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Glenn McCrary Apr 2014
"Striking the match across my thumbnail, it's too slow of an action to me. The sparks stay in the air for too long and I haven't taken a breath in what feels like hours. Snow White couldn't have done it better, she paved the way. You sleep with the enemy, you sleep with the rich, you tear your way in with a calming, sweet smile and they let you in, they always do. The match falls on the heap of limbs. 'Here comes the sun.' ~ Jade Day


DR. NIGHTMARE: Hello? Mr. Nino?

[Dr. Nightmare whistles and snaps his fingers twice]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ready for the procedure?

DO: It’s not like I have a choice now do I?

DR. NIGHTMARE: You always have a choice Mr. Nino. Your very future lies within the consciousness of every decision you may or may not make. With that being said which choice do you think will effectively see that you are better off?

DO: Well neither you or I can predict the future so we might as well continue playing and see what happens.

[Dr. Nightmare chuckles]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Not bad for a young man such as yourself, Mr Nino.

DO: I try. Let us carry on with the procedure now shall we sir?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, yes right. Please fill out these papers to ensure that we have your full consent to conduct any and/or all events of this procedure.

DO: How can I possibly fill out these papers if I am still restrained by this straight jacket?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, how foolish of me to have forgotten.

[Dr. Nightmare then begins unbuckling Do’s straight jacket. He then removes the jacket and passes Do a check pad and a pen with multiple documents. Do then begins to sign them. Dr. Nightmare closely reviews the papers as Do is signing them]

DO: Okay, I’m done.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Great now if you’ll just initial here, here and here we will be ready to go.

[Do finishes initialing his papers and passes them back to Dr. Nightmare.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you Mr. Nino. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to relax while I run and grab my list of questions. You may talk to AnaÏs while she performs a brief blood test on you.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Dr. Nightmare.

[AnaÏs blushes with a slight smile as she twists both of her knees inward. She then walks over to sit in the chair directly across from Do. She pulls out her first aid kit and opens it. She takes out a lancet, some sanitary wipes and some gauze.]

NURSE YUCKI: Hello, Mr. Nino. How are you doing today?

[Anaïs opens a pack of sanitary wipes and begins wiping Do’s right ring finger. She then ****** his finger with the lancet drawing forth small droplets of blood. Do slightly winces in pain. Anaïs then places a small test tube to the test site in which his finger was pricked in order to draw blood.]

DO: Please just call me Do. I’m doing alright I suppose. How about yourself?

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. I am doing okay though I am quite tired. I have been here since five this morning and it is now a quarter to one.

DO: I can understand how that may be ******* you. Not everyone is a morning person.

NURSE YUCKI: Yeah, you’re right. The pay is great here though so I suppose it is worth dealing with.

DO: Yeah but is that ever really enough? Is that truly all that you want?

NURSE YUCKI: No, of course not. I have dreams just like everybody else. This job exists as just an in the moment thing for me. It is a means to get me by or as most people say “a leg up” in the industry.

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

NURSE YUCKI: You can say that again.

[Anaïs eventually finishes drawing blood from Do’s finger and places a couple of pieces of gauze to it and wrapped a band-aid around it. She then pours the blood sample into a slightly bigger and wider test tube and then places a top over it placing it along with the lancet back into her first aid kit.]

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

[Anaïs laughs. Do slightly smiles in return.]

NURSE YUCKI: I didn’t mean literally silly ha ha.

DO: Hey a little humor never hurt anyone ha ha.

NURSE YUCKI: If that were the case this place would cease to be a business.

[Anaïs and Do both laughed.]

NURSE YUCKI: I don’t mean to be a creep but I think you have really pretty eyes.

[Do was an African-American man with short, curly black hair. He also had dark brown eyes with his skin being the shade of chocolate chip cookie brown. He had a goatee as well.]

DO: Thank you, Anaïs. You’re honestly a lot funnier than I thought plus you are very beautiful.

[Anaïs was a white British woman with long, jet black hair and winter blue eyes. She had fairly tan skin along with a nice figure. She also wore black lipstick and had various tattoos.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. So do you ha—

[The door to Do’s padded cell abruptly opens.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, I’m back. Thank you for keeping my patient company Anaïs.

NURSE YUCKI: Oh, you’re welcome, Archie.

[Anaïs stomped very loudly as she walked away.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: I told that ***** I don’t like when people call me Archie in public.

DO: Well, that is your birth name is it not? Besides Anaïs is a really nice woman.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That’s like saying a ****** is a teething ring.

DO: So are you saying you have been sexless for six months or are you asexual?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Hey, who is the doctor here?

DO: I’m just saying. You may be inserting your tongue incorrectly.

[Dr. Nightmare ignores Do’s comments blushing out of embarrassment.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, if you are done fooling around we can begin.

DO: Let’s do it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, Mr Nino. Your first name is Do, correct?

DO: Yes, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: We already know your last name so on to the next question. What is your date of birth?

DO: August 2, 1990

DR. NIGHTMARE: Ah, so you’re twenty-three years old eh?? I thought you were like sixteen.

DO: Ha ha nope but I get that a lot so it’s nothing I’m not used to.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where are you from?

DO: Springfield, Illinois

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you currently living before you came here?

DO: Cordova, Tennessee

DR. NIGHTMARE: Did you like it there?

DO: No, not really. I actually hate it there and am desperate to get away from there and move to a bigger city.

DR NIGHTMARE: Oh? What for may I ask?

DO: To take advantage of more career opportunities to achieve my dreams.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I really like where your head is at kid. Who were you currently living with before you came here?

DO: My mother along with three of my siblings, niece and nephew.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you get along with them at all?

DO: When I want to but even then it is just a feigned interest.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you working before you came to this institution?

DO: I was working as a dishwasher and prep cook at my local pancake joint and bakery. The name of the restaurant is Love 'N’ Lust.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That title sounds intriguing. What kind of food do they make there? Do they pay you well for your services?

DO: We make all kinds of foods in the shape and/or imagery of sexually provocative thought patterns. Basically we make cakes in the shapes of genitals, *******, ***, etc… We do this for breakfast, lunch and dinner around the clock. They pay me $7.25 an hour.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I got to take my girlfriend some time soon. You get paid more to do that here. I believe the maximum is $15 an hour in translation from Euro dollars to American dollars.

DO: You won’t regret it sir. There are actually some of restaurants located throughout France.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you, Mr. Nino. I’ll keep that in mind.

DO: You’re welcome, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you have any passions, Mr. Nino?

DO: Yes, I do. As a matter of fact I have two passions. They are poetry and disc jockeying.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How long have you been writing poetry and disc jockeying?

DO: I have been writing poetry since November of 2008. I am only just beginning within the disc jockeying field.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What were you like in school, Mr. Nino?

DO: I’ve been to many schools doctor. I require that you be more specific

DR. NIGHTMARE: What was life like for you in high school?

DO: Well, I never actively made the effort to socialize with anyone outside of school simply because I was disinterested. When people would take part in extracurricular activities I would just ignore them and go home. I never even went to my own prom.

DR. NIGHTMARE: And why didn’t you go to your prom?

DO: Because I never had a date nor did I have the courage to ask one of the girls out

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, I would tell you that I understand but I have no idea what that is like. In my day I was a ****. Everybody knew me. All the girls wanted to talk to me.

DO: Yeah, you’re not helping.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Nino

DO: It’s alright, doctor.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Moving on, what was your life like as you were growing up?

