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Jonny Angel Jul 2014
I enjoyed the work I did,
'cause those bearded-guys
were some serious *******,
constructing high explosives
& placing them near roadsides,
then detonating them
for maximum carnage,
to spill some serious blood.

Oh how I loved working at night,
especially those overcast nights
where I drew beads
with nightvision
& did some exploding of my own,
busted a lot of skulls.

Ya see, I could be a serious *******,
too.
And I was serious,
as serious as cancer.
I was the consummate
silent killer,
so effective,
they called me
"Mister Pathogen **"
& death I did spread.
A character poem written about a guy I knew.
There was a town beyond the woods,
Ne’er there any water stood,
Alas, a Well, of the purest kind,
The aquifer under, is here described,
Beyond a thousand gallons under
The diamond-esque rubble and sunder.
But one bucket, at but one time,
Kind, the town, taking turns of rhyme,
This essence, used to bathe and cook,
To drink, to create, a cozy nook.
-
The happy town, the gorgeous shire,
The crops grown there as green as Ire,
No law exists, they live but civilly,
A fetching, quiet community,
But always there exists a one,
Who would want power, want this undone,
So it was said regretfully,
Poisoned their Well, emotionless he.
-
Now this village was quite secluded,
No one not there born, ne’er intruded,
Deep in the forest, behind a mountain,
Over a peak, under a cloudy curtain,
It existed in secret and abolition,
And one did seek its demolition,
Knowing the only flaw to here exist,
The essence of life, no man resists.
-
He crept at night, while the guard did sleep,
Promising the pure water to weep,
Dropping the genocide with bucket and crane,
Releasing its Demonic Alchemic Strain,
The Well did hiss as the poison moaned,
Recoiling at this unwanted drone,
The assailant then brought to his steady lips,
A cup and was first to take Devil’s Kiss.
-
On the morrow of the mentioned crime,
Busy bodies awoke to start the day’s time,
Queuing at bucket and awaiting turns,
Each family there a portion yearned,
Not one did from the water strafe,
Each then bathed, then drank, unsafe,
No one could tell different taste,
Water is water, but not today.
-
The plague did start like any disease,
Sore throat, fever, stopped nose, displeased,
The people sought the witchdoctor,
But he from bed, would rise no longer,
He caught ill too, and wouldn’t budge,
Afraid for his life, afraid of this grudge,
He knew this sickness, had heard before,
But told no one, the end was sure.
-
In a week, vomiting and nausea,
Nasal passages sealed, no nostalgia
Brought to memory of any like sickness,
The virus brought about decrepit afflictions,
But slowly and steady, worse and worse,
The people became, some saw the course
But kept silent, to avoid alerting,
The so many children in need of comforting.
-
In two weeks’ time, the pathogen,
Had taken wits of sensible men,
At night, they screamed in somber fright,
Their deepest fears, real now, and bright,
The lutes died out, the bards not singing,
An unfortunate time, but this was only beginning.
-
Fingernails rotting off at the cuticle,
Too much blood for any receptacle,
Leprositic, the fingers came next,
One by one, extremities hexed,
Children lost their legs to run,
From mothers’ faces rotted, undone,
In every other step, heard were bones breaking,
Kneecaps cracked open, shins splintering,
Eyes turned cadaverous, awake, but not seeing,
Cataracts formed, blinded from viral being,
In cradles were witnessed toddlers there suffering,
Their mothers watched with empty sockets, but listening
To the cries impossible to stifle,
The pain too much for these tiny disciples.
The dogs normally to their masters zealous,
Became of them mortally jealous.
They bit the hands that fed them well,
For watering them from the cryptic Well.
Men watched their sons dive right under,
The bridge that harnessed a valley of blunder
Hundreds of feet above sharp rocks and stumps,
Their namesakes leaped, impaled in clumps,
For those lucky enough to still have eyes,
Cried tears of acid for images despised
Sickness was spewed upon the walls,
Entrails adorned the Gathering Halls,
Some had turned to mutilation,
Blood-letting for some, abomination,
Some crazed enough to “cure” themselves,
Clawed throat and stomach til flesh dissolved,
Some rich with elixir tried to embezzle,
Upon some of the poor, tired and grizzled,
Riot broke out amongst the walking dead
Fortune or lack of, irrelevant,
Black pustules broke out that looked Bubonic,
But the cure for that failed, how ironic,
That it rather hastened the steadfast curse,
Faster than iambic verse,
Molecules turned to embryo,
Rising like a great Pharaoh,
They became flesh parasites,
Taking internal organs, slow and precise,
They started with the liver and spleen,
So there lasted hours of wretched screams,
The intestines of some would close and then
Becoming septic, they passed, bile in stem,
A few had throats seeming cauterized,
Friends watched friends closest, strangle alive,
There were in fact, some optimists,
Among them, talk of being “rid of this”,
They too died while clutching life,
Endeavoring their eternal flight,
From noses, there dripped blackened murk,
Thicker than combined oil and dirt,
It then secreted as sweat from all pores,
Fatigue then struck those left to the floor.
Upon broken knees some prayed,
Usually the skin under ribs was flayed,
Trying to understand what went wrong,
Dissecting the dead was not headstrong,
It only furthered viral progression,
The open corpses breathing infection,
The cadavers would move still, the fleshbugs active,
The horror of lifeless movement, corrosive,
The minds of the weak, it pure happenstance,
One found eating dead flesh for a cure, no chance.
All in all, this lingering curiosity,
Provided once good people with animosity,
One man turned good people to hate,
Their neighbors in ways that were irate.
-
The chaos was not anarchy,
For, as I said,
It was civilly,
But verily, I do decree,
That no one knew such misery,
The inhabitants of this village,
Did not suspect innocent visage,
Or perhaps, their cherished Well.
To be culprit behind this hell
So they drank and drank to remedy,
To recompense this malady,
To no avail did blood get thicker,
Alas, they got but sicker and sicker.
-
This hell, the townsfolk then realized,
Wouldn’t end til they all were nullified,
Eliminated they were, eradicated at that,
This pathogenic virus had verily spat
In the faces of the people here,
Decimated they were, not quenching their fear,
Murdered they were by a systematic
Suicidal psychopathic,
Inflamed in the mind of darkness thereafter,
Only satisfied by his own laughter.
Not many, til now, know of this town,
From lowly peasant, to “Godly” Crown.
An explorer found the deserted hamlet,
Body parts and questions then found the hermit,
He had heard of a town like this, he wrote:
“It was a new age Roanoke…”
But the village, not a town to cause commotion,
All that was left of them, a tree scratched, “CROATOAN”.
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
O my darling patient,
I want to be your disease,
make you break out in a sweat,
heat your blood to a high fever,
make you flood slick ****** fluids,
itch your pretty skin with desire.

