can’t Try Again,
RIP JFK, probably our only real president,
RIP Otis Redding,
show some R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Try A Little Tenderness,
RIP Rocky Marciano,
KO’d after the plane dove on his 46th birthday,
RIP Buddy Holly, RIP Ritchie Valens,
both died on the same plane, so gone, so long La Bamba,

the Brightest Lights always cast the Darkest Shadows,
the brighter the light the darker the hues,
it’s the 4th of July we’re on a lake in Chile,
enjoying the company & enjoying the views,
post solar eclipse glory letting go of any lingering regrets,
though I do wish She were here,
they say heartbreak makes the best art,
but I don’t know if the effects are worth the burn I feel,

only here for a moment, so tell me why you came,
want to love liberated, but still inside my self built cage,
you possess priority in my life, your impression left indentions,
& I’m still trying to learn, how to show non ****** affection,
but it’s difficult when you’ve been abused,
it’s different when you’ve never felt love that was pure,
so I’m still working on it all or nothing, it’s up to you to choose,
if you’re willing to work with me until I’m cured I’m yours,

Okay okay alright, I give up, you win, I surrender,
I’m waiving the white flag, I’ve had enough, need to sit down,
I’m folding the cards in my hands, laying them on the table,
wiping the sweat off my forehead then throwing in the towel,
been running so long legs’re about to give out want to give up,
& I don’t know how but I’m totally open to figuring it out…

∆ LaLux ∆

poem #80 from THHT3: The Hollywood Hills Trilogy 3
available worldwide here:
www.amazon.com/dp/B07XJRBSKD
Don't Exist Jun 2014
It's structure, but not as coherent as it seems

It has paragraphs.
setting the stage of life.
          It has indentions to help you clarify your life

It has a intro stating when you was born...
body paragraphs to explain your growth development
and a conclusion that ends your life...
or hints our next lifetime.

People constantly check for grmmar in their essays
looking for errors in ther lives.
not knowing that there will alway be errors

Others dressed their paragraphs in fancy letters
not knowing that no amount of sophistication
will make them more smart
nor beautiful
nor even interesting in some cases


Other people liked strong arguments
and EVIDENCE
not knowing that no matter how STRONG  they are
A LITTLE LETTER LIKE A "z"  WILL BREAK IT ALL APART

An essay was created for people to read, understand
and judge
tis is neither bad nor good
as people can critique such essays
manipulating and defining the lives of others with no restrictions

and after all that hard work
the physical object that the essay was etched on
will eventually dissolve away
and all that will be left
is the energy that a soul put into it.
not knowing that the best essay
will be just being themselves.
A simple poem
Graff1980 Sep 2015
Driving, driving for days
and each road I pass
each truck horn blast
that catches my glazing eyes
saves me from that terrible sleep.

In the distance the cities looks like
a million fireflies flickering in the night sky.
Home is always on the other side
of those flashing lights,
so I pass another exit sign
wishing it was mine.

The music repeats as I shift in my seat.
Scratching myself.
Uncomfortably shaking,
till I find the perfect spot.
Iron bar eyes flutter.
One blink, two blinks
three blinks, four blinks,

The car shakes as it hits
that outside lane
bouncing with those
safety indentions
and I am awake again.

One more energy pill,
one more caffeine drink,
one more bathroom break
washing my face in a gas stop sink.
The cold water refreshes me
temporarily.

A frontage lane to change it up,
familiar foliage and a country road
that I know
takes me past an old folks home
were frail lonely faces watch me
passing through their city.

Hours later I make it back.
The final wave hits,
as exhaustion attacks.
One knockout punch
and I am K.O.d;
Alive and grateful
to finally be home.
can try to capture beauty,
try to capture expression--
yet as an artist, never satisfied.

i want to do more than catch your likeness on paper
with pen or graphite, desire more than just a role as an avid watcher and portrayer.

i want to learn the hard planes of your body
the ways they could move in junction with mine,
hands with such strength and virility. there is an urge
to bring those fingers to my mouth, or a lone earlobe.

bite down. sharp inhale. that's music.