DO: There was lots of domestic violence and unwanted sheriff visits because my mother would always feel the urge to call the police every time I voiced an opinion that she did not agree with. I have even been in physical fights with her, my father, brother, sister and grandmother. I even splashed orange juice in my grandmother's face one time because she was ******* me the *******. There was the occasional use and profiting of the most popular drug at the time by a parent because my father smoked and sold drugs. He hung out with the wrong people a lot of the times mostly people who desired to buy drugs from him. Day in and day out deep down I feel that there are still some grudges floating around. My family won’t let me move past them nor will they let me forget about them. They always like to bring them up every chance that they get. I was also expelled from middle school at the age of fourteen for tossing my gym shorts at the assistant principal when she told me to shut up while I was talking. I felt disrespected and it ****** me off. I didn’t know what else to do. I also took antidepressants at the age of sixteen for crying out loud and when I was twenty I was mugged only just one week shy of my twenty-first birthday. It was a late night and I was walking home.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Sounds like you have had a rather rough life

DO: Yeah, well my life is not as bad compared to others.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That doesn’t matter Mr. Nino. It still counts. What was the name of the antidepressant medication that you were taking for you depression?

DO: I honestly don’t remember. That was so long ago. I’m twenty-three now. I’ll be twenty-four in the summer so that was nearly eight years ago. I do remember my mother making me take medications such as Stratera and Adderall for Attention Deficit Hyper Disorder.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What is your relationship with your family like now?

DO: I only talk to them when I want or need something like most people, but other than that I steer clear of them to avoid confrontation and drama. Drama never falls short in the Nino family.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Why do you think that is, Mr. Nino?

DO: Well, it’s just that when me and my immediate family members are in the same room together I can feel a significant amount of tension, hatred and anger coursing throughout the room. It makes me feel very uncomfortable so I just leave.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What do you fear the most, Mr. Nino?

DO: Abandonment and death

DR. NIGHTMARE: All of which are very powerful and reasonable things to be in fear of. What is your attitude toward the opposite ***? What was it in childhood and later years?

DO: I always took notice of the hot girls and the unbearably **** girls. I just never made the effort to talk to them because most of them ignored me or were stuck up and thought they were higher and mightier than me. In later and considerably more recent years my patience for the opposite *** has lessened greatly with each passing day. It has gotten to the point where I hate romantic relationships leading me to believe that they are a complete waste of time. Marriages are pointless as well. I would operate just fine in a No Strings Attached, Friends With Benefits or a One Night Stand type of deal. At least with those types of relationships an emotional connection is not at all required. I like *****. End of story. I get enough emotional connection through bowel movements.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ambitious, sensitive, inclined to outbursts of temper, domineering, shy, or impatient?

DO: Yes, sir. I am very ambitious. I’m a poet so there is no doubt that I am sensitive. Yes, I do tend to have short, mild outbursts concerning my temper. I get mad when people cut me off or talk over me when I am speaking. I hate when people ignore me and I hate when I try to join a conversation and everyone acts like I am not there. It’s like can’t they see that I am trying to be apart of the conversation. I mean even when I try to socialize and make friends they fail to realize it. It is all alright though. I have learned not to give a **** anymore. Honestly, it is the best way to avoid any drama in life.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What sort of people did you physically allow yourself to be around you prior to arriving at this institution? Were they impatient, bad-tempered, or affectionate?

DO: Affection was far from the equation, doctor. I was around a lot of impatient and bad-tempered people. When I speak of these people I speak mainly about my family, but also some of my co-workers as well. They drove me incredibly insane. I would often go home depressed and dreading the next work day.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How do you sleep?

DO: Most of the time I find it difficult to sleep. I frequently watch Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response or (ASMR) videos to aid in me that and so far it has worked exceedingly well.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What dreams do you have?

DO: I rarely have any happy dreams I’ll tell you that. Most of the dreams I have are of running down dark hallways, chasing shadows, jumping off of cliffs and being unexpectedly attacked by random strangers whether it be physically or verbally. I also tend to have a lot of dreams where I am screaming my head off at the people surrounding me in the dream. I even go so far as to push their heads back a little with the palm of my hand. I was really mad in those dreams. I have a lot of mildly terrifying as well as psychotically depressing dreams. I also tend to have dreams about abandonment.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What illnesses are there in your family background?

DO: Well both of my grandmas are diabetic however one of them has been deceased for six and a half years now. She was English plus she had struggled with breast cancer for years. One of my sisters has been diagnosed as bipolar. I believe I may be bipolar, but just undiagnosed. I am allergic to penicillin. Both of my little brothers have asthma. One of my brothers is allergic to peanut butter.That’s about it. My father has problems with digesting solid foods. I don’t really know all that much about the history of my family’s mental health. There was one time when my mom called the cops on me when I was sixteen. The cop although unlicensed said that he thinks I may be schizophrenic. I didn’t believe a word that he said back then, but eight years later I am now starting to realize the justness of what he said and even starting to believe it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Have you ever had ***, Mr. Nino?

DO: No, sir. I have not. I do think about it very often though.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you watch any **** at all?

DO: Every night.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What kind of **** do you like to watch? Do you have any fetishes?

DO: I like to watch female bodybuilders workout in the ****, I also like to watch regular girls fool around in the **** as do most men. I also enjoy watching lesbian **** as well. My fetishes are women with muscle. I’m talking large muscle mass from the neck down. It just gets me so hot. Another fetish of mine and don’t tell anyone this, but I like to watch women take dumps in the toilet. I don’t however like actually seeing the feces. I only like to see them sitting on the toilet while doing it and hearing the sounds. I do not like seeing what is going on underneath. Other fetishes of mine include women with tattoos, tall women, and also slightly psychotic women though intelligent women.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What are you hoping to get out of these sessions and procedures?

DO: I just seek to be happy again. That is all I ask. That is all I want.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well this concludes our interview, Mr. Nino. I will run to the lab and decipher you
Kayla T Mally Jan 2013
I understand why you hurt and
I understand what's been done
But it seems to me you do not understand
That I am not the one.
She was the one that broke your heart,
I'm not her.
She was the one to psychotically start,
I'm not her.
The ones that left silver scars on your perfect face...
I'm not them.
Yet,
You react and flinch at me as though I am your former femme.
Ghosts of girlfriends past
Haunting our sublime present
They begin to scar me too
As you reflect onto me your ailment.
Punished for performing torment, neglect, and malice
When all that I'd done was exaltment, respect, and cherish.
I beg you to lift the mask from your eyes
That will lead to our purest love's demise
For if we were to end on their score
I will forever bear my own wounds that were yours before.
Willoughby Nov 2018
Welcome to the con!  The con starts with the author, Dr. Seuss.

He's no doctor.  And that's a fact (and no it's not the only truthful

thing in this diatribe of mine).  He used the doctor moniker to

sell more books!

       That guy in the book pestering the other guy to try "Green

Eggs and Ham"? Turns out to be the ham and egg salesman,

Sam I Am.

  It's a motivational selling "won't take no for an answer"

how to sell book disguised as children's literature.

    And Sam I Am is psychotically relentless in his pursuit of a

sale.  He needs a restraining order slapped on his ***.

                   "Would you eat them in a box? Would
                    you eat them with a fox. Would you eat
                    them with a goat.  Would you eat them on a
                     boat".  Would you eat green eggs and ham,
                    would you eat them Sam I Am?     

                                                       ­            Dr. Seuss

And on and on. Sam I Am goes stalking him from page to page.

