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"pilled" poems
Like spools of thread, pilled in the midst Darkness draws attention to the danger Up few miles, is that place Where the sign reads, welcome stranger Curiosity jumps on each step As the enchanting forest gets deeper The sun rays sparkle the early dews And awakens the sleeping keeper Birds chattering, singing melodiously Giant rocks, stand as guards of century Silent kills the morning songs At the dark weaved, heavy grown entry Myth say, it may be a portal to another world But reports and researchers find it their own way What's there to be afraid of Besides an approaching thunder day A torch in hand, walking cautiously Humming sound follows through, alerting my ears Tripping, few times on dead branches Triggers my lost unwanted fears It's almost past mid day, but not a single string of light The passage seems like a hell deep Strange scribbles on near stones, alert "Do not fall asleep" Hours of walking on turns and paths Tiredness and hunger grasped in well Don't fall asleep rings in my ears I was not alone, I could easily tell Within this labyrinth, mysteries lie of all kinds An evil crackling laugh, shakes my fears Looking in the direction of the sound There is an "it" and it hears Run out now, my gut feelings kick in Hoping for sun rays, but thunder beats the sky Peculiar heavy steps seems to follow I wish, I could just fly One exit, echoes another entry A swirl labyrinth has woken today Running in circles, lost my routes I can't find my right way A small spark of light in a corner Disguised as the suns ray Traps my vision to walk forward Like a poised lucidest prey What happened next, I do not know But not alone now, as more walk my way Finding their own possible routes We have become abundantly stray... ©sim
0
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
Swirl Labyrinth
Like spools of thread, pilled in the midst Darkness draws attention to the danger Up few miles, is that place Where the sign reads, welcome stranger Curiosity jumps on each step As the enchanting forest gets deeper The sun rays sparkle the early dews And awakens the sleeping keeper Birds chattering, singing melodiously Giant rocks, stand as guards of century Silent kills the morning songs At the dark weaved, heavy grown entry Myth say, it may be a portal to another world But reports and researchers find it their own way What's there to be afraid of Besides an approaching thunder day A torch in hand, walking cautiously Humming sound follows through, alerting my ears Tripping, few times on dead branches Triggers my lost unwanted fears It's almost past mid day, but not a single string of light The passage seems like a hell deep Strange scribbles on near stones, alert "Do not fall asleep" Hours of walking on turns and paths Tiredness and hunger grasped in well Don't fall asleep rings in my ears I was not alone, I could easily tell Within this labyrinth, mysteries lie of all kinds An evil crackling laugh, shakes my fears Looking in the direction of the sound There is an "it" and it hears Run out now, my gut feelings kick in Hoping for sun rays, but thunder beats the sky Peculiar heavy steps seems to follow I wish, I could just fly One exit, echoes another entry A swirl labyrinth has woken today Running in circles, lost my routes I can't find my right way A small spark of light in a corner Disguised as the suns ray Traps my vision to walk forward Like a poised lucidest prey What happened next, I do not know But not alone now, as more walk my way Finding their own possible routes We have become abundantly stray... ©sim
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49
Money makes the world go round if you don't have enough, debt gets pilled on if you have too much, your spending goes crazy just the right amount and your stable but it seems more and more people don't have enough money makes the world go round but will there ever be peace? When will everyone have food on their table? When will everyone be able to support their families? When will the world finally learn the money can't possibly make the world go round? Such an unstable business, money is yet we all need it to survive. It drives people mad People get greedy people get needy people don't need money they need love they need to work hard they need to eat they need to survive
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Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
Money makes the world go round
This is to all those misfits To the Romeo car-washing in Inglewood inlets To the Hippy selling crystals on the Venice boardwalk The Magician swallowing 8-balls at the Huntington Beach peer The Rapper selling CDs in the Ranch Market parking lot The **** tatting in a makeshift garage The Poet slinging chapbooks at cafes and rec centers… Not androids pontificating from lecterns But grimy roots burrowing deep Seismic rumblings toppling down Insured ivory towers Smashing pilled-paradigms beneath Docs Hustling and slinging In the forbidden outshacks of civilization In tents, over barbed-wire, beside shards Desperate and burning For neither Truth or Beauty But for LIFE They do not tap wrists No,  they thump chests To feel it beat To feel it rage For fugitive fugues For new eternities They embrace ********** romance Graveyard necromance The holy hunger for change Defying commercials and charts Shivering and howling on streets Waging guerrilla war Liberating cubicled-hearts