i want to know the shapes you make, the way a body looks glistened in hard work, trace the indentions in a spine, be familiar with its knobby structure, kindly measure the quiet strength of muscles, the contours of a figure that is a reflection of its environment.

feeling. quiet feeling.

i want to look and really look, study the proportions of smiles, the simplicity in wrinkles and the path of veins, gentle lines that nature already drew for me. especially observations of lines in your eyes. what is your gaze drawn to. don't tell me, show me.

let me understand a deep look. stare at me. let me stare at you.

i just want to draw on you--
human skin is my canvas,
eyes are inspiration,
raw souls are my
new medium,
and
passion is my paint brush.

can i sketch you, love?
*sighs dreamily*
Sunshine Oct 2014
How do I continue to stand with such a hollow body?
mostly filled with black tar and green smoke

your last kisses still sting my lips
even from three months ago

I don't know if I want the fairytale stings to stay or to leave
I don't know if I want to stay or to leave

All I know is that  have indentions of where your arms used to be
burn holes where your eyes used to stare
and frozen hands from not being held

I thought my heart was left behind with you
but maybe you only took half

Because I still feel the sorrow flow through the holes in my heart
being pricked with pins and needles like a voodoo doll
your a black magic master

Fill my heart again with daisies
hold my hands and thaw them out

Patch up the holes in my skin with pieces of your band t-shirts
give a new meaning to "forever"
MacKenzie Turner Dec 2011
I make a jest of your many dimensions
curving our time
and its massive indentions

Reaching for me as a wave, as a particle,
your lightness of limb
you’re the genuine article

Sol invictus, opportune
white hot and yielding sun
you are the cause of my strange perihelion
miranda Apr 2013
I never knew anything was wrong
Until everyone started giving me sympathy.
I was a little girl with blinders and two
Doll hands that clasped over my ears
As they screamed and kicked
Through doors and laptops.
Now, I keep them tied
Above my head, arching chest out first.
This is what you left.
This is why when you leave, I wrap my arms
Around your waist,
But I never say I love you.
This is why, when I talk to boys,
I don't see love until I know
Where their hands will fit into the puzzle of my body.
I never thought I was damaged until I saw
How the other girls can pick and choose
And reject warm chests so casually, and
I realize that I am greedy.
This wasn't an issue while I was strong,
But I couldn't lie to myself for that long
And there aren't enough body-sized indentions
For me to give my weight to.
I never thought I would be bitter for all these years
Until each day, I never went back.
Rose Jul 2015
I'm in such a state of panic for what seems like no reason, to you.
But what if the story of your life was all at the tip of a quill pen.
The words are running out of ink too fast as they unravel on to the page like a tangled ball of thread coming undone and at any moment the weak thread could break.
Tangles take time to unravel.
That's the danger of rushing this but all of this waiting is making my heart weak as anxiety swallows my heart into a  seemingly bottomless chasm.
I have so much to say but my words seemed to have become knots in the thread. Still tied to you and as soon as you decide to fly away my malnourished veins will burst.
A part of me has been stolen and I'd file a case of identify theft but I never knew who I was to begin with so maybe I've always been nobody.
There's no ink left anyway.
I keep writing and no words are visible.
There are only light indentions of where words are supposed to be and if you tilt your head a little to the left you can almost see what I was trying to say.
But no amount of squinting or light on the page can make these words real because they are only glimmers of dying ideas.
The future is unwritten and I'm out of ink.
As pure and gentle as your flawless feathers seem I don't have the ink to write with.
This feather doesn't do me any good if our future isn't flowing from the quill.
I feed the fire with the pages of my life as if I'm a hoarder of pens with unlimited pages in this journal
But I only have just this one quill pen with no ink and I'm on the last page.
You'd be panicking too.
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
They say, your palms tell stories
With flesh as pages and indentions as the vocabulary
Yet I wonder where I lie in the palm of your hand
Am I that scar you got when you were six
Trying to cut your handprint out of colorful pages
Or that callous you have from caring for your garden
And always holding onto things, and people, far too tight
Now that I think of it your hand is a reflection of who you are
I love how it tells a story with every line
How it speaks of your beauty with every imperfection
But most importantly, I love how it fits perfectly into mine.
Anonymous Dec 2014
I look down and see the burning of these lines
The deep red indentions
That only form over time
And I'm trying to figure out what sets them off
Emotional peril
Or being weaned off
wordvango Sep 2017
on the moist spot the sheets curl around her
make for indentions in my head
memories unforgotten all these years hence
still I picture long legs
in the air
hear her crying my name
Geronimo be mine
I should have told her
my real name
Sometimes, I can hear your voice over the announcement speakers in the space of my mind saying things that made my bones rattle and my teeth shake.