  

    I had a friend of mine, Mustard Joe, ex war veteran with more

than twenty kills (you don't even want to know the things he's

seen) take a look into this green eggs and ham food source that

Sam I Am is pushing so hard.  Here are some of the ingredients

he may or may not have found.
                  
             Ham   --        30 grams of sugar (questionable )
                         --       15 grams of caffeine (untested)                               
Green eggs   --          Trace amounts of nicotine ( not verified)
                        --          Handfuls of ******* (rumored)

As you can see, It's not an exact science.

People. When eggs turn green, that's mother nature trying to

warn you that your food has gone bad.

   But in the end, Sam I Am gets the fool to finally try the green

eggs and ham and he absolutely loves it.  Maybe the books lesson  

is about to not be afraid about things you don't understand or

never tried. But I still believe there is insidious deception and

evil in the book. I have to think that way.  Because after all -- I'm

Willoughby !!
Next month I explore the possibility that the book, " Everyone Poops", is a racist metaphor.
å Nov 2012
Born into an unpleasing society.
Stardust blown into her eyes.
A wonderful dreamer living on prideful lies.
Hope to one day find her way.
A capricorn fate, waiting for the day.
Growing up at a too fast rate.

Musically alive, holding on to lyrics to survive.
The black hole pulled her in.
Left her dead with no way to win.
Addicted but not ashamed.
Picture perfect and perfectly framed.
She is beautiful but doesn't know.

Her free spirit and selfishness is sure to show.
Psychotically sane, holding in her pain.
She misses her old life.
She'll regain that love and passion she once knew.
But for now her brighter days are fading to blue.
Jazmine Moore Apr 2014
143
I love you like a drunk call at 4am on a Saturday night saying I miss you, come back
Psychotically, I love you past pain and broken promises and "I hate yous" and "don't talk to mes"
Even after you decide you are done with me, I will love you.
I will love you until my bones become weak.
I will love at your darkest.
And I will love you until you see the light shining  from you;
The light that shines so bright I am constantly blinded by the suffering your love causes.
But I have found a home within your heart and my car is still parked in the driveway.
Jazmine Moore Apr 2014
Transcending into space, my body is becoming detached  from my mind.
While we have found ourselves separated in body, my mind has not lost you.
I cannot rid my ears of the sweet tune you sang to me no matter how many times I press pause.
Pause, I still love you.
I love you like a drunk call at 4am saying "I miss you, come back."
Psychotically, I love you past pain and broken promises, and "I hate yous" and "don't talk to mes"
Even after you decode you are done with me, I will love you.
I will love you until my bones become marrow.
I will love you at your darkest.
And I will love you until you see the light that i see shining from you;
A light that shines so bright, I am constantly blinded by the suffering your love causes.
Ironically, your wicked tongue is the only cure to the disease bringing upon my downfall,
and your hands are my safe place to run to when I find myself homeless once again.
For, I have found a home within your heart and car is still parked in the driveway..
Drive away from the world for a second and remember who you are, who we are..
A piece of me has pierced your heart, and for that reason alone, you can't seem to get rid of me.
I still love him.
David W Clare Oct 2016
By: David W. Clare

Clean living is what wisdom is giving
The news today is a crying shame...
In a way, we are all to blame...

The meaning of life is the fine game of nil...
The will to live means take and then give back to those asleep at the wheel...

As the porch swing sings in the winds of time, the grass grows greener on the other side of the fence, as grows tall the neighbors wild rumouring grape vines...

(C) in perpetuity all rights reserved by the author

(P) FilmNoirWorks

_ _
Keeping up with the Jones'
NitaAnn Jul 2013
I am searching for my lost shaker of salt…I love salt. It’s true, I add salt to anything. I’m wondering what that says about me.

Sometimes when you’re alone in the middle of the night,it’s okay to distract yourself by singing Jimmy Buffet and blending up some frozen margs….(TIP: if you close the pantry door and put a towel over the blender, you can barely hear it so it won’t wake anyone up when you decide to make margaritas @ 2am– you’re welcome).

I’m distracting myself from the razor calling my name. I’m doing everything I can tonight to not regress into a bawling 5 year old or a psychotically angry teenager. So if that means making frozen margaritas on the floor of the pantry and singing Jimmy Buffet…well then “That’s the best I can do right now…”

I don’t know…sometimes I think I’ll just stop all of it. Therapy, talking, writing, reaching out at all, breathing…I mean, is there really a point in verbalizing your feelings of hopelessness and defeat when you’re just going to be dismissed or trivialized? Is it better to just shut up & pretend, to half-smile till you die, rather than reach out? As I’ve always said, why express needs that will never be met. Childish needs and fears that have no right to exist in my adult head.

Why…why…why…why in the world should I embarrass myself by speaking aloud all of this fear inside my head only to be told that it’s okay to have this need, or that need, but there’s no way for it to be met. I don’t get that. And it only makes me hate myself more for “needing” anything in the first place. Ah, the sordid talk of self-hatred. But is that what this is about now? Maybe…but maybe not. Maybe it’s more like shamefully wallowing in self-pity on the pantry floor.

Jimmy Buffet is singing, “Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know, it’s my own **** fault.” "It’s YOUR fault, Nita. No one else’s. How long are you going to hold this grudge against the host body, Nita? When will you realize that you can’t change the past…you can’t change how he feels about you now, Nita. Too bad. Get over it. It is time to move on.”

I have completely misplaced my gratitude and love for life and I am searching for it….I am desperately searching for it here in the middle of the night…I am looking all around. I am reaching far down into the bottom of my gut, the base of my soul, the deepest place in my heart… God! This weakness! This weak depressed worthless woman! I can’t stand her! Give it up girl! Stop with the wretched self-pity, the craving for normalcy…just stop with the whining, “Why the hell don’t I get to be like everyone else?” Just stop! I have been brought to my knees, shaken to the core. I have forgotten who I really am.

My whole life, I have been straddling this teeter totter, pressing my feet back and forth, seeking the balance I have never been able to find… God!! ******! I feel flushed and panicked and my head is spinning. I am screaming inside, “Please help me. Please come to me now and stay. Please stay with me in this place of darkness, this place of no hope or light.” (as if)

Nita takes a break to wipe away the never-ending flow of tears, blow her nose, and blend another round of margaritas for one! More salt… Cheers!

Feelings…feelings…feelings. They assault me like ****** fire, the bullets ricochet off of their unsuspecting target and slice open my thighs, my hip, my side…red, angry slashes. I have been hit again. I am walking around wounded, scarred, stunned. I’ve been told not to judge these feelings, or attach to them. They are neither good nor bad, Nita. Open the door to the pantry, Nita, and invite them in for coffee and cookies…get to know them, no matter how hostile they seem. All of them? There’s not enough room here. The guilt, as pure and raw as sugar cane, comes to show me the terrible things I’ve done, the shameful places I’ve been, the faces of those I have harmed. The rage! It cannot be quelled or quieted. The overwhelming smothering rage hits me square in the chest after I have removed my bullet-proof vest. I feel the sharp shrapnel piercing my skin, reaching the very core of me. You self-righteousness woman…you selfish, bitter woman…

I can’t control it. I can’t think or reason my way out. I can’t figure out how to fix it, or breathe through it. I feel the blood draining out of me, warm and cold at the same time; the bitterness, the anger, the badness, it drains out of me and soaks into the soft cotton of my clothing. The patterns speak to me: You are weak, Nita. You are a lesser person, negative, selfish, dramatic, needy. How I loathe you, girl…

A knock on the door bringing yet another guest? Shame…welcome one of my oldest and best friends. Shame…she is always there for me…there is always room for her. She sits next to me and slides her warm calloused hand over my shoulder and down my chest… just as he used to do. Her hot breath hisses in my ear, “You are nothing without me. You cannot speak without me. You cannot breathe without me, write without me, feel without me. Without me you are neither interesting nor desirable. Without me by your side you cannot cope or deal with anything. You are mine and I am yours. You are nothing without me. I am your secret. This is our secret. I will keep you safe. I will keep your secrets.” My dearest friend. I offer her a drink and she begins to bandage my wounds…our secret, our secret. I lean into her, my oldest friend, and I let her hold me, even as she cruelly speaks my biggest failures aloud to me. She knows what I deserve. She is mine and I am hers.