O please my darling patient,
let me inject you
with my serum,
it's a special antidote
meant to make
you feel better,
get wetter than wet.
Light flanks the snowbanks
my memory thanks the simple soundscapes
of textures closing in
as walls and ceilings
and snow and sleet

We can blame the weather
but we'll be here forever
cursing ourselves
mid-stride

Stopping motion
mid-explosion

a simple thank you from the
particles we've denied

All things moving outward

The molten core of earth
Our mother

Chaos empty space
Our father


     Standing, surrendering.
        The weather tethers at my veins.
     Pushing.   Pulling.
             My emotions run high with the hopes of a new sunrise.

     Guide me,
          show me,
                 lead me to the holy water you sip like its never ending.
     Show me the truth behind every iris that passes my curious glance.
          Breathe in this cold sterile air while we dream of something tangible...

     Strange winds come on strong in the heart of the mislead, the outskirts.
                We thrive on the untouched surfaces of the mind..
           We breathe in the discomfort...



This is the nothing substance
I'm looking for

Seeking ever leaking truth
of faucet water too heavy

Minerals come to life
and return to the ground
in the instant of
midair waterfall

Weightless feeling fateless
determining the future
on solid ground grasses
fishing baitless

naked sameness

emotion

motion

ion

on


     Seeking direction in the wake of misdirected affection.
                                                     Faulting to the backbone of habits.

     Falling faster, I pause in the balance catching my breathe.
                                         I inhale everything surrounding my mind.
                         Exhaling all my simple poisons.
     A detox of wandering souls and singular holes.
     Eating.    Feeding.    Breeding.
             Filling all this space for all those after me.

     Fill me.
        Fulfill me.
     Accept the darkest crevasses of this mind.
                                                  I still turn a silent shy cheek...



Sea oh double
em oh en

Common ground
from the firmament I send

Confusion permanent
in an ocean

Oh see an end

Painless drifting aimless
seeking searching
for the seam
into which this world
is born

The lifeseeking thread that never ends

The bloodborne
pathogen

Of caring void
and emptiness

Caress you like a stone

Forever there

In the loveliness
of human hair

Saying, I was there

When emotion became
the firm ground
never sinking

Thinking of the way out
but never escaping

Mountains around
an ever growing feeling


     Drifting aimlessly into the empty serenity you present so pleasantly.
              Once again I slide further from comfort and balance...
                     Feeding off any sense of insecurity.
                            Craving that whole duality of my circumstance...

           I keep treading the muddy waters I choose.
     My body gets trapped in the
                                     sticky egos and messing misunderstandings,
                                                                                         in which everyone laughs away.

     I'll schlep the dirt from my soul and shine light once more.
            Exhausted and tried.

                                      Ill shine...



Your light
is not lost to
my dilated eyes


     It's lost in my own lost hope of withering dreams and lost star seeds.
            It falls away in every cold shake I make within whiskey's withdrawal.
                 It fades away in the simple staggers I make and unfulfilled chances I take.

     But, not all is lost.

     I still keep this little light of mine.
     I still let this light shine.

     I'm just a little more aware of the spaces it awakens and the souls it helps take in.
  
          It's ever shifting in this cosmic wake, it hides, it shies, it cries.
                    Like me, it knows when to pipe the **** down and listen to the world.
        Listen to everything it allows.

     It hears souls like you.
                                 It feeds me.



Feedback,
I've got my need back

Shaking like a lovesick
fiend

On every letter of your speech

I'll filter this wormhole
off kilter
into every relationship
in front of my eyes

Until we meet again,

I won't stop telling stories
of jackals speaking english

To fetch our sweet meat
from top shelves
and ruins

Blue and bruised
flesh alludes
to stories unspoken

and broken glass
dreams of unity

Bottle falls

Slow motion

It all seems
like a dream
in endless blue
love tokens
"It's how we communicate."
Amanda Blomquist Apr 2013
Dustin
     Amanda

Light flanks the snowbanks
my memory thanks the simple soundscapes
of textures closing in
as walls and ceilings
and snow and sleet

We can blame the weather
but we'll be here forever
cursing ourselves
mid-stride

Stopping motion
mid-explosion

a simple thank you from the
particles we've denied

All things moving outward

The molten core of earth
Our mother

Chaos empty space
Our father


     Standing, surrendering.
        The weather tethers at my veins.
     Pushing.   Pulling.
             My emotions run high with the hopes of a new sunrise.

     Guide me,
          show me,
                 lead me to the holy water you sip like its never ending.
     Show me the truth behind every iris that passes my curious glance.
          Breathe in this cold sterile air while we dream of something tangible...

     Strange winds come on strong in the heart of the mislead, the outskirts.
                We thrive on the untouched surfaces of the mind..
           We breathe in the discomfort...



This is the nothing substance
I'm looking for

Seeking ever leaking truth
of faucet water too heavy

Minerals come to life
and return to the ground
in the instant of
midair waterfall

Weightless feeling fateless
determining the future
on solid ground grasses
fishing baitless

naked sameness

emotion

motion

ion

on


     Seeking direction in the wake of misdirected affection.
                                                     Faulting to the backbone of habits.

     Falling faster, I pause in the balance catching my breathe.
                                         I inhale everything surrounding my mind.
                         Exhaling all my simple poisons.
     A detox of wandering souls and singular holes.
     Eating.    Feeding.    Breeding.
             Filling all this space for all those after me.

     Fill me.
        Fulfill me.
     Accept the darkest crevasses of this mind.
                                                  I still turn a silent shy cheek...



Sea oh double
em oh en

Common ground
from the firmament I send

Confusion permanent
in an ocean

Oh see an end

Painless drifting aimless
seeking searching
for the seam
into which this world
is born

The lifeseeking thread that never ends

The bloodborne
pathogen

Of caring void
and emptiness

Caress you like a stone

Forever there

In the loveliness
of human hair

Saying, I was there

When emotion became
the firm ground
never sinking

Thinking of the way out
but never escaping

Mountains around
an ever growing feeling


     Drifting aimlessly into the empty serenity you present so pleasantly.
              Once again I slide further from comfort and balance...
                     Feeding off any sense of insecurity.
                            Craving that whole duality of my circumstance...

