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Emily Marie Aug 2014
Small
Society sells beautiful lies,
Emphasis on the beautiful,
They sell you the definition of beauty in
small pictures,
small ads,
small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
They've got us all fooled.
Telling teens they don't need to eat,
"Skip the food today,
be beautiful tomorrow".
Selling the idea that beauty can replace sorrows.
Society sells the idea that beauty is empowerment.
Society sells the idea that if you are beautiful,
then you could have the world on a string.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray.
Sell us the idea that if we are beautiful
today will be better than yesterday.
But the empty promises lead us all astray,
Abandoned on street corners begging for scraps,
because we didn't think we felt empowerment.

Society sells small,
Society sells beauty,
Society sells small.
Small models,
Small manikins,
Small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
Society sells the idea that the size of your waist,
defines how beautiful you are.
Society sells the idea that beauty
is empowerment.
Society sells small.
Society sells the idea that if you are not small,
you are not empowered,
ugly,
waste of space.
Society sells small.
Society says beauty is empowerment.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray,
Too many teens today are to prone to facings their problems with razor blades,
Because today was not better than yesterday.
Then tomorrow won't be either.

Society sells small,
small pictures,
small ads,
small manikins.
Society sells protruding plastic ribs,
ribs sharp enough to cut paper.
Society sells the figures of the sick and dying.

Society sells small.
Small enough to be drop dead gorgeous,
Emphasis on the drop dead,
Society sells women who are severely underfed.
Society sells women suffering from malnutrition.
Since when did this become tradition?
Since when was fragile stature empowering?
Society sells skin and bones.
Society sells so small,
**women are literally dying to feel beautiful.
Society has given the world un-realistic proportions to try and shape our bodies into, and it *****.
#society #anorexia #eatingdisorders #spokenword #worldsuck
Continue reading...
RW Dennen Sep 2014
The 80's Mum's the word parade
Around the eighties the Mumers New Year Parade in Philly
lost a bit of its tradition. It originally was made for
the average working family. But around this period
people were charged to watch them do their famous strut
and extra displays of course only at City Hall.
And so let us begin my poetic story...


Standin' among the crowd,
watchin' blue police-van-bleeders
being escorted; wearin' city-steel-wrist-braclets

And now struttin' my way,
psychopathic eclipsers
of physical freedom
seekin' potential comatose heads
to tap

And squads of finger thrusters
of back pockets for targets,
dart in and out of crowds,
quickly countin' their *****
in dark unseen places

Feet freeze
as sounds travel,
" Oh dem golden slippers"
soundin' like cheap tin toy Kazoos
and toy glockenspiels

The wind kisses
my **** end blue
as a flyin' Budweiser
kisses my right foot wet

Man made pop art
reflects the times
at the times
at Broad and Spruce
of cigarette butts,
chocolate wrappers,
and crushed beer cans
climaxin' montage
of the mountain- ****** eighties

Boozers and blue
sweet puffers
wearin' smiles
outside
and within most inner thoughts
puff-buffed away from some reality
step in cadence to their
own music within themselves

And wailin' children
havin'
more sense
than adults
become early sacrifices
to the fruit of Bacchus

The marching high strutters of "Big Bird",
they strain and struggle under the weight
of heavy hernia suits;
with feathers and sparklers,
their instruments wrestle as steamy air puffs shoot forward
from their nostrils
like  red-devil-painted-dragon faces
in the bitter cold air
warmly protected by their attire and *****,
they stop seemingly for eternity,
in the suspended purgatorial
halts
one after another,
only waitin'
for the grandstand reserved section
around City Hall
Yet we wait and pray together
that perhaps like in the older days
we will get a sneak of
a nostalgic, spontaneous,
free dance-strut
that never comes

Attached, yet unattached
and cryin' inside;
always on guard
for flyin' and drunkin' fists
or flyin' articles
of all sizes
Seein'  through
the facades of we must act
like ha! ha! ha!
I cry inwardly
with anger
doin' the rat-tat-tat
of no more nonsense
of my inner-self
Strivin' and movin' to flee Freddie Kruger's bladed fingers
I sting all over,
my teeth clinch with anger,
darkness intensified
The crowd becomes uglier,
blackness
engulfs
black souls
Vehement, crazy,
hordes and hordes of frustration bellows
outward
The call of Nietzche,
The ouch under my skin