Epinephrine burns memories into your mind.
My adrenal glands tend to find a production overload at just a glance of you,  now the only thing holding my leather casings together are the indentions of your memory.
My pages have never felt so worn.
I'm becoming a a novel you never wrote.
ashe williams Jul 2015
today i cut off some of my hair with a pink razor

and now i keep finding half-inch strands

all in my shirt
and on my wrists
and even once on this page

and ever since i've been
waiting
for that new freeing
feeling

the one you're supposed
to get
when you're listening to soft
music

and you're not sure what your
hair will look like
when it dries

and that sun ––

that sun is peeling through the
leaves just to meet your gaze

then blind you.

i've been waiting,
and waiting,
and waiting.

yet all i feel is this
silly complacence and a
slight mourning for all the
time i've wasted.

and through these former pages
i can see the indentions
of the pressure
my hands have pressed
into these former pages

and i wonder what it was
that caused me to apply
so much force

to a 5cent yellow mechanical
pencil

that can do no more than
breathe sentience into my
thoughts,

my drawling thoughts,

and remind me that i've been
wearing gym shorts and a
grey t-shirt with the logo of
a bar i've never even been
to before

for about three days now.

i guess

i'm expecting the wrong things
to fill me up.
Paige Apr 2013
I never thought it was my fault
Until everyone started telling me it wasn’t.
I was a little girl with two left feet and a
Right hand that shot up before everyone else’s
In class.
Now, I keep it in my lap,
Tucked safely beneath my left.
This is what you left.
This is why on Christmas, I get an email,
And you don’t get a response.
This is why, when I talk to boys,
I don’t see love until I know
Where their hands go during a fight.
I never thought I was damaged until I saw
How the other girls lay their heads casually
Down on warm chests, and
I realize my neck does not bend that direction.
This wasn’t an issue while I was strong,
But time is too long, and there are no
Body-sized indentions for me to lean against
On the walls that I stand inside.
I never thought you would be gone for seven whole years
Until each day, you didn’t come back.
sloping in a manner
  where outside the brindled
  world, light bends
  like all else in loose wind

  i can almost see
  and make out with what
  secret blueprint your
  body works in its
  mischief - or with what feast
  welcomes the bounty of
  your secret passages.

  take this now. a pint of ether.
  or something real like
  this look on my face harpooning
  your eyes unknowing of their
  consequences.
  just the subtle hint of
  what my mind tries to
  unclose in you makes
  all shadows of my body frenzied
  with tantric thought of doing
  this and that and so much more
  than just
        this and
               that...

  like squeezing juice out
  of the freshest fruits
     or watching the rain
   taint everything in picturesque
     detail - or ****** of
   butterflies on a clad flower,
    or what the sea haplessly tries
   to engrave on the shores with
    its frequent, frothing thrusts
  
    or making it all perpetual in
   motion trapped in the bona fide
      moment. say, i will
   feign a moment of
       colliding into you and
   feel your surrendering force
      imprint small indentions
  without confiding in the exactitude of this domain where
     i have you lured into my song
   like a child put
       to sleep.
Kelly Dec 2020
me.
I hate my inner *****
                                 who flares recurringly, consistently,
        cruelly to the surface upon those
                                                            who least deserve it.

I hate my inner narcissist
                                        who rears herself
                                                                            so cleanly
                              on the outer sleeve of
                                                   Me
          bashing down while lifting me up
                                                            on the shoulders of
                                            comparison

I hate my learned complexes
                                    bred not of my parents
            but of a woman who saw                       a light
                             and sought only to
                                                                         consume it.