           I keep treading the muddy waters I choose.
     My body gets trapped in the
                                     sticky egos and messing misunderstandings,
                                                                                         in which everyone laughs away.

     I'll schlep the dirt from my soul and shine light once more.
            Exhausted and tried.

                                      Ill shine...



Your light
is not lost to
my dilated eyes


     It's lost in my own lost hope of withering dreams and lost star seeds.
            It falls away in every cold shake I make within whiskey's withdrawal.
                 It fades away in the simple staggers I make and unfulfilled chances I take.

     But, not all is lost.

     I still keep this little light of mine.
     I still let this light shine.

     I'm just a little more aware of the spaces it awakens and the souls it helps take in.
   
          It's ever shifting in this cosmic wake, it hides, it shies, it cries.
                    Like me, it knows when to pipe the **** down and listen to the world.
        Listen to everything it allows.

     It hears souls like you.
                                 It feeds me.



Feedback,
I've got my need back

Shaking like a lovesick
fiend

On every letter of your speech

I'll filter this wormhole
off kilter
into every relationship
in front of my eyes

Until we meet again,

I won't stop telling stories
of jackals speaking english

To fetch our sweet meat
from top shelves
and ruins

Blue and bruised
flesh alludes
to stories unspoken

and broken glass
dreams of unity

Bottle falls

Slow motion

It all seems
like a dream
in endless blue
love tokens
This is a texting duet between me and Dustin at 3AM, its how we communicate.
Niyati Jun 2020
They always said 'Time changes things',
But this time 'submicroscopic infectious agent' changed everything.

Coffee at workstations, Hugging your close ones,
Your favorite pastimes, News channel's headlines,
Everything was changed in a blink,
Even before you could think.

No more you had a predetermined work-schedule,
And you were forced to cancel your tour.
Places to worship were shut,
And no restaurants were open to contaminate your gut.

But this pathogen has taught us some life lessons:
Family and relations are the most precious possessions,
Solitary confinement can bring in transformations,
We must value whatever we have on our plate,
We need to preach 'Humanity' and not hate.
Almighty has power to change everything that you have planned,
Humans, who considered themselves as 'Monarch of Mother Earth', are self banned.

This novel virus has killed many and has shut millions more inside with fear as their companion,
Its time to understand the value of compassion.

Yes, time has changed.
With locust band had moving in,
Cyclones devastating cities,
And humans losing their humanity.

Though this year has not turned the way we wanted,
But it has taught us great lessons for taking everything 'for granted'.
bleh Jan 2016
(not a poem i guess but eh)




Space keeps falling to the sides. I try to concentrate, - I mean, I make a token effort every now and again,- but concentration, fixation is always in terms of something external, something I'm not sure I can deal with.  I roll over and go back to sleep.



'Where's the flour?'
'Where you left it.'
'Which is where?'
'On the table. What you want it for anyway?'
'Which table?'
'Haha. The generic maple with the ugly-*** spandrels. What are you making?'
'You think we could afford that? Nah, it's like, faux-pine or some ****. And like muffins.'
'Oh good, there's banan's that need using up'
'No no, like, other muffins. Crumpets and such. Got any golden syrup?'
'I think there's some maple.'
'No, it's like, ply, I swear.'



I haven't moved in days. I need to. He'll come eventually and I don't want him to see me like this. Plus, I need to locate that smell. I can't have guests over with it here. I'm just not sure where it is though. I  feel like it's on my left arm when I’m in the middle of the room, but off to the right everywhere else. It's.. acerbic, but fermenting, like vegetables on the onset of rot but not quite there yet. Not that I know; I haven't moved in days. I don't want to smell it again. Also garlic, definitely garlic.



We visited the inland sea the other day. The hundred years since last time hadn't changed it one bit. The beached clay was brittle under the midday sun, and the cracking footsteps fragmented it into a hundred hexagons.
               'I hear a strain of the pathogen is airborne. It's only a matter of time now'
A group of tourists park up by the shore. A child holds out their arms and runs in small circles.



The corridor keeps flashing. And maybe spinning. It's hard to tell, the colour change starts at a different point each time and there's no discernible rhythm to it. You keep pacing up and down. I feel self conscious that you want to leave, but then again, you did show up unannounced. You shake the snowglobe disinterestedly. The fragments burn like molten static.
'Stop that. I feel like I’m vomiting spiders.'
'You're being dramatic.'
'None the less.'
'Don't worry; you'll get through it. The world is transitioning, and this is just motion sickness.'
'I know that, I didn't say I was worried, I said I wanted it to stop.'

'sorry'



We'd always go for a walk at night if we felt we needed to talk. It was an unwritten rule. The veil of amber filter let our more timid thoughts breath in the nebulous darkness. Stark daylight was always too suffocatingly real, and that was the one thing we were never allowed to be; real. You'd always talk superficially if we discussed personal matters. That day you did a one-third spin clockwise and faced my side, and talked grandeloquently, hammed up like on a stage. You gave an embarrassed smile and blew a kiss for the invisible audience. I always felt jealous of those nothings, those non-existent beings, that got to figure into your world.



'Christ it's warm today. I can't think.'
'so don't bother.'
I spin in the chair. Whooosh. Whooosh.



It's the end of a 6 hour shift. A customer, a mother in her odd thirties, was angry that a sale item was out of stock, like sale items always are: She'd only gone out of her way to shop at this store because of the advertised deal, and we had taken time out of her busy schedule under false pretence. Her child stared at the ground intensely, his eyes watering. I tried to imagine the situation through his eyes, to try and ground myself; to remain both present, but stable. She insisted on speaking to the manager. It's a relief really; He's a skeevy ****, but he at least knows when the customers are just there to start ****, and responds accordingly. He comes over, asks what the problem is. It turns out I entered the code wrong and the item was still available after all. He gets one from out the back, handles the transaction, says have a nice day and apologises for me and everything, and I just stand there blankly; I’d had the graveyard shift the night before and honestly I’m beyond feeling right now, but when she mutters 'dumb *****' as she turns away a tight feeling still twists in my gut anyway.
I come home and leave the door hanging open framed in the setting sun and just drop my bags in the hallway. You're in the kitchen, hunched over a workbench eating out of a mug.
'Whatcha having?'
'Cornflakes.'
'….Cornflakes?'
'Yep.' you pivot as I approach. 'corn..flakes.' you hold out the packet.
'coooornfllllakkkkkkkeeeessssss' I start laughing.
'coooornfllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakes'
we chorus the term in groaning monotone, and I grab the packet out your hand and throw it down and violently stomp it into the ground with every non-energy I have left. You just laugh and egg me on, repeating 'cornflakes! Cornflakes!' in crescendo, ostinato. The satisfaction of each crunch gives me the drive to smash them further, and corn dust spills out of the pulverised cardboard and gets everywhere. In the end I’m panting, my face is a mess of tears, and I collapse over onto it and just roll, bathing in the glorious fragments of reconstituted mulch.