This damnable real parade
not shown in Liberace-livin'-Color

No commercial breaks of luxury cars
that drive livin' manikins
Livin' manikins that wear dial under their arms
while smilin' the brand of Crest toothpaste
but instead,
a street drunk with
broken ugly teeth
as he begs for quarters
and blows his odorous breath
beyond description

And City Hall payin'-grandstanders
with tv cameras
bein' in the spirit of "Disneyland"
presents
the overly organized narcissistic prostituted
elegance of forever, floatin', bouncy,
dancy, prancy,
skippin' to the tune
of  mom's Apple pie,
a small slice of my reality

And the applaudin' money makin'
TV grandstanders
of goody goody
look mom I can do the swan dance
while holdin' multiple
colored sparklers
wrapped in feathers
But why must I
see through the eyes of a Godless Nietzsche,
**** it!!
#parade #beer #violence #crowds #philadelphia #nietzsche #grandstand #mumers #violance #hordes
Continue reading...
Federico García Lorca
Double Poem of lake Eden
"Our cattle graze, the wind breathes." -Garcilaso *

It was my ancient voice
ignorant of thick bitter juices.
I sense it lapping my feet
beneath the fragile wet ferns.

Ay, ancient voice of my love,
ay, voice of my truth,
ay, voice of my open flank,
when all the roses flowed from my tongue
and grass knew nothing of horses' impassive teeth!

Here are you drinking my blood,
drinking my tedious childhood mood,
while in the wind my eyes are bludgeoned
by aluminum and drunken voices.

Let me pass the gates
where Eve eats ants
and Adam seeds dazzled fish.
Let me return, manikins with horns,
to the grove where I stretch
and leap with joy.

I know a rite so secret
it requires an old rusty pin
and I know the horror of open eyes
on a plate's concrete surface.

But I want neither world nor dream, nor divine voice,
I want my freedom, my human love
in the darkest corner of breeze that no oen wants.
My human love!

Those hounds of the sea chase each other
and the wind spies on careless tree trunks.
Oh ancient voice, burn with your tongue
this voice of tin and talc!

I long to weep because I want to,
as the children cry in the last row,
because I'm not man, nor poet, nor leaf,
but only a wounded pulse circling the things of the other side

I want to cry out speaking my name,
rose, child and fir-tree beside this lake,
to speak my truth as a man of blood
slay in myself teh tricks and turns of the word.

No, no. I'm not asking, I, desire,
voice, my freedom that laps my hands.
In the labyrinth of screens it's my nakedness receives
the moon of punishment and the ash-drowned clock.

Thus I was speaking.
Thus I was speaking with Saturn stopped the trains,
when the fod and Dream and Death were seeking me.
Seeking me
where the cows, with tiny pages' feet, bellow
and where my body floats between opposing fulcrums.
Continue reading...
Diction Oct 2018
The Ink Stain
You can call this nothing but childish poetry if you want/

Because I say this with complete honesty/

Your opinions mean nothing to me/

Looking for the reason behind the why I find in every line of mine/

Without any doubt this empty is me when I'm in my honesty/

There is no lie for you to see when it's all the same thing as what's hidden inside this poetry/

I will say so what if you don't understand these words I write/

I don't care if you can read this pens bite/

Still as oil are these words the paper snow covered drifts white/

The reason my sanity has yet to flee/

Even though everyday I'm looking at this knife as if to find this mercy/

As I'm constantly bordering conformity of this eventual reality/

Lost in my own insanity/

As I'm individually ment to be mentally segregated/

To keep steadily the steady loss of a sane mentality/

As I kept barely shackled separately separate from my misery these memories/

When I deserve every memory intentionally given to me personally/

Specially those made to cause me pain inside intentionally attacking my happiness/

So I'll be honest/

To those the ones who sent them so they can dry the rain with a wipe to clear their eyes/

I apologise/

I'm like Dr.Jekyll holding on desperately to hide the Mr.Hide hidden inside/

With memories of the psychologically unsteady/

Symmetrically simplistic in this coloured poetry thats making up my reality/

Losing myself in some fantasy/

A chemical chemistry of evolutionary perplexities/

Changing the mentalities of the socially closed personalities/

The ones who are misunderstanding me and what's behind this poetry/

When there's so much more then this man and the fact he's lonely/

These poems being what I feel each night/

Why I'm able to continue to write/

Making these words rhyme to fight off these thoughts of some suicide/

Making up poems line after line/

The only thing that makes me feel fine/

It's what keeps me from completely losing my mind during these moments anxiety sneaks up from behind/

