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"meriting" poems
Emergent and forming I feel a storm is imploring that soon without any warning you beg to cross a line Every time, nothing is sacred but sacramental complacence is marked as roles of the shameless Mean to skip a line another time? Is this too rough and obtuse for a cutie like you to boost the power line? Number 9, completion is power and stricken chords every hour proceed to timeline devour those daily entities I do decree that opposition to me is free and withered beatings to meetings, detours and dealings understanding demands of variable plans is held by the hand that feeds the depleted need I see it from every angle, the tangle, the multishifted frame though it dangles, I can't be stuck in my own head when I see the reflections of me in the treasure it jangles, brings into focus where my head fell to float in the moments set to wrangle, pull it in, dwell upon the good and discard where it hampers new fangled notions like truth effusions of love and devotion are swallowed up in the daily ocean of noise traffic, the more verbose, Graphic dispatches matches blasted disasters dashed and rash past distractions amass magic attacks balanced Secular motion entwined with metaphysical potions, divided what is your quotient? It doesn't add up in this moment. Interpersonal, intergalactic, universal assertions disturbed by verbage of outrance Message mismanaged mischief mallaeble mayhem managed maganamously mallicous mannered when I would proclaim them. Members materialized meriting masturbatory movements and monetized malappropriation I have no patience nor pathos for indiscriminant egos demonstrating a tangent as canon and paralyzing progressions toward psychic visions of heaven, eyes as the cosmos, and pressures upended. I'll cope with associations disastrous and tainted, but keep in my visage all that scratches my lenses I know far too much to be content with the situation, but far too little to shatter falsehood's intitiation
0
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
Dammed Stream of Consciousness
Emergent and forming I feel a storm is imploring that soon without any warning you beg to cross a line Every time, nothing is sacred but sacramental complacence is marked as roles of the shameless Mean to skip a line another time? Is this too rough and obtuse for a cutie like you to boost the power line? Number 9, completion is power and stricken chords every hour proceed to timeline devour those daily entities I do decree that opposition to me is free and withered beatings to meetings, detours and dealings understanding demands of variable plans is held by the hand that feeds the depleted need I see it from every angle, the tangle, the multishifted frame though it dangles, I can't be stuck in my own head when I see the reflections of me in the treasure it jangles, brings into focus where my head fell to float in the moments set to wrangle, pull it in, dwell upon the good and discard where it hampers new fangled notions like truth effusions of love and devotion are swallowed up in the daily ocean of noise traffic, the more verbose, Graphic dispatches matches blasted disasters dashed and rash past distractions amass magic attacks balanced Secular motion entwined with metaphysical potions, divided what is your quotient? It doesn't add up in this moment. Interpersonal, intergalactic, universal assertions disturbed by verbage of outrance Message mismanaged mischief mallaeble mayhem managed maganamously mallicous mannered when I would proclaim them. Members materialized meriting masturbatory movements and monetized malappropriation I have no patience nor pathos for indiscriminant egos demonstrating a tangent as canon and paralyzing progressions toward psychic visions of heaven, eyes as the cosmos, and pressures upended. I'll cope with associations disastrous and tainted, but keep in my visage all that scratches my lenses I know far too much to be content with the situation, but far too little to shatter falsehood's intitiation
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I've wondered how it is you truly feel A little voice whispering "This can't be real" These obstacles close appear too large to see around Viewing from a distance a detour is found Questions fly back and forth thrown as darts Aim but never hit the right body parts Always quick riling Slow repair Running circles barefoot Your shoes I cannot wear Through deserts and oceans continue to trudge Hold hand all the while Gradually building a grudge My attempts to please you all fall short I fail to contribute or submit too vague a report Head hurting from the flaws I have to fix Given the choice I'd never pick words over sticks Because sentences weigh more than stones could What you speak seldom leaves me feeling good So you paint my imperfections like a mural on the wall Makes me want to do the opposite and not deal with them at all How many mistakes until finally you snap and go Realize the fact that I realized long ago That I am not meriting the effort you put in And components are irreversibly broken within That more time and energy probably are a waste The middle of your heart no longer for me holds a place
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Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 11:04 PM UTC
This Can't Be Real