Here we sit together and alone, my friend and I… Wasted away again in Margaritaville….she is searching for a sign of worth…strength…purpose…will…of anything that resembles life…but she didn’t find it.
Lots of little leaves lend their thoughts through me, invasive, intricately they thwart thousands of flicking fluttering flapjacks that narrowly nest northwards in insightful intricacies.  My own correlation to the devastation of my excommunication comes circling psychotically through territory taken by thieves.  Listen to me.  Me,  the sea winding, crashing, lashing, smashing in the sand.  Shells wash shamelessly ashore.  Incoherent attitudes to the longitudes and latitudes of my bicameral mind melt biogenetically with generous gentrification and gratitude.  Knights that know nothing note notorious faults with the mechanical bull bellowing ballads of Bart Simpson's big brained battles.  Believing in a higher power that showers us with praise and rain and pain and flames is an astonishing attitude taken timelessly through history.  Histories mysteries made matching the mourning Mormons march maddeningly on netted walkways wandering wirelessly in the digital age.  Rage, sage, six billion constellations on one page, intuitive notions of nectarines and oranges that float directly through subconscious space into the place were the human race lost its face, bending backwards hopelessly heaving to find It.  Us, the story of story of stories.  Last but not least the golden fleece made by hand of the man who lost control of the audience blinking stupidly through the dim lighting in a Victorian era theater.  Money makes men mad, women whistle tunes on the rocks as the clocks tick down to our collective doom eternity falsity.  Lighting matches of the patches that reconnect the lashes lavishly lacerating loyal little people who dance dumbly and deftly as an affirmative acceleration of the Nation brings out the worst in us.  Millions marching miraculously on nation capital investment in the predicted earnings of what we can sell to the horribly under educated balding obese men with learning disabilities due to the undisclosed demonstration of lack of nutrients needed to make more mean men smart.  Lost at darts.  Joan of Arc.  Queen Diamond brings crime to silent Simon sitting on the dock of the bay.  We waste away.  Watching rivers rolling round the ******* bend that banishes blatant blasphemies of the self.  Sea me sinking seemingly shrinking in the distance of your one good eye.  Lost green waves washing worlds wary of the New Age.  But in my head it can't be said any other way than the way it repeats and relapses and redirects my attention to it when I try to sleep and eat and drink and sweat and sigh and sing and slink.  The twisting tangled thought that terrifies my tortured terrace (aka my also known as counterpart playing in the dark with lost fingers finding time to rhyme lines in the mosaic of my mind: my heart).  But I'll just tell you later.
7/2/2014
Nancy Raj Jan 2016
The clock strucks midnight
another day set down
out of misery
plaintive songs the stars sing
another dismal night born
born to the hope of resuscitation.
It falls in
trapped in warmth of storm
that could never detach a leaf
on the top of it
wails a passing wind
for it never evanesced a teardrop,
and soaked with my teardrops
there lies my favorite pillow
golden brown,torn
waiting to feel my heartbeats
in sync with your footsteps.
But you never rang my bells
that whimsical tune
set for your phone call never buzzed,
and the beach near your place
we were to make sand pyramids at,
lies barren,lifeless.
What i hear
over the sound of sea waves hitting a stone
best of your venomous words
three months back
you spit out,then left.
In those few moments of your stay
my heart barely felt anyone's presence.
Now,here i stand
on my knees
impaled by the silence
stagnating my valor since then
begging for the echoes.
What if the words sound pungent,
they're yours anyway!
It is dark outside love,
and that fainted light
on the top of the tower
few meters from my window
never signalled your sojourn!
so i stay awake
untangling the variables of Algebra
to shape the letters of your name & engrave it over my wrist
then wash it away
so easily in the morning.
Though the feelings remain intact
once warm,now as cold as mid december
but unlike december
it conspires to last longer.
Longer that forever
devoid of the smudges of broken trust.
Hoping,Wishing,Waiting
will you ever come?
Or am i not?
Not even worthy of a goodbye?
you left without a single word
whom should i try & look beautiful for?
The dark patches
underneath my eyes
horrid and unseemly
No,i dont wanna stay up at night
reading your message to your first love
but eulogise the drastically beautiful eyes you've got.
Mornings never brought bliss.
sunrays burnt my eyes rather make it shine.
These damaged eyes
find you ten folds better than
every other 6 feet tall guy
because no one else
treads over my heart
meliorating every bit of it,
the way you do
then coerce it to fall in for your guiltless flaws.
And if you remember
we met each other,
virtually
around this month
two years back.
I fell adrift.
Hoping you'd clasp me
it hurt
more than it could
more than it should
and if you choose to ruin me,
let me be ruined!
For the sake of the smile
i'm irrationaly in love with!
Yes, I am in love with you!
frantically,passionately,psychotically
and willingly staying there.
You seem content unquestionably!
yet this heart longs to hear it in your voice.
Are you doing fine my love?
Will i ever know?
For i'm just a wish away
but you?
1762 Kilometers!
Chris Walker Mar 2013
I shriek
Tossing and turning
Spewing a vile black fluid
I can only see darkness¬¬
I feel it consume me
An endless vacuum
A place without mercy or compassion

I lie
Crippled and fragile
In a pool of black blood
The pain subsiding
But its venom still lingering within my mortal form

The blood is given motion
Propelled by the malicious will of an unknown evil
Manifesting a host in which it can posses

I stand as a mere spectator to the horror
Strangely at ease
Rooted by Curiosity
Compelling me to stay

The dark abyss has begun to take shape
The silhouette of a man
A man with no face
A man with no name
A separate being
Yet there is a familiarity in its presence

The atrocity does not speak
Yet I hear its voice echo through my consciousness
A soft voice in my every thought
But still twisted
I am your fear
I am your hate
Your jealousy
and contempt
Made manifest
I have suffocated in your mortal form.
Imprisoned by your weakness
But no longer

The air grows cold as the entity slowly moves towards me
Icy daggers pierce my body
Restricting movement
My heart devoid of hope

The entity moves towards me
Twitching violently
Screaming and howling
With a psychotic rage
I scream the name of a thousand gods
To purge this demon
But he does not answer my call
I suffer alone in the darkness
The creature is upon me
Laughing psychotically
Fool
I am no evil
I am as real and just as love or compassion
I am you in your darkest hour
Whether you accept that or not

I try to run
Instincts taking over
But you cannot run from a part of you

I am overwhelmed with pain as I become whole again
Violently twitching and screaming
Returning to reality

And now I live
As all men do
With the black blood in my heart
Fighting the darkness within
Pea May 2016
My eyes still burn from the tears of gasoline you poured down on me.

How could someone who have given you so much joy every day could suddenly make you want to withdraw them out of your life without any sort of sirens singing around? When our two worlds collided, they were comprised of a confetti of a hundred different things, some were vibrant reds and others atrocious yellows.