'They say another ice age is coming.'
'They also say we'll be swallowed by the sun'
'well, it's true.'
'Yeah, but which'll happen first? I need to know to dress accordingly.'
'Tunnel's up ahead'
'I know, I see it.'
I deliberately swerve to the side and speed up, changing back at the last moment.
'You know I hate it when you do that.'
'What, don't you wanna die together with me? Here and now? Immortalised, as if our existences actually meant something?'
'like Diana and the nameless chauffeur?'
'******* exactly.'
We step out onto the hill, frozen **** tufts breaking underfoot. It's cold as hell but the skies glittering. You get out the telescope you borrowed off your rich *** sister.
'I think that's Jupiter over there.'
'Pfft, Jupiter.'
'What?'
'What's the blankest space you can find?'
'Hmm.. that way?'
You point it in that direction. 'Look'
I stare into it, but it's hard to keep focus while shaking from the cold. You keep adjusting and asking ,’See anything?', eventually some hazy distortion comes into view.
'See, no matter where you look, there's always something there.' You're trying to sound eloquent. 'Even when it seems like you're drowning in nothing.'
I stand back. 'That's terrifying. I feel sick.' I try to breathe but it's shaky and shallow. I stare into the ground, but I can still feel it; the blaze of the myriad innumerable heavens burn into me. Their judging gaze pierces through me and tears me to shreds.  



'You know, I think I read that Spinoza thought that consciousness is manifest in the ability of finite beings to continue persisting in and of their own will over time.'
'Doesn't that make a toaster more conscious than us?'
'Yeah, you don't say.'



We were twelve and at the department store. It was strange. I'd never taken the bus by myself to just hang out in town before. I always feel disorientated and light-headed in crowds so it had a strangeness; waves of apprehension cushioned by the homogeneity of it. one can be truly alone in a crowd; floating in a sea of otherness, where each gaze is no longer a signification of anything, but a warm static. We were among the aisles of a department store, in the toys and tacky house ornament section. Like, the junk you buy children and grandparents for their birthday. **** that you'd only attribute to people whom have no discernible qualities of their own. We were looking at snow globes. We kept trying to shake them violently enough so that the scene framed within would become entirely lost to the fog; it always felt so disappointing when clarity returned and things re-became what they were. I remember saying, 'I wonder if it tastes like real snow', I don't remember, It was stupid, I don't know why I said it, it sounded cool in my head. But you responded, that I remember, by taking the thing and smashing it against the concrete floor, and pouring out all the fragments into our hands. We tried them together and coughed and choked in laugher. It tasted awful, entirely unsurprisingly. On a rush you stuck one in your pocket, grabbed my hand, and we promptly left the store, and my heart was palpitating, it felt like all the rules, all the natural laws that had prefigured my world were crumbling, and I was terrified, trapped in the gaze of my mothers look of disappointment when we'd be inevitably caught, somehow watching me from its potential future, and I'd no longer be allowed to visit you but it was okay because I was here with you now in this moment and we were alone in this faceless mechanical place crumbling around us, and when we left, and no sirens buzzed, I felt sick with excitement at the unbounded possibility present in everything in every second. I cringe thinking back on it, and feel ashamed at finding such meaning, feeling such unabashed wholesale virtue in indiscriminate destruction, but sometimes, sometimes I still shake that snowglobe as hard as I can, till everything determinate is lost in haze, and I still feel a wave of comfort wash over me.



‘We’ve been walking for ages. you know where we’re going, right?’
‘It’s just up ahead. I swear’
‘You swear?’

‘I mean, I’ve only been there once before myself.’
‘****. This way?’
‘Wait-‘
‘What?’
‘Huh. Nothing. Sorry, I thought I heard a car coming.’


‘I think that’s the ocean?’
‘But.. aren’t we heading inland?’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, I swear.’



We're in your room. Your reading on your bed and I'm in the swivelly chair by the desk, pretending to work, but really we're just chatting, talking about.. something. Whatever. It was probably stupid, laughing at our own jokes, as always, catchphrases repeated till they loose all meaning. It's been a long day and honestly we're both too tired for coherence by this point, but the lack of effort lends the air an easy comfortability. But then suddenly.. Suddenly you stare into my eyes as if you're looking at me and it's somehow different, an intense gaze that I can't escape, as if you somehow found something located there, something fixed in those abyssal pupils. The feeling is overwhelming and terrifying. I am grounded, ripped into the prison of being and frozen static like a dumb animal transfixed in headlights: I am outside myself facing in, and I’m falling away. I pull you in and kiss you to escape; now, it is your touch that is fixed, your smell, your taste, and I breath a sigh of reprieve. You hold my back as I fall into you. I lace my fingers through the buttons in your shirt and feel the faint pulse of your flickering heartbeat. At once an ever-changing epiphenomena, and a calming rhythmic certainty. I vacantly tug at the buttons and your expression changes, gone is the feeling of suffocating questioning, but one of transfixed observation. Your touch is not a reaching out into something, but a continuation of yourself; I am an instrument of your lust, an extension. Holding me in your arm, you nervously run your hand down from my nape and trace my bra from the strap over the line of my breast. The lightness of your touch is a painful tickling and I push myself into you further, my thighs wrapping around yours. Your touch shoots a burning into me, not painful, but like glowing kindling, or the warmth of a blanket; an immanence, a retreat. I let my mind go blank and we continue; you fumble with my bra as I fumble with your belt. We're both shaking but too far gone to notice, too distant to care. The dry freeze of the night air contrasts your damp heat. You clasp me as you trace your hand under my skirt and I feel your arm brush my thigh. I tremble slightly at the sharp coldness of the damp cotton coming unstuck. After a stretching moment of awkward liminality, I feel you pass into me. It's a burning smoothness, distilled liquor. The rubber is an alien feeling, and for some reason I imagine myself as a giant balloon; a malleable featureless surface, filled with emptiness. I feel myself through the threshold of your presence and I am afraid; I am a boundary which encompasses nothing, and by your passing through I fear that I will be pierced; I will burst and out will flow an obsidian wind that will wither you to nothing, but it will keep coming, an endless torrent that will subsume the world and turn everything to desert, and the only way to save you is to keep it bound up as tight as I possibly can till my heart feels like burning metal, and I feel my tears land on my hand tightly clasping your shoulder. You ask through wavering breaths if I want to stop, but I shake my head; if you left now I would be caught and torn open; no, instead I subsume your undulations into myself; till the rhythm is as oceanic noise; a surface rolling located miles above a lightless motionless centre.