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Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
Ode to Misfits
keeping warm by that old stove kicking back shots and always a beer in hand we lived as if nothing could ever matter for nothing ever changed the same man sleeping at six or seven having passed out from half-a-days work and a hard days drinking sitting around there for warmth some kind of something men don't often talk about much women there were hard to find, not for lack of trying they just always seemed so out of place when they did actually appear extending the night was the main concern making the most out of the ample time given to us trying desperately to squeeze out juice from every instant with anything free at hand retreating back to sofas for sleep waking up with head aches intolerable beer cans all around going hard because there was no where to go debasing our minds with the nights succulent spoils tabbed pilled or powder madness feels like sanity at the right moment knowing full well it can't be caught as it slips through your fingers only to be inhaled the following friday then blown away once again at day break a perpetual mind **** was the goal with actual ******* just secondary reasoning living to forget what it means to be alive in this world where identity has been distilled to mere pages in an infinite book that doesn't really exist what else to expect from shattered youth abused mainly by design but also by choice you could class it all up increase the age and ornament add black books, black dresses black ties champagne & chandeliers still dormant at its core as time passes and falls apart the fire still there burns even in museums at midnight Dionysus consumes Apollo so warm your hands for as long as you can it only grows more insipid increasingly cold and bitter both the truth and the liquor till everything’s but a pause and black
0
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
Hedonist Garage
keeping warm by that old stove kicking back shots and always a beer in hand we lived as if nothing could ever matter for nothing ever changed the same man sleeping at six or seven having passed out from half-a-days work and a hard days drinking sitting around there for warmth some kind of something men don't often talk about much women there were hard to find, not for lack of trying they just always seemed so out of place when they did actually appear extending the night was the main concern making the most out of the ample time given to us trying desperately to squeeze out juice from every instant with anything free at hand retreating back to sofas for sleep waking up with head aches intolerable beer cans all around going hard because there was no where to go debasing our minds with the nights succulent spoils tabbed pilled or powder madness feels like sanity at the right moment knowing full well it can't be caught as it slips through your fingers only to be inhaled the following friday then blown away once again at day break a perpetual mind **** was the goal with actual ******* just secondary reasoning living to forget what it means to be alive in this world where identity has been distilled to mere pages in an infinite book that doesn't really exist what else to expect from shattered youth abused mainly by design but also by choice you could class it all up increase the age and ornament add black books, black dresses black ties champagne & chandeliers still dormant at its core as time passes and falls apart the fire still there burns even in museums at midnight Dionysus consumes Apollo so warm your hands for as long as you can it only grows more insipid increasingly cold and bitter both the truth and the liquor till everything’s but a pause and black
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66
Oh I think it was a Tuesday You were sleeping In almost the highest spot in the building Your ghosts never disturbing The seams of your dreams Oh what a day to ignore the mourning I awake since Monday Stitch my jeans for they keep Falling apart by the knees I try to hide the pink and purples Of each thing pretend I don’t need Then out of something I can’t dream I see this red all around me maybe I should gather my things But instead I throw them out on the street I burn in the building Just to slip out of sighting you So I start to Transform in my dorm Catch the flame and let it Cool me Oh how I used to be boiling Steaming I see the leaves and grass Oh I think you would call this crass Now you are just so worried That all this ash might Color your back So you speak your to forest of agrees Until you see the fire of me I so welted so red So sore so losing So much breath I think you cheated But you just took the steps So I let the piece of me be last thing you feel of me I make you choke then you speak About how I Hurt you But somewhere maybe a kitchen maybe the stairs There were pages written by you Pilled up but there’s only one You wrote it mostly for fun See it was so late So late That I would calll it Mourning you were writing By the light of the candle Because electricity is just so boring So at 4:49am on Tuesday Maybe morning You Left the stair Left the light and the pages there Then when to sleep Without a single worry
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Jun 1, 2023
Jun 1, 2023 at 3:18 AM UTC
Sorry I don’t rhyme (am i your favorite crime?)