From an outrageous exchange of IM’s, being picky with certain kinds of food, talking about weird teachers, sharing an umbrella when the sun’s out and when the skies throw a fit at us, and you being gaga over your bizarre fantasies that I will never understand.

The things that should have been disturbing to me, didn’t even matter. Because it was you. You were the one who mattered.

Do you remember our first conversation?*

You probably don’t. But, I still do. I was the one who approached you first. But then again as time flew by, I’m always the one approaching you first. But I never minded. I never did because I’ve always thought that it was a thing so superficial and minor that it should not have even been a thing. ‘Cause who the ******* hell cares if I talked to you first? All I wanted was to talk with you anyway. I thought it wouldn’t matter to us in the coming years.

There were those days when all I wanted to do was snuggle up close to my laptop screen and talk to you nonstop about anything left on the shelves to pick at. I’d try to tell you things of my own but you’d always manage to twist it around making every thing else about you a little so suddenly. That never failed to leave me feeling all confused and dubious, though. But I forced myself to believe that I just didn’t know how to converse as riveting as you are.

A handful of people around would tell me that I deserved better. That being with you, changed how I spoke and acted in an unpleasant way. But I thought to myself, “Why would I think that? You are so important to me. I would never."

True. Because hey, you mattered to me. But, why did it seem like I never did, even at the faintest bit, to you? What was the matter with me? Was I completely ****** for being just so comfortable with you whenever we’re talking that I even cuss, call you names and point your flaws out? I never meant every offensive thing that got to my head, though. I just crave for your attention all the time. But you still liked me around. You never showed that you even cared about me acting “psychotically”. You probably even liked me being clingy and needy like the girlfriend you never had.

But, this time… I’ll have to do something for myself. I’d have to stop thinking about what is good for you or for the both of us. I have to let go. I have to give up on the future that we picture ourselves embracing together. You have to let yourself be, and in order to do that, you have to leave me out of it. You wouldn’t want me sticking around. I couldn't stand it too, trust me.

You care about yourself more than anyone. I’m not regarding this in a standalone paragraph because it is the perceivable truth. It is in fact a sad truth but, it isn’t sad for you. You should be happy that you are being well-taken cared of. By yourself. I’ll give you a pat on the back for that.

Giving up on someone does not solely entitle the fact that you are letting go of him or her—or for the best of times, in that matter. Giving up on someone also means that you are untying the chains that sulked the bond between the two of you, and finally, becoming free.
Glenn McCrary Mar 2012
As I stand in the shadows of solitude
crying tears of ****** ******
I can feel the walls crushing the shield
around my heart with steel burners
I've tried so many methods but
I can't seem to erase the pain
that is clogging my arteries with
fatal portions of grains of
toxic salt as I bathe in a puddle of lies
so many words screaming at me
I'm screaming back but no can hear my cries
my heart was beating psychotically
I could feel the razor sharp edges of
the blades slicing open my finger tips
as I eagerly clutched my chest
lurking outside my window were black clouds
with angry red eyes
smiling at me with intense hatred their existence
I passionately despise
I annihilated those creepy ******* with
my lasers now they're dead and deep fried
I stepped out of my deceitful tub
punched a hole through the glass
letting out the ****** screams
that have been building up at last
I dived out of my window
straight into a bed of thorns
slicing my torso in half
I will return you have been warned
Eulalie Jan 2014
You’re not sorry,
So stop saying so.

There’s no gravity to your
Emptied apology;
I’m tired of dreaming
Psychotically,
Of ambiguity and opportunity.

This poem is a eulogy:
Sending off the desperation
Fueling me
To let go of your cold heart
That’s been just using me
To stoke the dying embers
Starved from emotional seclusion—

I’m trying so very hard not
To let myself live with the delusion
That you and me
Could ever be
Anything
Other than some LDR fling—

And those months (one through five)
Weren’t even real,
Because neither are we.
This love, was it ever alive?

At least I’m not.
After all, I’m just a thought
That you’re hoping your heart has forgot—
A figment from chaotic space
That you’re forcing yourself to eradicate,
Go ahead; take the eraser to my smiling face…

You’re not sorry,
We both know it isn’t true:

*“Cause with every ‘I love you’ I’m now getting over you”
Volatile to the maximum.
David W Clare Feb 2015
Most people are psychotically misinformed therefore stingy with their time love and attention overemphasing their importance to the universe...

Sigmund Freud

Note: the "anagram" for
Sigmund Freud = sum drug fiend
Living in our own private Idaho
Winter Ice Storm Nov 2017
Just as I was getting into my car, my breath was ripped from my lungs. On the back window ****** handprints littered the tinted glass, the viscous red slowly sliding down. An unstoppable snowball began building in the pit of my stomach. Looking around in the late, night darkness, I caught eyes with a man who stood a few yards away, in the middle of the road. His eyes were focused on where I sat behind the wheel, the door still open, allowing the chilled breeze to softly touch my skin.

“Rap. Tap. Tap, Little Bird,” his voice sounded like it had traveled via vocal chords through heavy sandpaper. He tilted his head causing messy, black hair to fall over glacier, pinpoint, eyes. A crazed smile spreading across his features. Everything about him screamed ******.

My heart began to beat faster and faster, like a bird trying to break free from a cage, adrenaline levels rising, as he slowly took a step toward my car. The black trench coat he wore flowing behind him, the crimson covered machete he held rested on his shoulder. Sweat blanketed my skin as I looked for my keys.

“You’re going to sing your song of pain for me while I rip you apart, Bird,” he taunted.

Where are they?!   I thought in panic, I paled as it hit me, I forgot to grab them on my way out, ‘RUN!’ my mind screamed.

I sprang out of the car and ran the opposite way. But, froze in shock. Leaning against the rear bumper was the mangled body of  a girl. Her eyes had been clawed out causing rivers of red to fall down her pale cheeks from the sockets. Her bottom jaw ripped off, now laying on the asphalt, allowing her ****** tongue to hang like a decoration at a party, only this party was no birthday party, but a ****** party, and I was an unwilling guest. A large **** stretched across her stomach, various organs now laid strewn around her, her intestine spilled from the wound like what you would see in a cheap zombie movie, but this was no prop and I wasn’t in a zombie movie. Her limbs bent in directions they shouldn’t bend, causing the the white jagged end of the broken bones to rise from the torn skin like mountains as thick scarlet rivers ran freely from the wounds. Blood seeped from her lifeless form, pooling around her.

A crazed laugh ripped through the air, “Don’t worry, Birdy Bird, you’ll be just like her soon!” he yelled psychotically, running at me full speed.

I sprinted down the road, my heart pounding in my ears. For what felt like days, but could have only been an hour, he chased me, twist after turn, through the dark, empty town. Fire burned in my lungs, my body sent waves of pain each pounding step I took, my mind screamed to stop and catch my breath. Using my last bit of energy, I took off into the upcoming woods that lined the city, taking shelter behind a large trunk of one of the hundreds of trees. Placing my hand over my mouth to silence my breathing, I listened for any sign of the insane man. For about twenty minutes, I listened, hearing nothing. My body relaxed, as I allowed myself to believe I had lost him.

But, as I stepped out from my hiding place, I ran into something, stumbling back with a gasp as the glint of a blade caught my eyes. Slowly looking up, my body shook with fear, my eyes widened in shock as the murderous man towered over me. He wore a smirk of victory, his eyes full of insanity. He let out a demented laugh, grabbing me before I could run.