The pale green lamplight flickers. A nausea, tepid, but understated. The sentience of moss; an almost motionless drone, but the sense of unfolding. The corridor seems larger than it once was. Blank reflections harrowing accusations, mechanically indifferent but piercing; an alarm clocks wail. I lie still, I lie still. The buzzing repeats. I lie still. I am flowing, seeping through floorboards into the pores of the earth, into colonies of worms and I am lost and free, a motion, a multiplicity, pure form without the anxious drudgery of parts; pure alimentary canal, pure Elysium absolution. The flickering quickens and gets brighter. A pulsating light, a strobe, a beat frequency wavering behind vision. The liquid earth, saturated by light, hardens and dissolves. And 'I' am lost among the ruins, a vague memory of a sentiment. A nostalgic grief, an asphyxiated longing. I reach out to you desperately in the drag of the undertow, but you are the chalk of faded bones; cast to the winds centuries prior. A thousand years pass of blanket darkness, and a unitary bell rings. The flotsam batters against the temple gates. Debris collects in cracks, and my pieces are among them. I cling to retention, and return. I am cold sweat outlining the floorboards, the feeling of clenching before vomiting, repeated endlessly.



A few weeks after, turning off an avenue onto the main road, I see you. You're crossing, coming this way. It was bound to happen eventually. I bite back the moisture forming in my eyes and try to remain faceless. You suddenly change your trajectory, and hit the side of a car. It honks at you and you dodge around it. I allow a bitter smile to myself; the fact I can cause you such disorientating discomfit indicates I still mean something to you. Even if it's just a discomforting anxiousness, something beyond the boundary to be avoided, I have causal powers, extension; I can see my flicker of presence in you even now, even if I cannot for the life of me find it within myself. You run around and I walk straight. It's empowering; I can remain fixed, even if the torrent of the world flows around me. At that moment, I feel the indubitable strength to persevere. I am stronger than this world; I am stronger than you. But then, just as suddenly, the feeling folds upon itself and is gone. I felt solidified, just now, by the fact that I was the one that remained in this random encounter. I won, you lost. but Won how? With the ability to pretend that I can exist alone, in a world that means nothing to me? The ability to maintain a solid spectral façade, when underneath, scratching away under the skin, I contain nothing? To continue terrifies me. Knowing that I have the strength to continue terrifies me. That last thing I ever intended was to outlive you. I feel the world drain away from me, and yet I remain, left standing, alone, in a of realm of perpetual nothing.  



I feel sick

a hundred years pass in the cavity of the desert. Merchants make trade off raided materials and makeshift weapons. A library is burned. A soldier, wanders freely. An insect buzzes around his face. He darts about the place in annoyance, but it remains. He can't shake it. He closes his eyes. It's still there

I feel sick

the sun burns bright arrhythmic  clicking.  A late twenties couple go clothes shopping, however the child is hungry and will have none of it. Lunch is suggested. They are jocular about the decision, but feel an uneasiness about the indulgence. The air is saturated and dries
Anthony Perry Jan 2016
Violence is real and natural. Multidimensional, it exists in every form of life. Its visceral, it shears through the thickest ice, survives the coldest vice and won't shatter when thrown from incredible hieghts.

Violence is quick and unjust.
It swiftly infects the blood then slowly turns a useful mind to rust, takes away all that someone is and replaces it with formaldehyde and sawdust, it wants to watch as the body succumbs to deaths lust.

Violence is hard and true.
It's an event, a car crash that forced a woman out of the windshield like a 12 gauge slug pumped straight into the heart of a child who's witnessed skin hanging from the hole his mother just went through.

Violence is in the air like a pathogen, infecting us with an experience that executes our innocence, genocide, created from hate by that precious few.
In one dimension or another, it's the backbone of every great nation and of all life, it's nothing new.
Maria Nov 2013
In winter this **** storm of a town falls to nothing but a low hum

                 and it is a steady as it is wide spread
And in only a matter of weeks, we forget what it is to breathe fresh air
So we go through the motions of living in this assembly line kinda life
The motions of laughing and breathing and crying and falling and loving
And the influenza of seasonal depression is infectious so we wrap ourselves in coats and hats and scarves in hope of escaping the pathogen of loneliness that radiates through our stereos

                                                        ­                            In winter, this town falls into hibernation

the snow falls mercilessly, without anguish.

tell me
Were you awake when you first caught me, because I was still half-asleep when I found myself in your arms
Were you awake when you first kissed me, because I was in a dream when my lips first met yours
    But there was something in your electric touch that woke me
                            
                                                                ­                             And I remembered that snow *melts
Its like when I was little and I would play in the snow right after the bus dropped me home
then I would rush inside, shivering, and my mom would make me hot chocolate to warm me up,
except I'm not little anymore and he keeps me warm
Blake Dec 2019
There's a pathogen inside me,
it makes me want something i cannot have,
but still I imagine and afterwards,
i feel sick to my bone after finishing.

There's a pathogen inside me,
that makes me wonder whether its okay to be like this,
but its the only thing to fulfill my needs
and reach its ecstasy...