*It's 3 P.M, Sitting, staring at the reruns of Jeopardy and Seinfield a microwave steak and some potatoes sit gingerly on the tray, crunchy and frozen.... It's 5 P.M., a bottle of room temperature beer cuddles itself around my hands some potato chips spread across my lap..... the television remote and I sit inches apart yet, the separation feels like miles It's 7 P.M., cold, rusty water pelts my naked flesh the bath towels feel like steel wool every little fiber, scratching and tearing at my skin the soap is as tough as rubber...... It's 9 P.M, bed bugs have swarmed my mattress scratching and biting, I smash one and a million more follow some are flat and dry and some explode with leaking blood.... It's 11 P.M. I slip into my dungarees, there's a ***** spot in the middle of the seams.... my shovel is rusty.... the van leaks exhaust and it bleeds gasoline It's 1 A.M., I gaze at the tombstones and they gaze back a foggy midst looms from the hills, it's raining.... a flash of lighting strikes, bright as the sun itself thunder rumbles the earth..... It's 3 A.M., strolling by the red light district a back alley ******* no condoms.... ten dollars for one hour, twenty for two I only have five..... It's 5 A.M. the sun begins to rise beer bottles pilled at my door saliva, drying at the seams of my mouth.... back into my bug infested abode.....*
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Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Poetry For The Common Man
watching her deep water, pilled sleeping, her chest congest, her cough, orange, clockwork regular, watching tv, an old Law & Order fav, major crimes gets an innocent man freed from jail watching me in the tv screen reflection, write bad poetry, and laughing at his own hair, rebelling in sticking up shapes that would make Einstein jealous occurs that this mot not multitasking, that multi-inaccurating Nope multi-sensing, multi-asking for moments of quiet crumbs, of seconds of satisfactory, merely passing unpadded grades would be sufficient life needs no cogent reasoning, no over arching philosophy, but if Sheldon were to find the unifying string theory that could tie and string these moments together, that would be most excellent cause "whatever" just don't quite cut it as a way, a purpose to exist, but moments like this do
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Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Not Multi-Tasking, Multi-Asking
electric wheel chairs and electric wires in your brain, blood filled clouds shower on the insane. unfinished projects pilled in your garage, the pain in your spine could use a massage. ribbons glue head to neck, they connect like a child's cheek and a mothers' peck. tiny hands full of life and unstructured strokes soon to be a house full of unknown smokes. these lights are painful, like cold sores and it hurts to kiss, and it tastes like dirt. I've read your books and I know your worth, but now you're discolored, and your heart lost its beat. and you're freezing, slowly, and becoming a piece of this earth. I feel so alone, and I miss those beats. Is it sad that I can still smell you in the sheets?
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May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 9:55 PM UTC
Sheets
Paperworks and junks pilled into mountains on top of my ruined desk “I wonder what had went wrong for me to stack up such a mess?” Indolent, Oh! so petulant!... But still I digress Saying I didn’t have time To sort out the cluttering hefty mess Jesting around with the things that avert my gaze, Such a child I was, I paid no mind to it all day But... Night came too soon, and instantly I say... “When will I ever sort out this mess?” Perhaps never, but still I say “Someday, okay?”
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May 4, 2021
May 4, 2021 at 12:22 PM UTC
Someday, but maybe forever still a mess
It had the smell of love It had the hot sticky sweat of love It had the urgency and reckless   passion of love It had that god awful feel of love It had the perfect illusion of love But the madness was missing And without the madness   there was no music for their    demons to dance to No moon for their monsters   to howl at It was just flesh pilled on top   of flesh Loneliness dressed up in the   guise of love Imitating love, moving like love But never falling like love Never tempting that danger Never tempting  madness Never tempting the promises   of forever Never tempting true love
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Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Never tempting...
