"papper" poems
When I look into the moon I see the only dependent part of me that still exists. Its as if the silence in her vocal cords spoke words of solitude. I gave her the only bio mechanical part of me that mattered.
The gears in my chest keep turning like clock work.
I count seconds into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into days. I keep thinking time is standing still while im still standing still.
I'm waiting, waiting on patience and as unjustified as it sounds I'm impatient. Dreams are just your natural thoughts heavily sedated, a sub-conscious reality based off the feelings we cant display them.
I don't consider myself a writer, I see the constant flow of words and as a kid it left me inspired. I'm more of the sub concious reality type. I drink coffee and outside of that I really don't have a life.
For me writing is self exspression without being judged by others.
I opinionate my feelings and organize them in ink. The papper is my empty canvas, my thoughts are my judgment, and the pen is the deliverer.
Sometimes writing is the only thing that can stitch my wounds, like the words curved inside my brain penetrating like the needlesof a tattoo. I wonder what will become me, in what paradox will I redeem the sum of me?
I just hope this bio mechanical heart ticks away. I hope people continue to be people with different mindsets and open steeples. I want love to be found and dreams to be created.
Kalvin Moon
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
i remember days smoking cotton candy blue rollin papper j's
while always rockin my fitted cap forever tpronto blue jays
taking my last shot of golshlager
just as how robert frost iterated nothing gold can stay
14 in a deep depression my family said was just a fase they said its probibly because i dont see enough sun rays go outside today but in my mind i was trapped looking out and others laughed lookin in seperated by the impassible glass
finding little pills to snort the pain away at 14 i could allready finish n eigths of gin by now a forty at a party is only where i begin finishing more *** till the room spins on my face only n empty grin learning the joke, how could anyone love me when underneath my clothes im covered in cuts skin deep to symbolize the cracks in my soul and sanity baneith
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
i remember days smoking cotton candy blue rollin papper j's
while always rockin my fitted cap forever tpronto blue jays
taking my last shot of golshlager
just as how robert frost iterated nothing gold can stay
14 in a deep depression my family said was just a fase they said its probibly because i dont see enough sun rays go outside today but in my mind i was trapped looking out and others laughed lookin in seperated by the impassible glass
finding little pills to snort the pain away at 14 i could allready finish n eigths of gin by now a forty at a party is only where i begin finishing more *** till the room spins on my face only n empty grin learning the joke, how could anyone love me when underneath my clothes im covered in cuts skin deep to symbolize the cracks in my soul and sanity baneith
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
Sitting in the schoolbench
alone in this room
filled with familiar unfamiliar faces
Never talking
always noise
always watching very close
listening to these speeches
Bleeding my arms
insanity lies in the corner of this room
and it crawls closer to me
tick... tick.. tick..
seconds aren't what they seem
hours aren't real
time is a illusion in this room
Only the ritual
pen on papper
writing numbers
writing letters that don't make words
No drawings
No poems
Yes sir
No madam
tick... tick... tick
Over and over again
bell goes
new place
same ritual
numbers
letters
no creativity
is seen in here
alone I sit
with my clasmates
doing the same ritual
that they call fun
what they call
School
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
It's only in the hours when it where's off i realize it's leaving me.
I cling but the spark is gone.
Im inspired more by destrution than words.
Your reading the next.
And as you grasp what I say can you fathom what I dont?
Is it so hard to reconize a ending?
Are the bad jokes far from my real truths?
Have I found my edge or just slipped over it?
Part of us has to understand it will fade sooner for some than others.
From thought to papper it's a dangerous road travelled .
and often there's no clear direction.
Ive burnt out my senses now im wasted in excess.
A victim of my own wreckless reason.
It's always there in the sense of a final chapters twisted close.
Im a empty lot in the winter.
A cliffnote to a once well read book.
Now just fodder for few still brave enough
to walk along the overgrown path.
Addiction is something you can hide from few
let alone yourself.
I hope the mind can create a final chapter.
But my thoughts seem bent on a open ending.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 6:43 AM UTC
Shattered glass on the floor.
Broken dreams splattered against the wall.
Many can't see all their words touch.
Sometimes they heal,
Often they shatter at the ears.
Bits of papper scattered upon the bed.
Tortured words stain the sheets.
Tread lightly, speak softer.
Each words a gift,
And a curse
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 8:19 PM UTC
En del av något
Som gör det hel
En sak utan stort värde
Om det står ensam
En cell utanför en organism
En krydda före en måltid
En tegelsten utanför en vägg
Ett faktum utan vetenskap
Element finns överallt
De formar allt vi känner till
Från atomer till universumet
Från likgiltighet till kärleken
De är orsaken bakom livet
Resultatet av döden
Det finns så mycket att prata om
Jag har inte tillräckligt med papper
De andra elementen kommer stanna kvar
I mitt huvud tills de flyr
Gradvis igenom mina fingrar
Om få sekonder eller några minuter
Få timmar eller några dagar
De kommande orden kommer försvinna
Nedanför en ogenomskinlig filt
Tills jag kommer tillbaka
Och slår åter tangenterna|
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:46 AM UTC