There's a pathogen inside me,
is it safe...is it just needs?
am i normal?
brea Mar 2014
creeping fingers,
crawling hands,
innocent at first--
innocent? not likely--
malicious more like.
the purity of your
polystyrene soul,
the unremitting cleanse,
the repent(the chase),
it's your lifeline. the
shocked look, saccharine power
held over tiny fawn--
****** clarity as they might,
oh dear incubus.
the power to end all
held in tiny fists.
this births not demon babes,
but a century of fear
and inadequacy.
downy kittens hardwired with
an inevitable self-destruct.
bring the world to it's knees,
incessant, indefatigable pathogen,
taking grasp of neurons, synapses.
good intentions yearned for the green light
while yours-- red as the blood rose
manifests in lovely lips
for eternity stained with **** wine--
the wine you brewed, you fermented
in the cellar of ******* and hatred.
the father, the son, and the holy spirit,
and the things that lie between.
blessed fingers, blessed breath
freezes as the stiff arms of your diocese.
hushed catholic whisper, angels to never
nearly achieve their wholly holy grail--
your kryptonite. secret looks, hasty deliverance,
catharsis.
They claim I can lead, that they can look up to me.
That in a time so bleak, it's nice to see someone so strong.
I am a very weak person.
I am fragile.
My immune system is shot.
Any passing pathogen is free to stir me up.
My walls are cracked and peeling, they are a poor defense.
I've lost control over my feelings, and nothing makes sense.
The world ends every day, yet, I remain in tact.
I'm a cockroach scuttling through the motions, taking orders from rats.
No one seems to think about the life of the insect, that putrid little pest,
After the fact...
After the blast, conflict is presumed to have passed,
But life is not as we're taught it is in History class.
Sure, I can survive; I've gotten by.
Haven't I prevailed over all of the ants and all of the flies?
Still, I wonder why...
Why? wonder...why?
I don't feel like I've tried?
At points on the line I thought I had died, or at least wasted my life.
Still, I stand here, watching the others pass by.
Expressionless faces filled with blood that's run dry.
The only reason I'm not floating on is because my hands were not tied.
I'd have drowned with the rest of them if it weren't for where I lie.
The ground on which I was born is comparatively high,
Though the guilt instilled upon me is pushing me lower to the scene of the crime.
Their lungs filled with water,
Mine with wasted time.
With feet barely wet, and my knees still dry, the guilt presses harder...but I still haven't tried.
If I am strong, then this world must be wrong.
Oh, so wrong. And for how long? How long must a man pretend to be a king when he is Kong?
My legs trembling...twitching...I can barely move.
I've been broken, burned, battered, and bruised.
Don't look up to me as if I peer down on you.
My friends, my enemies, you're all becoming confused.
If it is my help you seek, I'm sorry, you fool.
Can you not see? I am no better than you.
is Aug 2016
pain spreads like a pandemic, infecting even the kindest of us. sadness is a painful bruise evident on the surface of our skin. we wear emptiness like it is the latest fashion trend. the contagion spreads through our word; it reaches the depths of our hearts. during times like these, we ask God, "where are you?" only to be met with a cold silence. our own twenty-first century plague. we are the rats that carry the virus. the few of us appear who asymptomatic eventually succumb to the pathogen. we overdose on pills and drown ourselves in alcohol to escape pain only to learn that it is inexorable. our words are pernicious and our actions are even more so. we create a false image of unity in the light of unfavorable times, which seem to come more frequently than in the past. we hold each others hands and hold our own tongues hoping that submitting to our government will save us this time. we are wrong, but we choose again and again to hide from the perilous truth; we are not safe from each other or from ourselves. any detriment that we suffer is entirely deserving.
Juju Juju Mar 2018
We began with little mutations,
Harmless, or more so beneficial,
We adapted to our love,
With no methods of dispersal,
People thought we couldn’t get any closer,

But your behaviors changed and we began to isolate,
We were stabilized so I hoped for fusion,
But realized that overtime not even reinforcement could’ve helped,

We had our Kingdom set up,
And later we fell into a “Family”,
But you classified me too general,
Now I don’t know where I belong,

My feelings for you were like the Cambrian,
Sadly enough they became a catastrophe,
You started selecting,
Seeing me as worthless,
But I knew I am not one to select,

You looked at me like you’ve studied Phylogenetics,
I was at the most top,
But ended up at the bottom,
You were not natural, but neither was I,
What did our selections favor?

And our relationship turned into cloud and dust,
Sadly it collapsed,
And you left me imprints of lies and hurt,
And words preserved inside me like a cast,

You ingested away my feelings,
I was the pili so attached to you,
But you were an endospore resisting all of me,
You no longer knew what feelings were,

And to you, I was an annual,
Got replaced so quickly,
But I shed tears where the oceans have formed,
And supported you like the roots of trees,

But you were a virus,
A pathogen,
A parasite,
And I was the host,
Blinded by your toxins,

And my cells swelled in favor of you,
You offered me and I gladly took,
I thought I was an obligate,
Surviving off of you,
But I was too mindless to see the real you,

And I was like the Archaea,
Survived the harshest paths for you,
But with a single expression you crushed my world,
And like a Zygomycota you’ve molded our love away,

And sadly enough I couldn’t evolve,
With pain feeling like spikes inside,
I am no longer the magistrate of love,
And love is my killer.
Biology references
Devin Ortiz Jun 2016
Love takes time
Time to tear down
The false Gods
Polluting ambitious minds

Love at first sight
A dangerous ideological pathogen
Killing the truth in patience and effort
Ignorant to fleeting feelings of vulnerability

Love is surrounded by a toxic cloud
Breeding unhappiness and failed expectations
Quarantine zone and hazmat suits
A requirement for the truth about love
Àŧùl Sep 2013
I'm not a seer to have looked into the future,
I'm surely a man with the intention of diamond,
I'm definitely going to marry you some years later.

I'm not a pathogen to have blighted you here,
I'm surely a super-crazy lover of yours lovingly,
I'm definitely coming to elegant city of yours soon.
My HP Poem #432
©Atul Kaushal
When I was a child
I would walk into the forest,
and wonder how so many things
could remain untouched
and unsullied by humanitys
outstretched hands.
"They must want to."
I'd think,
but there must be strong magic here
to pervert those tendencies.
I didn't feel it then,
or maybe didn't understand
what I was feeling.

When I was a young man
I would walk into the forest
and wonder how ancient
the universe was,
thinking,
"It must be a wise and thoughtful entity, that preserves such places."
Some great magnitism that holds
these places together.
And maybe magnitism
is some sort of preventative magic,
or last resort contigency,
when things grow too desperate,
or too important to lose.

When I was an adult
I would walk into the forest
and wonder why
I didn't come here more often.
The poison of modern humanity
had settled deep in my vessel,
unwilling or unable to reverse
the natural course of the pathogen of time.
Alarmed, I sat thinking,
"Maybe the magic here now works against me."