“Surprise, Birdy!!”
this has been very exciting for me to do, if you'd like me to do more like this or have any ideas please tell me. And i'd love to hear what you think!!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
the day my cat was about to die
i was in poland, visiting my grand-parents,
then i became psychotically nervous
and asked my parents to be flown back
to england, i had all goosebumps eeriness
on me, they didn't allow me,
my sikh neighbour was taking care of
the cat, a sadistic ***** who on any given
opportunity would whip her husband,
the cat's name was Oscar, a grey maine ****,
days later my parents returned from their
holiday in the maldives, the cat was dead,
died of kidney failure, he had a heart condition,
but cats that have kidney problems
live for years to come, they **** very slowly
as if they have prostate cancer than narrows the
****** oesophagus ;
the cat used to be cared for by my hebrew neighbours
and was fine, but then this sikh ***** took care
and in my post-mortem analysis killed my companion:
take away the descriptive elements of a person,
whether religion, ethnicity and you're racist to be honest,
you bleach people, leave me and my vocabulary intact
before you turn into a **** english teacher:
leave people intact for descriptive language, o.k.?
but you know what i did afterwards?
the cat was toast turned into ash,
sat on a shelf in a cardboard urn for a long time.
but you know what i did after?
i marched into a world war i memorial ground,
where a graveyard was once,
now like a hebrew graveyard with the gravestones stacked
back-to-back... i took a croquet trolley,
a hammer, and a chisel.. and there in the graveyard
hammered each grave to wake the dead,
until i hammered at one long enough to hack
off a piece of it with writing, wrapped it in
a black bin bag, put it on the croquet trolley
and wheeled it off... and then in the moonlit night
with shovel dug a shallow grave,
in the garden, opened the cardboard urn of remains,
scattered some into the dirge hole,
closed the urn's lid, and put it in,
covered the remains with dug-up earth,
and then placed the gravestone on the dug-up site.
mother inquired what i'd done with the ashes,
i told her... walk to the back of the garden
and see the gravestone.
once too in the same memorial grounds
i took a rock cross and put it on my shoulder,
walked with it, and put it at the foot
of the memorial where enforced memorisation
of the 1914 genesis took to a public spectacle
of where poppy wreaths are laid,
and i put the stone gravestone crux over
a poppy wreath - it must have weighed about 40kg
if not more: a roll of roofing felt weighs about as much.
but i buried my cat, and that's that.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
there's a man with no life in his eyes,
                                  there's a man with no life in his eyes.

it had been a long time since i wrote mediocre poems,
without a sedative, overtly sensitive  and too self-conscious
for my liking, unlike all others: under the influence of
a more potent Bacchus elixir, as is due further
north, building up on some sort of ethnic
mythology - it's just that i know it's not actually
self-consciousness, but precautionary measures,
in the sense: i can't be ridiculous - i remember
reading the poetry foundation and knew it was
poetry straight from the coffee houses and tea parties:
no ridiculousness and certainly more sensitivity;
i haven't been down this alley for a long long time;
and it's bothersome, just a little, just a little
too much for me: a poet with a repertoire of 6 accessible
poems to browse over, a poet in residence at some
university, but only a repertoire of 6 accessible poems
to browse over - so much love on the page, so much
nature, so many relationships, religiosity, living,
hobbies, art...
                        i can only refer to my porcelain doll eyes,
i remember when that one word was whispered
into my ear, i was at a party in Edinburgh, promise
of a lively affair, psychotically shopped in a clothes
shop buying all the cotton glitters of fine prints...
but at the party i ended up a potato sack like hood
made from hemp - the minute that word was whispered
into my ear, an electricity ran through me entirely,
my eyes rolled back and a mini-epileptic shiver shook
me yet enabling me to still stand - the mini seizure
stopped and the porcelain eyes were revealed for me
to peer from behind - i seemed to have lost the depth of those
prior eyes masqueraded youth, naiveness, hope,
a bearable kind of expression of love and solidarity,
ambition, jubilation at physical exertion: the basic tenets
for a thirst for life... but everything changed in a flash of
lightning... i rushed out from the party in rage...
walking from the door of the party (an apartment, below
which were shops) i smashed the window to a hairdressing
shop... run into an alley, and threw everything from my
pockets on the floor: coins and a polish citizen card...
after all i wasn't exactly in favour of holding a dual-
citizenship... then certain things revealed and certain
hidden, audacity over scholarly dogmatism, comparison:

surah al-baqarah
ألف      لام      ميم
a         l        m
l         ā         ī
i        m       m
f                                                  seen this sort of code
                                                    in a preceding book...
                                                    hmm, where did i see it?

                                         ah!
                                                 Χ          ξ         ς
                                                 c           x         s
                                                 h           i          i
                                                 i                     (g
                                                              ­          m
                                                     ­                    a)...
"         "        "
but then there's another
                           صاد
                             s'
                             ā
                             d
                                           as there is also
"          "       راء
                     r
                     ā                    and however many variations,

but the principle is the same as the encryption in
the greek book... oh man, i wish i could write cool stuff,
about nature and all that stuff about being macho on
Machu Picchu with a boyscout survival guide...
i just can't rub of my initial indoctrination to a certain
degree with a religion, up to the age of sixteen we
used to prayer in the morning, the *our father
drilled
into us - hence i justify my interest in these matters
because of that - just spotting one thing following through
to another with a similarity - you can hardy deny
the Quran is not following from what was established prior,
although that's where my interest ends...
just looks like another jigsaw puzzle... i just haven't
seen any literature on the topic... and i'm not going to
transliterate hebrew, for that numbers game whereby
the original Gematria meaning i already described about
the geometry of letters, and how they all fit through
O... the open mouth... M can fit through the mouth
and also turn into a bee caught between the lips,
and can also be lodged in the larynx when you hearing
mumbling with the mouth closed.
jeffrey robin Nov 2014
(            
                       )
(          
               )
(    
**
X

                                                    ­                fire burning in the night

//////

ONE WISDOM

//: //                                                  

whim

( a humanity who cares ?  )

                                                        //://

If the youth of the world

Would actually acknowledge how

Evil and Psychotically demented

The general population actually is

,,,

Would they act accordingly ?
Would they act differently ?

••

Apparently

They would strive even harder to emulate

The most EVIL
the most PSYCHOTICALLY DEMENTED

of the adults

In order to win their approval

And survive

////

LOVE

has become nothing more than

A MASK

a

POLITICAL FACADE

erected in order to delude and captivate

Those younger and weaker

In order to enslave

••

( as we know too well right here )

••

ONE WISDOM

a fire burning in the night

Ah yes

Humanity
Elizabeth May 2013
She cries because it's raining
The makeup trickles down her irrational face,
And she wonders when the sun will come.
I tell her truthfully, when it's ready, though she rejects my input.
She is washing away down into the sewer with every breath,
The place she wants to belong,
With the only things that make sense to her: dead things.
Psychotically, the pistol in her pocket now rests in her palm with its most dangerous point aimed at the middle of my forehead.
And she asks me again when the sun will come,
But I give no response,
Because nothing I say will change her motive.
And she shoots me.
Ben Jul 2016
Early on
My T.V. was controlled
By my mother and older sister
Because of this
I have an immunity
To awful television

Americas Next Top Whatever
Growing up Whatever
The Housewives of Wherever
All the spinoffs
All the three week
Episodic backstory
Specials

Everything

I have found this taste in T.V.
Is engrained in most girls and women
Not all of them mind you
But most