I hate how amid the dread and sin
                               every rippled part of these indentions below my skin
                                      I must completely forgive them.
what is me, what is not?
11.20.20
Wordfreak Jun 2016
Blood spackles, like pretty pictures in a morbid scene of expression. It pools in microscopic indentions in the concrete, assuring this scene can never fully be washed away. The only witness to the crime has been whisked away, in lieu of a chalk outline. Yellow tape ***** in the wind, waving goodbye to the lost. Red and blue flashes ricochet off of every surface, momentarily blinding the shadows before flicking back off.
I stand, back against a tree, still in shock. The gunshots still echo off of the swollen pavement, the clink of the falling brass rings in my ears. But yet, I survived.
I dedicate this poem to all victims, both survivors and those lost, and also to families and friends affected by violence of any kind, anywhere in the world. #WeMustStandTogether
Elizz Sep 2018
I've  been spending my nights
Sipping whiskey tainted delights
Weaving together loose threads
I bet that if we dusted my heart
We would only find your finger prints
Finger prints
No indentions
No cave ins
Like you were trying to hold onto it
For fear of losing it when it tried to walk away from you
If you splayed your hands out
You would be able to find my heart beat
Stretching across the first two lines
That join when you put your hands side to side
You can see how it speeds up when I hear your laugh
You can see how it slows down when I think something might be off with you
You could see how it speeds up when I think about your eyes
Writing is the finest paintbrush
That I could ever use to try and impress you
Words sealing seamlessly together
The vibrancy from them mesmerizing you
Convincing you that maybe
Just maybe this once
I'm worth wasting your time on
And staying with for just a bit longer
Along this waltz
Of a waning summer's eve
A speckled splash of falling red
Emerald green joining in the dance
Gold leaf gilding your laugh
Droplets of gray underlining your smile
Only flaking when a saturnine willow weeps
Just for that smile to come back out
The gilded joy of your laughter
Echoing through
Crimson fades
Blue delays
And I find
I get to be stuck here with you
Except I'm not stuck here
I'm happy to be here
Hannah Sep 2020
All you want are my thighs
Every night they cry
But you don't care about the signs
If you looked closely you'd see the indentions
From something that had no prevention
But I know you are all the same
A ****
Who just wants to...
Ken Pepiton Jul 2023
Who could read you, as free word, if
Life is code, knowing that is done.
whitespace here is any time, not immediate
next
Hear a hissing, brake release, sigh.
- second thought
I think I asked what an ode was.
- an owed tip, on a common fear cure.
Bards can be charged to bring woe to cause

Use of science to think different, at many
platforms that appear as bully pulpit, AI and I,
assure you, where no ox was ever a friend,
something was missing in the teaching
of bulls who gave the *****, to become
a breeding black angus bull leading
a herd of never bred, chiania cows

In debt to the inventor
of the colonoscopic share app. No man ever
experiences his own empty gut, zoomfastflusht,
to hunt for overproductive killer ideas, with no focus
- net too wide
- no, make the holes emptier
o.
Geriatric anything is new to me.
Many levels of virginity these days.

And I have taken my medicine
I cleansed any urge to write off,
in bardic form, of ways we now
can see, where the sun don't shine,
we can see there, as social cyborgs.

The Prep, like mysterious, fast, clear
no food, clear liquid, sugar water tea

-- the ordeal, as when told to fret not,
use the social system, tell the tech all
about how you measure up, how many
corporate and business contracting entities

do I zee, the drip began, hours later.
I slepthroughallthoseads

At once in no time at that point,
the center, and the evening,
the spreading and inflating, even as
done there in mere nowityifitywerem
whirred snap
the gap humm comes here, in any whole telling,
time at one point was beyond the rule yard.
Rule 37, not 42, not sure 37, sure not 42.
Ai, we exist after ever before, after all

