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Mark Lecuona Nov 2015
The hypnotic affecting extremism at its apogee paused to smoke a
cigarette while the fulcrum groaned as the smoke gave warning that
the night  ended and the long day ahead was about to begin; as it
began hurtling downward, flicking the still glowing **** aside, like
so many grim-faced hotel rooms, oddly black and white in a world
that can only imagine rainbows, it’s message gaining momentum
while opposing forces, raging at the loss of its friction on the public
consciousness, braced itself as its stomach churned because the
bottom had fallen out of its idealistic pilgrimage; the survival of
good conversation, a flowing flute, bottled wine with old corks
never seemed to concern itself with the lack of compromise; it
was only the death of pay phones and taxis, like a miscarriage,
creating momentary pause, that remembered what it was like to
once matter only to be abandoned because life is only about how
arrogance, no matter its source, vicarious or self-induced, a tooth-
pick in its mouth, unimpressed because cynicism held tightly to
the rope, swinging it, not out of convenience, but because it
enjoys toying with outrage, unsentimental, bored with itself and
in need of a ticket for the show; while a poet looked on, consumed
with right and wrong; whether to be a pacifist or a realist, to be
patriotic or humanistic no matter nationality, to be the writer
or the book, to accept that evil must be vanquished or to merely
lament the human condition; he knew the love of beautiful words
meant nothing to a world on fire; to a hit man trying to finish
what he first shot was unable; to a poor man sleeping under the
thin blanket of speeches and promises; to a child, terrified by
blinding light and deafening explosions; only the mindless
idealist could love these words, yet was it truth or was it only
a selfishly clever principle that pointed in one direction no
matter yesterday’s accusations that became todays justification;
would it be that he cast aside contemplation for his own gun;
to become the killer or the hand that turns off the sound of the
montone ekg, so that the world might not be aware of the
necessary evil of killing evil; but what would truth say as the
pendulum races past prudence, towards an equilibrium not
in balance with virtue but instead with revenge and opportunism;
what should he say about that; who would listen to his blood
stained pen, witness of his own atrocities, killing his own
voice, once full of peaceful assurance about the good within
the hearts of men; who would listen to the shrugging shoulders
of a rebuilt poem, to be told to children and those who wish
to think of the things that powerful men destroy as history
has always insisted must be so; who would listen to the naïve
man who had a way of arranging emotions at will; who would
listen as another hypnotically extreme apogee lit another cold
hearted cigarette, without a filter, because what would be the
point of that; there was none; decency could not survive hell
and its lungs could not survive the slow death anyway;  it
became a matter of feeling the fire from the inside, so that the
words meant something to somebody because they would
know that a life of pain was the only way to reach the point
of meaning; a sort of constant face full of inspiration as he
took his seat next to the fulcrum that remained alone, unable
to speak because nobody cared to listen or reason anymore;
it didn’t seem to matter; only that beautiful words had to live
live for itself and for those who wanted to feel that way for
a moment; but he knew, that lies and compromises lived
silently, because flowers do not grow in desert sand and a
poet who closes his eyes is like a baby with a rattle in its hand
Axel Apr 2015
Morning vapors creep through every nook and split.

An infusion of rust and what once was...

Montone drumming of morning sickness.

4 chairs, one occupied the other 3 forgotten.


Nothing but white noise... and blank dots.

Fatal infatuation with the delusional abominations

shed out of the womb of the spirit.


bloodshot eyes clawing their stare into the walls..

Fingertips tasting the past as they caress your lifeless body.

What about the children? Our children?

My nostrils feel the warmth...

And the smell of decomposed remains...


My head creaks down and my sight drowns in the pool of blackness i see in a cup...

Simultaenously comes a laugh and a cry..

At some point all life will die...

The blackness gazes further into me.. and i drink

from my cup of coffee...

Black, no sugar, no milk...

For there are no things to make something sweet....

Sweeten the blackness... that grew inside her....

Inside our children....

And i realise my hands are stained with sin....

And i feel this same blackness... this cancer....

growing within...


I sip my coffee...

Black, no sugar and no milk...
cranberry Jan 2021
i didn't mean to-
sorry
oh
sorry
i dont know
sorry
i cant
sorry
sorry
sorry
             i say it so much it starts to mush
to  blend
to become montone
bleh
Lynette Jul 2018
Looking through my warm brown eyes
All I see is Grey
Steely cold and lacking
I sleep the day away

I want to see the lapis sky
The leaves so evergreen
But the lenses that I see through
Wash out the color scheme

My days are grey as are my nights
No indigo, twinkling sky-
My world is ever-montone
My secret wish to die.

No pill will ever cure this
No psychothera-py
I was born with grey colored glasses
This is who I be.
Megan Yocom Feb 2018
U don't wanna hear me
You don't wanna listen
I scream into the air
But no one cares
I say montone I'm fine
Why can't you just pretend u care
Why do I have to seek others to help me feel ok.
You won't listen you rather everything be exactly the same.
Do the bare minimum to pacify the people you say you love.
Rage fills me that I should be able to lean on you for support.
But I lean and fall to the ground.
I pick myself up time and time again as I try to be vunerable for you.
You push me to be vunerable with u but u don't support me when I do.
It's just a hassle.
You sigh you droop your shoulders ignore my pain...
Act like it's Burden.
I will go to someone else that will listen to me at least.
Why can't I lean on u. I thought that's one of the benefit of being a team?
We are supposed to.
Once again I lay shattered on the floor like a fragile peace of China.
It's ok cuz you are teaching me to be ok without u.
I will pick myself up.
I will glue myself together.
Just know each time I do it myself I am further from ur grasp.
Not hat you are required to just wish u we're there to at least cheer me on.
You ignore me u act like my promblems aren't worth ur time.
I'll make it to where you ain't worth mine.
I don't need anyone.
I am stronger by myself.
I survived years of torment by myself.
It is easier to survive by myself.
I may be shattered China but you will be the fool to drop me.
The fool to watch me grow into something beautiful that won't want you anymore because I needed u to listen and you wouldn't.
alexa Feb 2018
i waltzed at night
with my deepest fears,
soaking the air
with my salty tears.

what a glorious day
to fall apart,
seen the world through kaleidoscopes
at the tearing in my heart.

a valley of ominous
and secret minds alike
i feel the stable beat of my heart
spike.

the water pours on my body,
drowning me in despair.
i lived for love
but sadly, love is no longer there.

so the colors muddle together,
a montone grey paints the scene.
the skeleton bones of my heart
have long since been pristine.

as the concrete walls close in on me,
once and for all,
i just can't believe
i ever let myself fall.

— The End —