When I was an old man
I would walk into the forest
and wonder how many more times
I could come back here,
before the void reclaimed
the energy spent on my creation.
It was a simple price
we all paid
for the time
we've borrowed.
And all at once,
I didn't have to wonder
why the magic hadn't faltered
on its duty in preserving
these ancient woodlands.
Because I knew then,
that I too
would soon become
part of this magic.

-Kevin James
imadeitallup Aug 2014
It starts with a thought,
And you think almost nothing of it
There's poison working it way
From your brain to your heart
Pumping black blood
Through your veins
By the time you bleed,
It will be too late

She's not the cure,
She is the strain.

And you feel it in your bones
It won't leave you alone
And you chase the only escape
From the constant pain
And you love every sick second
All the terror and the tension

So you've got this nervous tick
And you just can't control it
That's her working on your last nerve
She's flirting with disaster
Her love like a pathogen,
By the time you have any symptoms
You'll have one foot
in the gave

She's not the cure,
She is the strain.

And you feel it in your bones
It won't leave you alone
And you chase the only escape
From the constant pain
And you love every sick second
All the terror and the tension
A lyric I wrote a while back...
ZWS Jun 2014
What's going on with me
What's this body
What's this head
Old personality's dead
Got stuck up in being you
And now were through
What's going on with you
What is this anyways

There's reflections of coffins
In your eyes
The medallion you wear reminds me
of the wolf in your heart
Grizzly with passion
Will push anything aside
That beautiful anger you've bred

I breathe you in
But you're an airborne pathogen
I take you in under my skin
It's the only way I could let you in
You may be no good for me
But that's something I don't talk about
It belongs to a list of things I don't want to see

You're an Idol to me
You make me bend at the knees
The most beautiful of chemistries
Poetic T Mar 2019
Inclination is a contagion
         that affects the cerebral cortex.
Infecting other organs in a complex
                                method of defilement.

Once one has succumb to the influence
             of this pathogen, the following
                                 is woeful in its method

1. Heart rates do palpitate to an extreme beat
2. Part of mind isn't playing on the same spreadsheet.
3. All reactions of thought & heart aren't as discrete.
4. AWOL are the rationalities within every heartbeat.

But still those who fall foul of this moment,
                           do not wish for a cure even though
out of ten three prove semi-fatal for a time to these organs.
            They still live,
                       but singular,
                             alone,
                                desolate
                o­­f what made them in pain.



But they will once again look for one who is a carrier,
                        to be once again infected by this moment..
                        

I must confess that I have fell foul,
               and my clock ticks with not one
                      but another beat..


Infection isn't as bad as I once believed.
                I just hope that I contaminate her
                life with more than she infected me.
Zulu Samperfas Feb 2013
In the same day and it is just like I realize
this is really
totally
stone cold
insensitive
to be rooted out like a pathogen
when in reality the entire place is sick
and I'm only an observer
Setenance Aug 2014
allow me to apologize
on behalf of the love
i bear for you

the love I’ve left
behind the moon
behind the earth
within a shadow
in an umbra
and hidden from the sun

i want these whispers
to escape
from the person
i have buried
in a folded blanket
in the dust
in a fissure
of a scar
within my heart

i’ve been defeated
by my own fears
and self-resentment festers
in my consequential wounds

a gangrenous pathogen
threatening to mortify
what,
i don’t know
for i’ve kept my eyes closed
and my soul at a distance

but every morning
as i try to go to sleep
in spite of the sun
rising above

i think of me
as if i was not myself
and I think of you
and the things i should’ve done

i think of how
you looked right through
my painted face
and when i met your eyes
how my blind-fold fell away
less than a memory

i think of these moments
and remember
that i once knew the meaning
of peace
Mick Cadenisou Dec 2014
Borrowed from broken blood
i live the nights, feeling each molecule pass
lost in a wave
in a haze
I Care About You

Sleeping in our Place
I waited for you
to be only together, you have a face that reminds me of peace and soli-dude and
death

how did I find you in a word that means nothing
empty car; pathogen in a word of fret
7 11

sleeping on mattrasses
Jake Waddell Nov 2015
Ive found myself at your door again
The dusty, leaf riddle square of Tiannamen
I felt less like a body and more like a pathogen
A lung piercing javelin when you try to prove your masculine

I knock three times and get no answer anxiety fills my molecules more aggressive than a cancer; crumbling my composure like a tank that's panzer
voices chanting violently in my head like they were a cantor

I go for the doorbell but have no luck
I find a piece of tape over it with a note that says it's stuck
with a little smiley face that I know you wrote you're the queen of this castle and I'm just drowning in the mote

Just as I faded into a sense of self doubt and started to walk away from your house I noticed a blur walking down the stairs, a beautifully crafted creature twilring her hair
not a single of the seven world wonders could ever compare

You know that feeling that starts stealing and revealing you from the inside out leaving you kneeling when that person you love, you crave, you need comes back into your presence an energy that comes back with a vengeance; double homicide, no parole life sentence.

The pure essence of her atomical presence raises questions to the lessons you had already taken suggestions on to fill your objections to this paralyzingly beautiful connection of affection leaving you in an antagonizing state of introspection to this abduction of seduction that's like a bed from ikea with no ******* instructions

You keep your eyes on the ground as you greet me but I don't notice because I'm doing the same, I like your shoes by the way. I like your everything though so I guess you could be dressed in nothing but rags beauty is something that you just can't lack.