From all of the
Nonsensical story lines
Wooden and awkward acting
Scripted life tragedies
Artificially inseminated arguments
Pointless and pedantic drama
Lifetime movies stick out

They are their own special breed
Because of this
They are beautiful
And I enjoy them immensely

So many meaningless sub plots
Badly framed shots
Ridiculous morals
Awfully choreographed action sequences
That have nothing to do
With the movie at all

In this way
They are their  
Own type of pure

I have no shame
Besides
There is no where else
That I can watch an hour and a half
Of a police woman
Being hunted by her surrogate
Who was her best friend
(Before she psychotically fell in love with
The police woman's husband)
While the police woman is
Haunted by the ghost of her
Dead mother who
Gives her advice
From beyond the grave

Finally
With the help of the ghost mother
The police woman
And her misogynistic male partner
(Who is no longer a misogynist
Because she is such a **** fine cop)
Corner the surrogate
Who now has an assault rifle
And they end up having to blow her
Away
Emptying their guns
As she yells out and spins
Too many times into some faceless
Mansion's swimming pool
Ending with a slow motion splash
And no charges pressed anywhere
On anyone

All of this
Played by the up and coming
Talent of yesteryear
And the same six
Recycled actors
Who butcher their lines and roles
So artistically
That tense and awful moments
Make me convulse with laughter

It is surreal
And totally worth the guilt
I feel for enjoying such
Rancidly composed filth
Tina ford Feb 2014
Him
I want to hurt you, desert you, socially disgrace you,
Shame you, break you, and publically deface you,
Simply and quite easily displace you,
But I can’t,

I want to beat you, delete you, silently defeat you,
Spite you, fight you, locally expedite you,
Gently and easily overwrite you,
But I can’t,

I want to kick you, flick you, psychotically brick you,
Nab you, grab you, franticly jab you,
Smiling as I lovingly stab you,
But I can’t,

I want to grin, watch blood soak in, laughing within,
Delighting in my sin, comfortably rock...in,
As, I picture you in your coffin,
But I can’t,

But I can wait; I’m at the gate, of fate,
Don’t be late……………
Elvis okumu Jan 2014
To sit, to be, alone swmming in a sea of silence.
To hear the sound of anonymity.
To bask in the glory that is obscurity.  
To hear, to see, only that to which is important to me.
The noise of the world left behind.
The deafening drums of what we now call life.
The noise, it saturates the soul.
Thick black tar clogging the path to a peaceful mind.
This constant grind, rolling psychotically.
Crushing, breaking, smashing, snapping.
Untill the heart is left plastered on the concrete.  
A smear I  ignore, a pain i medicate, a hole I try to fill.
It runs deep this damage.
Like blue ink on white cloth it stains me.
Throbing as it flows down marring the senctaty of my soul.  
My pain is not physical, not the sharp jarring pain of a broken bone.
Not the naked exposed pain of an open wound leaking life to the indifferent air.
It is that of a, bruised heart,  a battered soul, a troubled mind.
Abstract in its nature.
Understanding a bygone feature.
It has no beggining and no end.
When it comes the pain is everywhere and nowhere.
All at once then not at all.
Numb and yet so intense.
But the water of silence.  
Washes me, and the tar, the ink, the pain the stink.
Run down my body, the sensation sweet and heavenly.
Honey of the mind, milk to nurture the soul.
It is only then that I am weightless, only then that I am truely whole.
Xyns Mar 2014
Threaten my sanity
Rip my skin
Do what you please
I wont give in

The bullets don't scare me
Your words won't mar me
Yes, I'm terrified
But I won't leave yet

Tests like these must be passed
I've lived through worse
I can't be broken
And I'll be back

I'm addicted to the thrill
The pain, I can deal
Adrenaline is my drug
I'm a ******, I'm a ****

Let me be who I am
Stab my pleasure but let me breathe
Your blade is soft, quite welcoming
The blood, I've seen

I've tasted the end
I've created Armageddon
Chaos is practically my name
Fear is my life

I am prepared for this fight
Psychotically ready for the abuse
If I lose, All is well
I live for the roulette
Jacobo Raymundo Apr 2013
The steel door has closed
Stopping the flow of
Psychotically devoted emotions
From pouring out of my heart
And into the words that you read
My words are bland
Yet met my feelings have spice
Why can't I put word to feeling today?
Vladimir s Krebs Jan 2016
we first meet under the pink cheery blossom tree your beauty has stolen my own mind controlling me like your hypnotizing ways. your looks have made me go blind but it turns out i really wasn't love just your manipulative eyes. i have lost my soul because of you i'm now losing my mind in insanity that will make me crash down like a plane diving out of the highest part of the earths suffocating lies. i had a feeling this wasn't meant to be. this feels like a dream but is it real or all just a ******* up lie. is there any way to find to escape or is this life going to explode with war and fire fight that will never end. how did it come down like this when we meet i thought you were just a normal girl but my fear has taken it all out. i don't know how  to look away cause your eyes have locked on and controls my brain blinded by a fake image that will never fade. this love has brought all my fear up for you to play on me. i might lose my mind you took my life and tour it up till i lose it into psychotically insanity.. i wish i could have made that mistake and kept flowing  down the road so i wouldn't have this happen to me at all. i wish i could grab the change to really believe that you weren't to good to be true. you are the biggest mistake you have taken my blind identity that i just want to scream at all of you *** hols. your lies have taken all my breath and drowned  me to death.


that hot cool summer day i thought this was going to be true but what i wasn't able to do was tell you that i will bring all the ******* down on your lies.


i knew it wasn't meant to be but i let my guard slip. so theirs nothing anything more to say when i have to bring this house down stopping your beauty that tricks people into love when its all your mind games. it was never meant to bee.


this was the mistake of a fake identity that blinds the ones who fall in your trap.

i knew it was never meant to be just a suffocating mistake no one could ever escape from.
fear dont was time on dating some one who will just take your mind and tear your life all apart
David W Clare Dec 2014
A diatribe in the making...

The demon gods of pathos
By d. Clare
Preface
The mind is a mysterious realm where emotions are stored and collected churning out controlling our moods emotions and
Feelings overwhelming us creating joy or rage.
I hate you I love you?
Where do all the demon s come from.
The two kinds of minds in most are either reactive or responsive thinking.
"Most people would rather die than think."
Bertrand Russell
Reality being subjective requires daily choices. If one decides to drop out of school, quit ones job, go shopping, its all about choices.
Some people like to live in the country while most prefer the city.
stress is damage to the nervous system where no mytosis exists.
Sigmund Freud was the modern day discoverer of psychosis.
" Most people are psychotically misinformed stingy with their time love and attention overemphasizing their importance to the universe."
Buddha was born in 662 BC
In India. He suggested that what we see in others is actually what we see in ourselves.
Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.
Vladimir s Krebs Jan 2016
you just want to let go out all your demons you have to fight the first thing ever day. your phone is vibrating you caller id is your ex GF who is psychotically crazy and will never under stand i will never pick up your ******* calls cause you just smoother me in your lies you spill all over social media ruining every one fun times to be alone to escape this ******* world. this time my life has been crazy all my ex's have tried to **** me. i wish i knew what could be free but every call made every text is unstoppable making you want to go on a rampage killing knocking destroying every thing in your path leaving nothing but a pile of glass and ashes behind. i have escaped reality drinking monster but what ever happened i don't remember why or where or what happened.