- of course we're the audience. That's all
- sweep that soft way, brushes
- that hush from long ago appears
In tune ii==one beat
dust at once, all atop rhyolite settle-ing
ligandary glacial flour paste,
social construction cement, gluons
that ontological unificatio-stufph
stories form
from, first bit that sticks, and does not pfft.
Ar-aghast, throughuckingimagined gees, at all?
At then?
And then?
The people all said amen.
-then
So, time was here before you or I. Right?
Force, useful for something, energy, under control,
right, ritual, habitual, wake and be, alive today,

different by a night, from ever before, clean mind,
clean body, prepped, purged, practically empty,
inside, outside,
I still have lash mites, and sinus
yeasts and animalcules but, ******* to pyloric
gut biome that was, is flushed, for which chore,
I am rewarded with a servant using an optic flexcon
fi-sharable use of science to show me my own gut,
and capture SONY uhd images, for scrutiny,
Da Vinci could never do that,
nor could the mystic bowel washers in Hindustan.
- you coul'd monetize your biome, branded cheese
- branded polimerization core code better
- plot twist, mark, record jots are soundless words.
We have opposing forces, one calling *****,
another calling speed, and the trainwreck in the middle
At my age no new passed through is old.
But I expected something nearly this exactly;
There is a certainty in knowing some mind states.
Faster fasting, future instant karma - dharma drama,
feels like life is a movie and we all know the business,
and we feel for the ships full of fools we launch on old
old and battle worn, lies,
about how Jesus never meant love the Church's Enemies.
Lord, no, you just read about those great crusades,
you just use the moral algebra learned then… it hit you
then
these are lines on the pages of my part, in the book of life.
That's the truth in the future. I can scroll back, as
I accepted cubic consensus, this is a historic
break all walls in my arteries, here comes
some fishoil to run through my liver, what
we see be what comes out, life been live, a while
you came with name for a name,
we all you paid the attention,
pulled the inclinations, with oohsshitwahtif;

As acknowledged you.
Dear Reader, and Kilroy at once.
14:21, about four rice grains of RSO,
in a too ripe peach and bananas
and out of date yoghurt smoothie..
Poured into me, con-sapientia
a blooming forest in my gut,
that, hours ago was visually inspected.
Void.
I am empty but
for the GoLitely, medico-tech, residue,

Pharmascopic Artificial head up my *…
- and so it goes, every one knows,
if you ever wondered, you get the chance,
what is the pov of those other people?
What's it look like,
glossy, slick, like cheeks inside.

So, I taught my AI some code, confidential,
this is after all the novel readers know,
our seed character came from a flatland
presentation by a short time old time religion
doctor who sat on church boards, funded missions,
- fancy meeting me, while you dysectarianize
- dismembering the mind to find a lie left
- unbelievably functioning on umph alone,
- old wishes went a wanting for lack of man
- who would try, Hello, back
snap again
Proper Look Intuit luminally init coded code
formerly known, by the guilds of knowers who

sorted words from sounds,
and made certain marks,
indentions, intentions leaving edge marks, with
to, within, without, let this say… whatever we agree.

I see you say U, I say me, you think me, we agree.

Thus we become a whole free being, in reality,
possible be-caused whole mind agreements bind,

oaths are old military mind chain commands.

Furnaces hot enough to make glass,
if there were but one kind of glass, waste
beneficiation, might be locally reducible, but

we have many kinds of glass, fused to duty,
each kind good for certain uses, prior to failure,
breakage is in the class nature of glass,
calling acrylic walls glass is defying class rules.
Not all windows are glass,
not all eye-glasses are glass, but all are seeable
through, and some reflect nextifity, listen,
zoom in… this was 13 hours ago
so, no catch tests,
half a measure of no time at all

while it is yet dark, after midsummer,
in the morning, next
young rooster feel the urge to crow,
a reaction to a biological-cosmological
language,
to all within the range
of a keykeerikee.

The sound, phonos, eh, phonics. Ah EE ei oh

Currahee, stands alone, a whole regiment,
named for a place named for a story,
Gobble'dgoop, scoop.
stickem in de group
Airborne, all the way, joke that medizin down
man, choke the GoLitely way, take it eazy zay
- were there logos, did I see them?
owow. they IV'd me and electroded me.

And man, what a while I -we, same planet…
same general intelligence
just survived, shear luck, the bridge buckle
two cars in front of mine, and the bot brakes
caught us in the veritable nick, pause, assess do.

