"middlemist" poems
It all made sense now, the road map of my demise.
You could've **** me with your longing heart.
How could you let a broken painting get in the way?
How could you presume, a friendly rapport was feigned?
Why did you have to wait, till the dam can contain it no more?
I felt fate yanked my heart's strings, tangling it.
My brain, rupturing from the cruel deductions.
Tormented cranium—screws gouging out of it.
It all made sense now. Anger draws me towards retaliation. However, I choose not to bear arms; forgivness cries out.
I sever my hand against you, for I will not let this get in the way of our longing for each other.
I abhor hatred against you, because our sweet memories overwhelmed me; because I love you.
My exquisite geyserite, blossoming middlemist, and my Alma mater. I have never forgotten you, I never did—I never will.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
something that being resented
being looked at as a dirt
saying it's a living curse
No love, Only hate
but One
at least One
rare as middlemist red
will come and conquer every pain
from Hate to Love
burn every wounds
still Painful but Beautiful
as a rainbow shines after storm
in the end
abomination will soon breathe again
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 7:18 AM UTC
A spark
screaming cries of a newborn,
it is given skin that can be
remade or destroyed.
Man opens its mouth
muttering from its lips
that is forced into our canvas--
labels, beliefs,
aesthetics, morality,
culture, and flavor.
Most stand on this layer,
not know what may
be below our comfortable heels.
When man becomes curious,
the layer fades slowly,
as we fall.
Laws, materials,
perspectives, awareness,
theories, and religions.
This is the layer where most of us--
are comfortable,
yet we fear what may be below us.
When man becomes critical,
the air feels suffocating
to the point our feet
feel the sweat
that comes from the skin.
The layers fades slowly
as we fall.
Self, i,
conscious, subconscious,
desire, and ideals.
This layer is full of
echoing screams of despair.
Below us is what truly trembles
one's soul,
one's realm,
one's given meaning,
and one's identity.
When man becomes unusual,
a middlemist red blooming in isolation,
the layer fades slowly
as we fall.
Nothing,-
but a lonely man
in a small collective chamber.
We only have the choice to either;
fade away to the end,
stay in the absurd,
or create out of raw energy.
There is no noise,
no man's truth,
no sunshine,
and no home.
Above all is what was created by man.
There is only a
naked space that spews fear at us,
so harsh and cruel that we try to stay above it
as a way to escape from it;
wrap it in lies,
or stare at it.
And yet here,
something still follows us,
something that we carry within us,
the core that made us man,
our emotions that remain within,
experiences that pass through our senses,
memories that live like bubbles,
nature that gives us warmth that arrived long before us,
beauty that we tell from our eyes and how we feel,
harmony that keeps us together through a zigzag string,
and love, which enables all and make us go coo-coo.
Bit by bit,
the void reveals countless meanings
that are above the bottom.
The ones, that have existed, or are reshaping and reforming,
the ones, that keeps us alive,
the ones, that truly makes us,-
fear death itself--
unless numbed.
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 7:42 PM UTC