There’s too much you in the world Capitalistic **** Running around Buying and stealing Material possessions full of transgression But I digress because this isn’t really anything But a test for the best to accomplish The end result is said to have some underlying meaning But the end result has been fabricated greatly Deep in some office shed We shed the light away from our prying eyes Always keeping silent The new discoveries that take away from the almighty dollar And keep the fat cats in Washington wealthy Keep laundering their ***** misdeeds But the suits keep getting more expensive And the poor get pensive Wondering what they’re doing wrong Trying to make ends meet And put food on the table for a growing family Of twelve or more Of twelve or more The way the holocaust looked With dead and starving Pilled high as Buffalo Mountains And the TV is switched to the news But there’s nothing new to hear Here is always what’s pre-approved and sugarcoated censorship Prove to be abundant in thousands of tentacles From the octopus of government and social media You are a trend that is replaceable And if you stand against their collective You will cease to have ever existed
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Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 9:36 AM UTC
There's Too Much You In The World
I tried to describe you to someone The other day At a loss for affectionate nouns that Would string together adjactives Of how much I miss you. Words sat deep in my lungs And puffed out squeaky and small Smoke-tainted coughs Laced with conversations we had When I first put that smoke there. Words pilled up at the base of my gut Twisting my insides the way you said Yours did when you thought of planets. Words that if formulated in my mouth Would tell you I would **** Just to be a moon circling in your orbit Picking up rocks of you You thought had fallen off forever And were meteored through the universe. Words that you once spoke to me At night on a bench Carried in my moon-hard Lungs as smoke That when I speak of you Heat me thaw.
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Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
Moon Smoke.
The backseat driver's lips began to chap And his jaw locked Thank you Based God The people pleasers asked to hitch a ride They had no mode of transportation And the lack of communication coming from the backseat driver was concerning them even more I thought I was about to be bamboozled when they started to clean the interior I decided to pull over and check out an antique store on the side of the highway They had used toothpicks used by President Eisenhower The word "Anagram" in all upper case letters made of lacquered balsa wood While we were there I tossed out all my unpaid speeding tickets   Then I saw a sign the said "Continental breakfast $2.50!! 3 miles thata way!!" I zoomed to the diner and ordered that continental breakfast for the backseat driver, the people pleasers and myself We each received one coffee, one buttered roll and one danish We all had the same irritated, sour look on our faces We flipped the table in disbelief Attacked the waiter and held the innocent patrons hostage with a fully loaded sling shot And demanded the cook whip us up a gross of spinach horderves As we left the back seat driver called shot gun So we all pilled in with our horderves And I gunned it to 95 The backseat driver held on to the "oh **** handle" for dear life as the people pleasers cheered me on with their mouths full On to Massapequa
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Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
"Hands at 2 and 10"... "Forget that I keep my left hand at midnight and my right on the radio"
I tried to describe you to someone The other day At a loss for affectionate nouns that Would string together adjactives Of how much I miss you. Words sat deep in my lungs And puffed out squeaky and small Smoke-tainted coughs Laced with conversations we had When I first put that smoke there. Words pilled up at the base of my gut Twisting my insides the way you said Yours did when you thought of planets. Words that if formulated in my mouth Would tell you I would **** Just to be a moon circling in your orbit Picking up rocks of you You thought had fallen off forever And were meteored through the universe. Words that you once spoke to me At night on a bench Carried in my moon-hard Lungs as smoke That when I speak of you Heat me thaw.
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Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
More.