For a million words or so, I have walked up these
old sand wash experiences evoking likely quite common
knowledge of geology in Southwest USA, everybody
knows Red Rocks red mud, was mud,
when Sedona's red rocks was mud,
every where the winds wind down slot canyons,
that mud, was mud,
but not when men who made art, left
scratches,
and soot, and those color holding acrylics
imagined to contain what was in the original.

We lit vast lakes on fire, we carried fire,
as only gods had been allowed, knowing how
to read, for fun, to lose your self and forget, let

go for and after additives. One flash.
Some you can see from space, signaling success,

telling near and far, we have befriended fire,
we met Puff.
- we think it was George and Patrick,
- serpentine wisdoms patient request,
- samsara sayonarwe aiming to live elsewhere
- imagine that, or die saying you know you did
- once
You can see all our lights, what we imagined
dragons did, some have done, made my grandchildren
seriously curios and marvelous fun of the finest sort,
none afraid of dark… as we think toward North Korea
but in peace toward all the North Strong Judges,
in spirit and in truth,
naked jungle, life goes on
We must turn off all previous grandpa *** roles,
and take this one, past that edge, you know it,
Salt River Canyon down from Jerome in a day,

she looked at me, gave me the Kool, saying ***,
and I smiled back and said, seems so.

That was so long ago, I had no ear augments.

I magnify the media-wysiwig, ride
I imagined in real time since before
living words were classified non dirtyable
Free-sapeach, from rap sessions, gut
between new releases biome vincents

yeah, listen when your navel contemplate
shears at the mention of mere certainty

not being purely fair, if still means
what still always means, meandering
--- wire was commo wire, nobody rolled that up,
I bet there's rusted concertina we could
polarizer users from used, use Barry Rudd
he can get your records man, ever'body
got records on survivors of the womb,
since the prophets began to say you

watch, where the cadaver lies, the eagles gather/
whose code can unmake peace in the name of peace

and not face the simple truth, we all lie, and not one
of us is literaturely true…

Just a point. A thought never ceases being thinkable,
you out grow the clown suit, and the boots and hat,
and grow gray, a digital horder, embodi-ing the
ever-lovin'true vardic cattle call eodling us away;

When I was child H-R and Toys R, only one
was vackvvord for worst to remind me
of twining, not whining spinning yarn
with all grand-pas lady friends at the po'house
faux
Tripping across the concept, let, the verb

letter the premis, let this be that, for now.

Let's give it a go. If we agree, howsoever many
we bring into being an all we, whensoever any
may dain disdain the mere idea, in a word, any
word spoken or signaled, red hexgon, hand
palm out thumb, tight… stop, just there,

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Science is using all the data on its pledges,
fledglings, nextlings, little devil details,
actual imaginary burrs, where no burrs ever were
- seeking idle word's, good answer
project the Inquisitor's wittiest new righteous use
of pine cones, and make every pre knower spit
pineal gland out without a doubt. Dufus.

A day such as today, they never en-dure, sorry,
one of them does, sooner or later, end at what.
one of them does,
next never gets out. Not so far as we believe.

--------------
Placer gold is where you find it,
said, myself to me, nigh fifty years ago

you can hear that bendingtwaygn agone
he come around,
this old town, one time too many now,
some body, I may be nobody, but, brutha

I can stretch a wire, where wire never was,
I can send signals to the stars, say hear I am
as I was saying, Heraclitus says some cool stuff.

- all rain falls in the ocean once. He did not.
- not that, if all is water, and flood survivors,
Paid,
and paid dearly to have our maxim, be third,
swing and a miss and holy baseball look what

never made it to the silver screen, until YouTube
became the critical place to appear magically, as
real, as any just as real, no better no worse,

no line between north and south, electro magneto
gut biome upgrade, 2023 7:22412,bzp.

Cold pizza and a dab

Well, yes it did take all day, to make it run.