So I'm suddenly overwhelmed  emotionally/

It's as if your falling apart and there's no one there that cares/

No one to make it stop but plenty in the part that's pressed to start/

Most days there's nobody to listen when your not sure if your life is worth living/

Sometimes the pain is so deep your needing something to numb every bit of what your feeling/

Now posted on this line paper that's been red dyed/


Maybe the hurt this time someone will see and finally take my words to heart/

Why the ink cord around my throat is still wet/

An the rest of it's spent on this borrowed piece of parchment/

A page from this mental thought process that's afflicted by the emotionally hopeless/

Constantly dancing with manikins of a manic drug addict/

With cut wrist to remind him that weak thoughts need to become nothing but static/

Keeping my mind distracted/

What secrets are you keeping in the attic/

I'm escaping into a straight jacket fearing my own love as the tragic/

When I've finally had it/

My heart I'll bury deep be it lock set with the sunset/

Secret is, the artist is ment to escape within the ink stain that's set/

This is that moment for me be it I'm now word spent so I went while the paint was still wet/
#heart #truth #thoughts #poetry #art #mental
Continue reading...
RW Dennen Aug 2014
MANIKIN
With your even fixed waxy smile
I'm beguiled by your looks
as you wear the latest looks
as you read the latest books
as you wear the latest fashion
in vogue

Dressed to ****,
you will soon be the center of attraction
Poised ever so
in perfect balance
you stand among the  up most glitter

A plaster of Paris soul,
you feel nothing, you see nothing,
hear nothing, know nothing

You will soon be ready for your public
Your show draws nearer
And finally you step onto
a mindless flashing disco floor
with the rest of the "MANIKINS"
Of course this doesn't fit everybody. Just the few that keep
bumping into people because their lover-in the mirror-
just takes too much attention. Narcissism Narcissism Narcissism
#narcissistic
Continue reading...
JG O'Connor Jun 2017
Invisible Me
I’ve become  invisible
Maybe it’s a virus and I’ve just got a touch,
The automatic shop door didn’t open so I’m left in a lurch,
Even when  I stood on the spot once blessed by the church.
Then the shop attendant missed me in the queue,
A car nearly knocked me on the footpath too.
Clearly I’m unseen.

As this progresses will my eyelids become translucent?
With my eyes shut how will I sleep?
Maybe I should wear dark glasses and not take a peek.
If I wear clothes will it be funny?
I will definitely get a job as a shop window dummy.
Is that what happens in the invisible limbos,
We become manikins in shop windows,  
Watching the world looking at them,
What we the invisible will be able to tell.

From my shop window I imagine at half past eight,
The people hang out or just walk past straight.
Starting with the kids skipping school,
Uniform tucked in schoolbag to fool,
Shopping bag used for energy joule,
Inhaling glue this hallucinatory fuel.
Each step these children take,
One step closer to heartbreak.

Then the anxious wife meeting her lover.  
Leaving behind her domestic bliss,
Sealed this morning with a husband’s watery kiss.
Waiting awkwardly in her Totoro dress,
One button behind and a zip does the rest .
Trying hard to be invisible too
This could all end in her being blue.

The rushing shop manager dressed in a suit.
Cuffs worn thin, pens in a group,
Red, blue and black,
A tick for success or none for the lack.
Mumbling along the company mantra,
“Think outside the box” there’s as good fella.
The only box he has ever known,
Are the imaginary boundaries in which he has grown.


A dog and his master trundle along.
He has been dead for years as he moves on,
Wearing a shroud of a used up life,
The dog squats down beside the tree of life.
Observing this stool in the daylight,
He compares to the Hematochezia he did last night.

A husband contemplating murdering his wife,
As the news of her lover has just come to light.  
He looks at the manikin with some delight,
Seduced by its empty invisible soul,  
Only to discover he owns that hole.

Then evening descends the lights are all up,
When work is all over it’s off to the pub.
Not for the invisible manikin though,
Who stays in the window dressed in a bride’s trousseau.
An invisible exhibitionist this poor sod,
So when you walk past it's polite to nod.
Now I’ll take two Aspirin and a cup of coco
And hope to God this invisibility will go go.
Continue reading...
Deneka Raquel Jun 2014
I want to run away
I want to runaway,
Far into the oceans.
Into the abyss of waters,
The unexplored depts of
Undiscovered species of fish
And devouring monsters.

I want to runaway,
Maybe to Africa in the forests.
Where wolves, dogs and dragons roam.
Make a tent out of straw and mud,
And all it my home.
Spend the rest of my life alone.