Through thick and thin, through loss and sin You held my hand and encouraged me to look within You're the one that knows me as I've always been You've kept me together throughout every weather, acting as my safety pin We've had out ups and definitely our downs Needed more than books as pick me ups to turn around our frowns When I pilled high molehills into mountains You helped me knock them down to size again You're the smile behind this ongoing uphill mile You're the laugh that revives my hang on for a while You're the encouraging words behind every verse You're my compass for every course. You are most importantly my mom Who is approaching an age where the years are not as long You're turning an unspeakable age Finishing an ancient chapter, turning a desolate page There is one last thing to say An obvious, over used cliche, So here, without anymore delay, is your... Happy Birthday
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Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
Mom
They **** They Mame, They steal, They play, They laugh, They covet, They test Hell as an oven!!! They backstab, They backbite, You pulleth and grab, They moan in delight, They cheat, They lust, They thrive, Of bones and of dust!!! Their uncharitable, They murmer, Their a narcotic using world, Their explorers, Their punks, Their freaks, Their madmen, Their geeks!!! Their warlords, Their pacifists, Their hatred, Is all nonchalant!!!!! They get high to get what they want, Their complainers, Their lazied!!! Their pilled out, Junkies, Crazy!!!! Their low, In disguist, They use perfumes of sixty dollars of more!! A delightful expensive musk!!! Their cheap, Penny pinchers_ Their losers, Their winners_ Their warriors, Their jocks, Taking selfies of shame, Of perverted stuff!!! Their tounges are asps, Their hands are weapons, They'll meet you in hell, I looketh forward to heaven!!!! Their babies, Scaby infested, Some get off on *** Others love molestation!! Their racists, Their rapists to!!! Of mother earth, And mankind's tombs... They turn on each other, Sister and thy brother, They gaze in mothers purse, As with dad arguments stay cursed!!! They are disobedient, Disloyal in their love!! No god do they worship, Just Shaitan's to Satan's club!!! They eat on organics, They eat pesticide!! Some live on freely, Others seek thy easy way out(suicide) The have no one to turn to, Except their vain imaginations, Their nonhumble, Proudfully tumbled!!!! Their fall is bound to occur!!!! These are the humans!!!! Welcome to earth!!!!
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May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
seven deathly sins!!!!
They **** They Mame, They steal, They play, They laugh, They covet, They test Hell as an oven!!! They backstab, They backbite, You pulleth and grab, They moan in delight, They cheat, They lust, They thrive, Of bones and of dust!!! Their uncharitable, They murmer, Their a narcotic using world, Their explorers, Their punks, Their freaks, Their madmen, Their geeks!!! Their warlords, Their pacifists, Their hatred, Is all nonchalant!!!!! They get high to get what they want, Their complainers, Their lazied!!! Their pilled out, Junkies, Crazy!!!! Their low, In disguist, They use perfumes of sixty dollars of more!! A delightful expensive musk!!! Their cheap, Penny pinchers_ Their losers, Their winners_ Their warriors, Their jocks, Taking selfies of shame, Of perverted stuff!!! Their tounges are asps, Their hands are weapons, They'll meet you in hell, I looketh forward to heaven!!!! Their babies, Scaby infested, Some get off on *** Others love molestation!! Their racists, Their rapists to!!! Of mother earth, And mankind's tombs... They turn on each other, Sister and thy brother, They gaze in mothers purse, As with dad arguments stay cursed!!! They are disobedient, Disloyal in their love!! No god do they worship, Just Shaitan's to Satan's club!!! They eat on organics, They eat pesticide!! Some live on freely, Others seek thy easy way out(suicide) The have no one to turn to, Except their vain imaginations, Their nonhumble, Proudfully tumbled!!!! Their fall is bound to occur!!!! These are the humans!!!! Welcome to earth!!!!
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77
parties, drinking, hating one another these are teens lives but not mine yes I like to have fun but I want more than wonder if boys like me drinking till I don't know where I am I want long walks, deep talks world travels, music shows book pilled up to my nose I want more than the average teen and I am so happy for that
0
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
more than others
You know my faded legacies. You know my long forgotten glories. You know all my tall tales and never ending stories. You know me and the air I breath The I's from which eye see. The warm heart from which I bleed. But you see only the image I let you see. You can't see that the air is choking me. That my stories lack a silver lining. You've forgotten that my eyes are no longer shining. You don't know that this heart is the reason that I'm always denying. You recognize my voice but you don't hear the words I'm saying. You won't hear the words I'm praying, the words that keep me lying. You see my smile but not how broken it's become. You'll never see the seems threatening to come undone. I'm bursting, bursting with secrets, Secrets screaming my truths with all the proof of my weakness. I'm pilled high with tears I refuse to cry, All I've ever done is turn a blind eye.