We took a drive as we often do and slowly midnight turned into two and small talk is all that has creeped out of our mouth spiders of pointless ******* anecdotes all throughout.
I stop the car and we sit there in silence both of my fists begin to tighten; controlling the water in my eyes like I'm ******* Poseidon I didn't know this talk came with a hyphen

I turned to her angerly

as we speak it's like you can't even look at me I eagerly made your life so ******* leisurely and all you ever did was ******* commit thievery and decievery when all I ever wanted was just to be treated ******* equally

YOU KNOW how hard I've tried how many nights I've suffocated into a pillow and cried how each and every failure a part of me died black dhalia on my chest heart cut open wide

It sounds like I'm just trying to be dramatic but this always seems so ******* systematics you always take an oath that I thought was Hippocratic you act like my hopes are way up in the ******* galactic

You came back every time when it was too late and I had to pretend I was filled with hate while the weight of your sadness flooded my limbs and I couldn't see straight

you've pressured me into hatred and I feel so ******* degraded because no one can save this I've called friends late at night asking for help because I've swallowed every last bottle on the shelf

you've made me forget what I like and how to breathe and how to feel and how to see the world in color. you made me lose friends and burn bridges and lose jobs and success.

where was this ******* interest when I needed it most why is it I can't ever reach the peak of the mountain but I always get close? WHY THE **** IS ROMANCE JUST A GHOST DISPOSED AND DECOMPOSED

WHY CAN I BE THIS WAY AND STILL CANT SUCCEED WHY AM I THE ONE THAT NO ONE EVER NEEDS WHY DO I ALWAYS PLANT THE SEEDS OF FLOWERS BUT ALL I GET IS WEEDS

I told her to get the **** out of my car before I drive it off a ******* cliff I've tried to read you but you're a ******* hieroglyph I don't even think 26 is an age I can outlive that was the exact moment I know my soul went stiff

a few years went by

I went through my drawers and pulled out a pen my chest started to sink and fill with phlegm I started to second guess but when push comes to shove...

I started the letter,

Dear Love
RJ Days Dec 2021
Night falls
in parking lot
emptied of cars, crisp air
and not a pathogen in sight
Breathe out
thulvni Feb 2015
Life and death breathe in my state of immunity death brings fate to calamity wisdom is outstandind it makes you stand our from the crowd exceedingly , I forbid but the dark still proceed I just wana dwell in the ark and suceed am a seed rooted beside the see of greatness and recrouted prosperity

My heart pumps twice for winter and summer for ****** and osama B or martin luther choose what you wana breath detect and eject any pathogen that might bring a disease

What does your heart concieve as it proceeds to pump use both eyes to see but if one misleads you its better to receive life in one view than to swallow a nife and never go trough
#life #death
Keith W Fletcher Jun 2016
After a lifetime spent
Bent
On rounding off the corners
Of any square thought
Has brought
Me... Full circle
So many times
I'm beginning to see winning as an abstract
A pathogen
Getting stronger
As if the the efforts I produce
The patient's I'm rewarded with
As I have achieved success
Like penicillin
Only has a limited lifespan
And an exponential inconsequential Failure rate
That soon begins to insulate
As the mutated corners
Become mutant appendages
As  they grow back
Not abstract
Simply as a fact
There just seems to me
That too many people
Just want to be dragged along
Creating heat sparks and friction
Like an addiction
Instead of letting it all roll
And it's taking a toll
On the faith
In my soul
Knowing that a lifetime
Bent on rounding off the corners
Of any square thought
Has brought me.. .
.... full circle
Delilah I Causin Sep 2014
My Scar

This narrow trench
with dark ragged edges  
on the dermis in my forehead
is an ugly furrow
plowed into a burrow.

'Tis but a minor injury
and has its own little story
on my delicate skin
is a lingering rent
pathogen's might
and audacity to gnaw and lyze
leaving this visible scar.

Past emotional wounds
that maim the spirit
leave nary a physical mark
but hide in our psyche
masked and entrenched
even trapped to the very depths.

Scars are collagen fibers
healed tissues but never gone
indelible scars that disfigure
are etched forever
emotional scars when tended well
would heal and fade just as well.

by Delilah Causin,  June 7, 2014
Wordforged Fool Nov 2015
My blood is a toxin
I am a walking bio-hazard
I just can't seem to win
Many have despised and feared
Me for what I am
I am a biological weapon
A deadly pathogen
When I die, so shall millions of others
Mothers
Sons
Sisters
Brothers
Fathers
Daughters
Society rejects me
And for their safety I dare not bleed
For if I do, the toxin will cause death and misery
For each drop is a seed
For the death that flows through my veins
And what my skin inside contains
Is a plague so terrifying
That I can already feel everyone around me dying
And others in fear they are crying
So all I'll do is be secluded and behave
Or risk sending the world to its grave
Just because I'm a carrier of a certain disease, doesn't mean I'll **** you if you stand near me. Just don't let me bleed into the drinking water.
almat011 Apr 2019
Crown of love
My sincere love for you is your crown, my concern for you is your throne. You are all that I want in this life. I am obsessed with love for you, I worship and bow before your beauty. Your beauty is so ******, innocent, primordial, unique, so majestic and beautiful. From your kisses you feel alive, you feel love itself, its powerful energy in its true form. Exotic, tropical, heavenly beautiful, elite, aristocratic, incredibly beautiful beauty, like a descending goddess from the highest universes of dimensions.
You are beautiful, as in the distance so close, you can look at you forever, and I get great pleasure from the fact that I'm with you, I eagerly tasted every moment spent with you. The light so beautifully illuminates your sweet, hot skin. When I see you, I have an unbelievable feeling of joy, love, happiness, excitement, I am happy as a child. The more you look at, the more you fall in love.
You amaze to the depths of your soul with your amazing beauty. Gorgeous, luxurious, ****, divinely beautiful, sexually attractive. The sweetest candy in the world, the sweetest temptation, juicier than the sweetest fruit in the world, richer nowhere, sweeter just does not happen, it is impossible to imagine yourself more beautiful.
You are the most powerful magnet in the world of temptation, a very powerful pathogen. You are the perfect perfect creation of all universes, dimensions, worlds, you are like the highest, most powerful ****** of admiration and pleasure.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Carlo C Gomez Mar 13
Rarebit fiend

with an insatiable appetite

zapped internally

******* off wi-fi

looking for hideouts

and new gold wings

the brilliant glow

through a transom window

summons him

feeds on the sleeping man

programming him

into a pathogen
The glorious venom of transformation partitions the (death of) excitement in her eyes. The lies in her vinegar voice tether ancient chains to a shopworn tale.

She is seamless, then sweet, cold and now caustic; forever formless, a feint felt on a whisper:::

The unending unknowable, my perfect pathogen... I loved to watch her work a room

Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you the eighth wonder of the world!!!... headlining, the one, the only, heuristic  Houdini...
pinning her down
only works in the bedroom!!!


She did not know who she was (so how could I) It was her greatest strength, something to be pitied and pined for ::: perpetually ephemeral,
the eternal curse.

Polypolarity dead eyed at a wedding
Polypolarity on a cold street in blue
Polypolarity spoke two "I love you's"
Polypolarity never knowing what's true
..
Bipolar x 2

— The End —