I want to runaway.
Maybe to the snow clad- region of
The Himalayan mountains,
Or to the frozen poles of the earth.
Stand to the highest peaks,
Without any clothes
So my limbs can freeze ,
Till they look like plastic manikins.

I want to run away,
Take up permanent residence on mars,
Or the moon,
Or maybe on the sun.
Far away from earth as possible,
Because If I stay here,
You'll just be a village away,
A city away...
A country away...
Maybe a continent and it wont be enough,
I'll still spend each night thinking of you.

I want to runaway.
Maybe to another galaxy,
Maybe here exists parallel universe
Where I can escape.
One where there are actually super heros
That wear spandex and capes.
One where happily ever after's are real,
And you know exactly how I feel.

I want to runaway.
Escape this reality to wear stars align.
I would bend and twist,
Or manipulating time.
Abuse any available strength I can find,
Just to get you out of my mind.
Not even sure if this is poem... I really feel this way.
#love #broken #escape #runaway #heartache
Continue reading...
Leah Rae Oct 2013
We Always Get Back Up
I... Wanna wrap my hands around a thick pole

of a carousel ride on our first date at the carnival.

I wanna swirl my tongue swiftly around

an ice cream cone when we take a trip to the ice cream parlor.

I wanna ride hard and *******

when we go horseback riding at your cousin's ranch...  

I wanna feel it pounding into me,

your heart when we dance close.

I wanna feel it on my face,

I'm talking about sunlight!

Why are you laughing?!

If you're too uncomfortable to hear

and I'm equally uncomfortable to say,

then why are we here, this is poetry, isn't it?

If I was a boy talking about banging chicks would that make this easier to swallow?

Does femininity have to keep me bound & gagged, I've heard my mother tell me enough times to act like a lady
But what does that mean?

Legs crossed, eyes open, voice low, mascara stenciled eyelids with crimson scarlet lips,

They'd say she tastes like innocence-  isn't that why we dress up like school girls?

Pigtails and short skirts.

Call me naughty one more ******* time

Every video labeled with triple x's is marketed to the opposite ***, but we deserve to feel good too.
Even if that means inviting men into the hotel rooms of our bodies, ill scale the sheets to find myself between them if I have to.
The pursuit of happiness belongs to us too,

and if that means ******* a couple of dudes, what's it to you?

Harlet,
stumpet,
****
*****,
*****,
****

It all comes down to what we keep between our thighs:

All I know is that we turn against each other, each article of our unclothed bodies is like at crime scene wrapped in yellow tape, call me a massacre because I've been killing boys since the day they tasted my breath and called me pretty.

Beautiful
Gorgeous
Stunning
Perfect
Plastic

Carved from silicon, I'm developing cancerous distractions, the world painting my body and it's actions side show attractions. They were ring leaders in this carnival of distortion. Grotesque and picturesque. All they wanted from this was a contortionist.

They asked for this
And It was always them,

Obsessed and hell bent.
They asked to see us naked, stripped down, hollow eyes, expected innocence, pretty mouths and closed lips, didn't want to hear the echo of their screams in our own voice, dignity they told us to have,

Didn't mention the stacks of playboys they kept beneath their beds.
Just the images, never the women inside the pages.

They always want a girl who's good with her mouth

But they want lips sealed when it come to where she got the practice.
Shattering their images of their impossibly perfect
Barbie girls
Bottle blonde
bubble gum pink and baby blue eyes.

We must be a commodity

Carved up like a good piece of meat and subservient served up for your judgement. Size me up like I haven't memorized the contours and calculated the curvatures; the kind of scrutiny to make your heart weep.

A masterpiece, but Mona Lisa kept all her clothes on, I think? Shallow but we stretch miles in all directions, I keep seeing mirror reflections, in every store window, if manikins can't stand up on their own, how can we?

I have to tell myself we don't have to stand up to stand for something.

And don't demean others with the word *****, because what I keep between my thighs is nothing weak.

Keep trying to maintain my innocence. Shame anything that might just be our liberation:
bare  knees, shoulder blades, and bra straps.

Written in the composition lines of our stretch marks it will tell us what provocative really means, but we haven't found it yet.

So how could you attempt to define what parts of us are too distracting?

I will paint my body honey harlot, summertime scarlet, and streak in the streets. A stark **** liberty.

I wanna be the type of women who is comfortable enough to take her clothes off.

Dance on stage if it means feeding a family, if it means taking money out of the hands of those who don't deserve it, if it means paying for an education I can't breath without.