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Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
Blind Eye
It Would Be a Cold Day in Hell by Mutasem Amayreh You heard my story Tongue-tied My crowning glory In a World-wide Eye-folded Yet in a cottage tied One day The owner scolded The bushy eyebrows Frowned On the scent of treason Yelped the hound During the peak season Different colored Inks spilled One iota of sound reason The Mantle it pilled What follow that I detest While sight-blinded Began the Rorschach test The process, long-winded I didn’t hesitate That one-sided picture Of the issue Started to imitate Composed a tissue of lies Didn’t freak Cut my ties Promised Ink won’t leak Believed the wiseacre That talent spotter Never become a risk-taker But a life-long voter.
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May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
It Would Be A Cold Day In Hell
I know what it is All the ******** Pilled up inside Cramer in to a bottle And shoved down my throat But I did it to myself I put it in the bottle I shoved it down my throat I caused it all The bottles cracking But I seal the cracks Because I don't want to hurt anyone Some of it leaked through the cracks I say things Things I would never say To my brother To my sister To my mother To my friends and family I seclude myself from them I stay away I lock myself in my room And I sit there I could **** myself But I can't put that guilt on her Her, the love of my life The one I might lose The one I want to keep The one I can't lose My insides burn And my heart What's left of it Is falling apart I'll do anything to keep her I'll do anything for her But I've said that A million times before I'll let her choose I can promise her anything But it's her choice
0
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
I know why it hurts so bad (sequel to "why does it hurt so bad"
palpable tension in the bank tellers rolling eyes and rank and file of stinking value pilled high the sighing why? and a mile of road before us getting to the point is a round about way of feeling something
0
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
value
Some where between the perpetual isolation that we created in the name of personal space. The wounds that were never healed, Because they never received the ointment of attention. The misunderstandings That pilled up into a giant rumpus, And ignited the dubious disposition, turning the intimate conversations into constant fights. The love that we lost, To the demonic darkness of our egoistic nature, Still exists, But only in the fragments Of some moth-eaten memories.
0
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
Moth-eaten Memories
It's hard, and I know none of you deserve it I should probably send a card its not that I am pilled up in a ton of **** Life is fine, my only problem are parents that I don't deserve. Hopefully, the sun will shine, and maybe there is some love between us I can preserve. The greatest parents on Earth are mine, they are just trying to show me the best was to traverse. To bad I've been taking wrong turns since two thousand and nine. Unfortunately, I do not feel bad, it has given me time to think... all about what I have had, the strong loving link between me, ma, and dad. Beginning to believe I belong in a room walled with pads. I do love you, that is true. Who knows if we will ever work out issues, if I cried about it I would waste a box of tissues. Problem is when we talk all of our lines are reused. We fight all the time, not sure if it is a crime. I don't need someone's two sense, I need advice worth at least a dime. Not sure if I can think of any more rhymes.
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Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Apology
Bonds of paper pressed and folded Bringing with it such paper planes accurate Dipped quills, ink splattered across the white ream Lanterns lighting, defeaning silence of the whispers of the wind's realm. Entrusting aflame candles, flewn for enlightenment, Trembling with the breeze's whistling accompaniment, White as newborn clouds, creased lines across it's edges, Books pilled up with history and insights, torn pages. Storms swirling ever so swiftly, Drifting folding paper dancing to the wind gracefully, Following the rhythm of the hurricane, Remaining resilientㅡ free from stabbing pain. Tint overflowing each ream precisely, Tainted with dreams crafted so idly, A little push, realising grip, A wish fleeting away, once one to keep.
0
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
paper planes