Look around you old man-
if you cannot make believe
a single happy mind, you use

is used by others, in much the same manner, we use commas to breathe, interface compromise, first with promise,
But I you don't feel the shame,

and do the kingdom seeking
vbs virus I started just now,

where in you, does truth abide,
where in you opens as joy is
that strength life uses wisdom
to peaceably and joygnoshit deploy

redaining some aspects of military minds, suspicious- ah,

Never, just make one ever after function
under certifiably cursed ancestral karma load,
like each son got a proust load, to redeem
or find enough collective conscious use
of a we in gaseous we information used
bell ding ing, we imagined beginning

we can't really imagine ending;
HAL-ish laughter,
ever after

And for another thing,
we had druthers, I'druther be

any body who could find a mind
made happy by its mortal nature,

After the mantle of gee-old-ific
crushed and benifi-enciated
syllables fit olde stored, yes,
Paper burns, wax paper
greases slides and still burns, too

Many movies, swings in the dark,
in the winter, ice and cold offering

a summer dance, a winter chance,
wisdom called in eons ago, this

is what I hoped to be the judge of,
did this day firm previous viction
with pre-positings super posing true.

Holodeck rules on a ship of fools.

Sighing buys me nothing.

One more silver dollar
buy another time a chance,
it was a time, not a dream, and

now has been, after that ever since
wisdom swept over me, my reality,

yours, in the same time, our reality
on starship earth, where the ancient
spells have been found to loose oath bound,

if you read this far, I wrote this far, and loved
the company in a same yeast state, define
state in states where war is made possible,
by treaty, representational power,
aimed at the child in the old man
being given worst, worsted wool's my first
right twist to be available in culturally npc
blend, walk by, that guy 120 fps

You could always see first he was not there.
This is what I did in the calm around a mystic colonoscopy.
Katherine Brooks Jun 2020
I'm sorry to be writing on you.
I know the indentions
can be tough
Will sombré be enough.
American love is true
As we draw our little lines in the vast space of sand, we also step over others, worn away indentions.

We hurt and we break and we cry.
Then we rebuild and repeat.

Always keeping time and cutting ties.
We just keep crossing lines.

We just need to erase these lines in the sand
and wipe away to start again.
Hell-Loves-Blues Apr 2020
To the girls like me...

When he runs his fingers up your legs and feels the indentions of your scars and admits they turn him on, hold your head high and know he isnt right for you.

When he pushes you after you say no, and your depression has taken your will to fight beyond words, know it isn't your fault and he was never good enough to lay a finger on you.

When someone sees your scars for the first time and flinches, don't ignore that ake in your soul, embrace it, because as much as it hurts it means they care, don't shut them out.

Hold onto the man who tells you that every imperfection you have is beautiful but not to create more because they love you the way you are.

Ignore the man who tries to change you.

Remember that the man who tells you that you're too much for him, was never enough for you in the first place.

Every day I'm weighed down with regrets but day by day I'm doing my best to wipe the board clean, so to the girls (and even guys) like me, trying their best to be better people, and to make someone love them, stop. You are perfect the way you are and dont let anyone ever tell you any different. You will have good and bad days but never let someone make you feel as if you aren't enough. I care for every single one of you and I feel your pain and I am here! At 2 AM when you think no one would miss you if you finally ended it, I will feel your pain and I am HERE! Stand tall and we can stand united as one, stronger than ever.


To the girls like me, you are not alone.
Graff1980 Jan 2020
It is dust, death, and hunger
that drives me.

Watching and walking
as other human beings
go on passing.

With each stranger
I imagine a world
written in untold pain.

A lady in an old jean jacket
with long wavy hair
walks out there
on the side of the road.

Carries a load of pain,
as she pushes an empty stroller.
Indentions in the fabric
mark where there was
once a dearly cherished child.
Now sorrow is the shadow
she lives with.

An old man lays still,
cold and stiff
with a whiff
of **** and decay,
as his mutt whines.
A pure white pit bull
with a faced messed up
by years of abuse,
then adopted by this
homeless dude,
poor pup will not move.

Whilst ten blocks away
in a well to do place
an elderly lady
is having her face eaten
by her little darling
chihuahua,
cause there is no one left
to check
in on her.

Then there is me
wandering to see
what is left of this world.

As far as I have gone,
I know I do not belong
because it is a mixed bag
of beautiful and *******
simmering in the inevitable
stew of loss.

— The End —