I want to be the type of woman who opens the temple of her body, for tours if she has to

To resort and regain the kind of dignity they write stories about,
I want to be the type of woman who lays down her life, for her own children when their mouths are empty,

I'll take it like a *****.
No, daddy won't be ashamed because how could he be?
He bred a warrior, a fighter,
and he always said, it's not how big your muscles are, tough is how much you can take and get back up.

**And women always get back up.
Continue reading...
Michael W Noland Jul 2012
Relapse
He was a heavenly hellion

acting the fool again

filled of dreams and adrenaline

hes mumbling with the manikins

and mocking the shenanigans

of morbid ministers dabbling with their daggers again

a hooligan

with a silencer ******* in

the machiavellian

looming beneath the luminescence of the crescent moon again
Continue reading...
Raja Apr 2013
the danger of false pretense
Violet lips touch inside her pale
Slender wrist.
From these puncture holes, draw forth
A blue-black sledge of blood.
So, Spit the poison out
Hissing on white sheets.
And lie back, now
Rest, tucked in the violent, bruised
meditations of these forever fictional
hot, wet, sweating
fevered dreams
that pseudo lovers
lived and ****** in.
cradle hopes and gropings
in the dark, so everyone can see.
Fumbling zippers, fickle-fingers
Trace up and down the one-size-fits all
Manikins of their bodies.
Choking intuition out with
Rouged lips and bruised thighs.
Somewhere, a doll cries.
Cracked ceramics, lap with tongue against
The creased spine and
Thumping mounting moans of the
Sows in the fields
Echo sorrows held in harrowed hearts.
Continue reading...
ourtwobodiesintoonepinkcasket Oct 2015
working out an exit strategy that starts with the letter dead
oh my gosh oh"is that what ur saying sir? umm excuse me but thats just not me, i always say the lords name in vain. and all the subliminal marketing of your consumer artistry is making meweak an gag, im puking out all over in the bathroom upstairs past the solid maple tables past the circle murals in pairs who is there going to hold onto my hair when ur busy drooling about grandfather clocks high as **** doppelganging 2 levels flourished below me  all the tans and the colors of the north arre closing in where everyone and everything are turning into furniture store manikins stubborn geriatric commercials with one foot already on the conveyor belt to heaven and i just stand here and put the chips in, wrist here maam, forehead here sir just lift up your skin, living memory card into your left hand so u cant forgot all the horrible **** that u did, and ur on your way again back from indecision wht the **** else could u invest everything you worked for in, i can tell you
where to place your last faith in, you are going to die, people tell me laughing almost every-time so what the **** is the point of warranting anything, invest in a quality product that completely dissolves your thought process and rockets you into purgatory, where all the other good spirits are prostrating begging to be inventoried all the dead fathers and husbands and all other price tags shes still floating on that ocean signalling ships in with her omens and they are driving into the rocks just to hear a second of her laughing
#love #sad #death #ourtwobodiesintoonepinkcasket
Continue reading...
Poetic T Apr 2014
Plastic Friends
my friends
are manikins,
plastic and
fake with
cold friendship in their eyes..
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Feb 2014
Uninhabited
This body is not mine.
It belongs to another time,
it belongs to the living statues
in the rain-soaked streets,
it belongs to mute manikins
feigning beauty;
it belongs to the old faces
that line my dreams,
that elude my touch,
that fade to elements of shapes
and voices, now but passing seconds
of memories lost.

This aeon is not mine.
I belong to another time,
I belong to the mountain's edge
and paradise beach,
I belong to locked diaries
feigning secrets;
I belong to the strong women
that better my mind,
that elude my touch,
that burn to elements strong
and sentiments echoed eternally
in memories never lost.
Continue reading...
Elioinai Jun 2017
Relegated to manikin memories
It's not pretty . . .
the longer we go without speaking the more like a doll you are
to me
a dimming figure in my mind
that I take out of a box
for pain
or entertainment
The truth
I remember only when I feel like being free
And I put my manikins away
Yours still draws or boils blood
when I lift its plastic hands
Your real hands harmlessly work far away
Do you have a manikin of me?
A face you remember to haunt you
plastic hands you lift to scratch or stroke your face?
#break #remember #heartache #free #love #manikin #safe #gone
Continue reading...
Aidan Merris May 2014
Untitled
Waking from a dream,
Lingering for a few moments
Then slipping quietly into space.

Blood red mountain,
Pearly grass.
Greenish dawn
And scarlet sea.