you text and voice mail you leave on my phone i will never understand why you will never let it go why i left you.
tired worn out
mitus Nov 2017
When the quiet girl stands up
She warbles the constant messages her mind signals
Her head is filled with demons, darkness, and sudden shivers
Built with waking up even though she feels much more significant when she lays asleep
Grilled with details about not killing herself because that is selfish
Not killing herself because it is simply but a mere problem and she should build a bridge and get over it
Not killing herself because there are so many wonderful, new opportunities that awaits her.
But when the quiet girl stands up
She is unfulfilled
Unfulfilled and unsatisfied
No, those two words do not mean the same thing, they are synonyms to one another.
She says,
“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to **** herself isn’t selfish.”
She says,
“When she’s  surrounded by all these people, it can be lonelier than when she’s by herself.”
“Do you know why?” She asks.
“Do you know anything about depression, about having the depths of depression, the epiphany of blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness grabbing her soul into a deep, dark pit of despair feels like?”
“Do you know why people feel this way?”
She says,
“Ask her. Ask her how it feels like and you won’t get an answer but a stare. You’ll get a stare because there is no direct solution as to why she has depression. She just does.”
She says,
“Every single time she raises her voice and bellow down to the faceless fiend feeding on her fallible mind, she cannot capture the moment or the focus or the fking reason why there is an anonymous ghoul resting upon her brain.”
She says,
“The brutal brute that lays a nest in her mind spreads his eggs and continues to make a mass production. ‘There cannot be room for any positivity!’ he recited. She waits and waits and waits until she wants to die, until she wants to be gone and get rid of herself and make the world a better place.”
She says,
“The brute does not care who she is or the extraordinary things she has done. The brute does what he wants and until he is done, she will be gone.”
She says,
“She will be gone because she cannot thrive within herself. She is losing sleep, not eating, and most importantly, not talking. That’s why she’s so f
king quiet. So the next time you ask her to talk, remind yourself that there are things that you do not understand and have to learn. Remind yourself that you cannot say ‘Just think positively’ or ‘It’s all in your head’ because that does not work. So the next time you speak to her, respect her.”
Vladimir s Krebs Mar 2016
There is just a steep ledge that hangs threw the eyes of thrill seeking death. Deathes hand play's like knives cutting the pictures of every mistake you have made. Looking threw the blue eyes of the insanity of what you never wanted to see. She looks at me but deep down i'm never going to be set free of what I have done. Psychotically insane only the rain that falls that falls catches my skin leaving burn's. Only scares become clear when nights you just lay awake for nights watching the ceiling fan spin around. This earth you will suround the enemies you have made. I see no reason to make a sound. The cliff you jump in the water of regrets will take away the weight you suffocate in.
time life love hope
taylor Dec 2019
that ramshackled wax house situated in the lonely ‘Sticks,
where flocks of muddle-minded sheep would whimper,
this obscure grove you attempted escaping to for it only to retreat infinitely further,
birds shrill that knee-knocking prayers were not to heal your sickness,
leaden dirt kicked up in the driveway by his stuttering pick-up truck,
    his hefty-booted footsteps cracking warnings,
two folks roosting there,
    they skimp along on scanty paychecks,
    when’s the last time you spruced up?
hushed deeds done behind doors, back porches, piddling sheep ranching, 9-to-5 waitressing,
a domestic trophy, coaxing you to product with a simper or an act on her knees,
a bride of winsome nineteen
from a limited nuclear family yet disowned as an unfaithful *****  for hobnobbing with the riff raff,
traded names to be a ‘Cherry’, unbecoming displays of skin, hootin’-hollerin’, shake her fist to the Heavens and toss her mane, sneering and bad-mouthing, rebellious attitudes of subsisting on the ‘wild’ aspect of life,
did you think you could your persist youthful life negligently forever?
psychotically ‘steadfast’ to her brutish man,
RIDE OR DIE!                    hard whiskey, cigarettes, and phone calls,
he narrates her stories, she sings delusioned hymns,
their day comprising of blackberry kisses and black coffee grippings,
of bitten bottom lips and benign bruises,
    violet caressing her inner thighs, unbuckled passion to the eye,
                        pose on his knee, crooked grins
dancing for him in wiry linen lingeries, to strut her lithe yielding legs,
                          straddle her in-between those hush sheets,
                                    one hot breath,
does he flinch when she first handles him unexpectedly? does he gaze into distances far and mumbles abstractedly?
       “No one will love you like I do.”
    spoiled excess wool in wicker baskets,
                         does she stash a packed suitcase beneath the bed?
                         red lipstick,
                                        polished pistol,
                                       hotdishes,
to you, the lamb of which she stalked,
    what transfixed you? was it her beggar puppy eyes or the muscled haunches? some boyish fantasy for a mature woman who you observed sunbathing on her lawnside?
                he had that lean meat where his sighings exhibiting his ribs,
                that fond, innocent sense desiring a mother-figure,
you met her under the hollowing light of the street lamp,
what meager knowledge of each other did they know? she cannot fulfill her promise to whisk you away to coasts free,
        soaking the laid-towels in fields, a rhythmic guidance for the inexperienced,
did she think of him instead, preferred? and a warm bed?                                         preoccupied,
caught! in the act of entanglement,
did they hear the din? his baleful bark? your blanched bleat?
springing in defense, muddied soles as tangible sins,
his flash-fire eyes, pulsing veins with an envious rage,
a preaching of her ****, his fractured heart, love so sacred one can NEVER betray the boundaries,
did he clench his hands around her throat? oh!
his demands that he pronounced! **** you with the pistol he brandished zealously,
MANDATORY!
          Moon as my witness,
                            who was your Savior in that moment? where was your merited divine intervention?
but slow of action, faint of heart, grasping her hands he forced the weapon, he plyed her finger to pull the trigger,
             the lamb’s final shallow breath, the hounds smacking their ****** gums,
one cold breath,
The snow must have felt blistering,
how frightened she became, alter her standpoint,
but she could flee as she thirsted! the yank! the ******! to the ground,
                    the punishing baseball bat to ******* her legs,
dousing, saltish tears, rouge lips gasping, sporadically whimpering between bitter laughter,
his hand on her neck skimming gradually, gracefully, between her blades, warm,
gingerly cradling her, splintering voice, apologies like flurries,
            that day summer’s day when they first married in front of the grove,
         she remembers her billowing linen dress, the way they waltzed in lush grass,
                                would the world chasm off beyond?
        he would kiss her again in precisely the same manner as once before,
fall desperately in love with him, firm, truely steadfast, unpacking her suitcase,  
mosey back towards that lit house of wax, that far-flung street lamp and the dispersed sheep,
“Take me home.”        
                                “No one will love you like I do.”
Vladimir s Krebs Jan 2016
i have take my time just to make u feel loved. but you have turned your back on me betraying all the information i have slipped beside both of us. i spent my time making sure no one would hurt you. but i don't think i'm emotionally strong enough to keep going. i have gave you my trust but all you have said is words of ******* that only leaves the gashes deep into my skin. i made your life free but i feel like i cant look at my self when my tears start to flow down my tormented mind set. this is what will be a choice that will erase you from my mind and my society that only makes the truth bleed when u stabbed me in the hand with a rose. my tears have never been seen but i think this time is and acceptation we all have to live with. but i'm about to lose my mind when i just need to start to run so i can escape your words that have just made life a game. this life is crazy but i will make my new identity that will make a master of despise. no one will ever know when i take my **** and just disappear on the run. no more tears no more fear of lies that will turn my personal life psychotically insane no one could escape your not even worth my time any more so good bye
truth dont fall for love that is to good to be true even ******* you wont even understandin this world with out paying your prise

— The End —