Temptation poised elegantly,
Voluptuous and venomous.
Transparent, encased in a buoyant bubble.

Pinched skin, red from the sting.
Whether or not this is real, I know not.
I follow the stars,
Into inky oblivion.

Voices, patterns,
People like manikins.
Movie figures,
Chasing another desperately.

Without passion, drive, or desire,
They are going through the motions.
There is nothing in their way,
No obstacle to overcome.
Continue reading...
David Betten Oct 2016
The Floral War 1:3:4-31
ALVARADO
            Yes, raise the curtain of this maiden world!
            Now, shall we find the halls of El Dorado,
            Where princes make an almshouse of their mines,
            And paupers plate their lumber-shacks with gold.
            
SANDOVAL
            See where the jungle frowns against the shore:
            A burial-ground of bright, backwater wealth.
            Might there the Seven Enchanted Cities lie,
            Where opals roll like pebbles in a brook?

                                    Enter ESCUDERO.

ESCUDERO
            My failing eyes still seek the Fount of Youth.
            What waste is it to search for sixty years
            When one charmed beverage shall reset my clock?
            If I should find this spring, then- like Apollo-
            I’d shrug at heaven’s everlasting souls,
            And strut till doomsday on a deathless earth.
          
                             Enter MARÍA DE ESTRADA and GARRIDO.
            
MARÍA DE ESTRADA
            A premiere world!

GARRIDO                         The theme of long-lost songs.

MARÍA DE ESTRADA
            Are there tall tribes of savage Amazons,
            Who bend their husky bows with coppery arms,
            And lop their milkless ******* to aid their aim?

GARRIDO
            Are there foul-featured men- if men they be-
            Whose ox-like trunk supports two partnered heads?
            Or, floppy-eared and dog-faced manikins,
            Who live (they say) on but the scent of blooms?
            And yet, if in this thicket dwell such men
            As dark as they who cheered me at my birth,
            We’ll call you Spanish but a schoolboy’s tale.
            And what a pretty picture that will make!

ALVARADO
            Cortés alights!

SANDOVAL                    All silent for Cortés!
#iambicpentameter
Continue reading...
L Seagull Aug 2017
Panic attack
In a momentary haze your mind spins
It droops and falls helpless into a vortex of
Smallness insignificant cold uncaring lonely
Smallness of the day when everything big
Either hurt, or used or didn't bother
It knocks the air out of your lungs that suddenly
Have no cause for breathing for why waste the
Precious oxygen? Yet you inhale in quick desperate gulps
And the ground slips from under your feet
It's all pointless - to save yourself, to seek help, to go on
Too small too emptied and filthy with their intentions
In tension with the needs needs needs...
The hopes that you found suitable for fire setting  
Pointless naive stupid hopes
So hatable you demolish them at once
Into waste under worthless sign
Forget the pain whatever it takes
It left you with blisters and hanging shoulders
With your chin tucked underneath your
Self-worth and you are not walking you are
Dragging yourself along the path
In the direction of pointless consumerism
And fame fame fame is all you wish, its all you hear
It's all you know of care because it's all that keeps them around
Them the faceless the soulless manikins that
Seem to have something you don't
Those hatable bodies that fill up the space
Around your black hole
And you fall and you fall and you fall
And all the things you have don't make you happy
And praise or kindness makes you paranoid
And you take all these little tablets of oblivion
Together in one gulp to forget
Just how far you still are from where you
Wish... if only you could wish to be
There was a choice somewhere in there, made every day for the sake of weakness to fight
Continue reading...
nivek Oct 2014
Feed Us
the manikins have walked out of the shop display
striding across the road not waiting for the traffic to stop
their eyes are unseeing and their legs are long
while their stomachs are ravenous they break into the burger shop
and then puke it all up on the pavements outside.
the perfect waist, corsets will be back in fashion soon
Continue reading...
Lil K-1 Apr 2017
A Bit of the Pressure
I ask questions
I can mind my business
My nose has strong sent
That doesn't mean I have to hunt for realist
...
Some people make the realist prohibit
So models are manikins now
The category of the fakest description
...
Checking phones
To see who's on
Hiding things from people who try to stay for very long
Never spoke words of it
Until they dead and gone
Hearing heart beat going slow
Like its a controlled metronome
...
I mean
Getting stab by a friend
Now a days seems cool
Even getting shot
And to live you had to hide
So i hid in water
And start drowning in a pool
Not knowing what to do
....
Every step I take makes wonder if I can trust you too
Continue reading...

— The End —