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ryn Oct 2014
Give me a minute
To read the stars
Lamenting in their stories
Their laboured twinkling far and sparse

Give me this moment
To stumble and swoon
My branches reaching for
The faraway moon

Give me a while
To be one with the universe
Hear the colliding planets
As they spill their mournful verse

Give me some time
To plot my rightful place
Within my uncharted galaxy
And collapsing space...
The difference between actions and habits,
                   is often measured by the person you're asking.  
One bump, one line, one half ounce...
       All shared by people you don't even give a **** about.

These chemicals make me sick --
                          Limitless...Why quit?
                          When it's only ten bucks for a hit like this?
Even Jesus Christ would have gotten addicted,
                          if drugs in his day were half this good.

"Yeah, I'm smashed -- but I promise I can drive fine."
                         Walk and push the limits of a real fine line...
If I don't **** myself, or someone else... I'm happy.
                 Stare death in his eyes, wink, and start laughing.

Gasping as I swerve lanes --
Stay safe, get paid. Mundane daily.
Living a-live.. Eat. Sleep. Dream. Get laid.  
Chase feelings.

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You know me, right?

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You love me, right?

I want to melt with you -- let our souls collide...
Dissolve the boundaries between students and teachers.
             To bridge the gap in the great divide
             No secrets between us -- bleed into the speakers.

Feel the air in your chest, and ask *** for a reason...
To stay or leave Him.
He makes excuses...

                                                     ­           ... Believe Him.
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach...
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                            You­ would burn it all.

To do a dance, to wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
                                                     To look in a mirror...
                     To tell an image that it’s anything but you.

But it's in that moment, that you'll find
             you tell the unfamiliar truth.
             As you bleed and feed your own obliterated youth...

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
                          you’d find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
                                                          A­lone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
               For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
                 Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

And maybe, one day, one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

                     To feel the flame within its breath consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
                And die a death,
                Whose dance you six-times misstep


                                    And on the seventh, betrays you.

PS Rowland Aug 2013
The wonder I do see,
as I glance upon the sea,
the reflection telling stories,
as it does look back at me.

My image it has captured,
and tales it’s tossed about.
I want to read the story,
to dispel this aching doubt.

Is it full of love, and beauty,
or tainted with selfishness?
Is it someone you’d be proud of,
or cause your heart distress?

History has been written,
the past is cast in stone,
the story’s already been published,
Is it something you do own?

Future chapters await,
it’s your chance to make anew.
Any flaws that pained your eye,
rewrite to be brand new.
© All Rights Reserved P.S. Rowland
ryn Nov 2014

i
    am
       a sea
           farer•a
                  rider of the
                         dwindling air...

one day my ailing boat would invite
the water•i will finally sink into
~ ~ ~~
oblivion's lair•~~ ~ ~
~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~  *~ ~
~~ ~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~
~~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~~   ~~
~~ ~~ *•m y exis tenc e ~ ~ ~~  
    ~~ w ill then  be • but a we a k, ~
i ndis  cern ible... reflec  tion of my sel f
~   •  ~
                      ~     i' d notb e  free •but~
        ~    ~          t rapped i n abo x
                   ~   on a  lon g for-  ~~
              g o tte  n  ~
~    sh e ~
l  
f

.~
PoserPersona Jul 12
Idly stationed in the bucolic hills,
sits a stone well; unknown when abandoned.
Though her people foregone, water yet fills
as much as you can want for. In tandem,
are high trees less old than she; occluding
the view from pathless and naive strangers.
As their wish in well is to keep obtuse,
those that siren would otherwise capture.
Her drink, one thinks they'll constantly receive.
In reality, they'll only be taken.
Youth will fade as the heart minutely bleeds.
Their hollow, dried corpse will be forsaken.
And though her hole but a tall dark crevice,
I see my reflection on the surface.
Driving up mountain miles
of washboard switchbacks;
jarring the dusty rearview mirror
in my mind:

"but don't look back in anger"  
... I heard you say
stuck in the cloud of dust
befogging my daydream
back somewhere thereabouts
the washed out bridge
that tore us apart
like a flash flood

It was so long ago
since you were running
and I was hiding in plain sight,
from what the storm
in my eyes did tell

Mindful — you were only watching
the growing distance gather;

finding what you didn't lose
looking back to see
   what you can't forget —

like a hesitant child
reluctantly wondering
if anyone was still looking back
at you ―  still running away
from each passing storm


Jesse Stillwater
June   2018
Thank you for reading my soul scribbles
In a wakeful contradiction, it lays fact between my fiction,
Tangling subatomics, it unravels as its tricks spin
deeper toward the outward...
                         it won’t let up, 'til I give in.

Over matter, lay my mind…
I tell a lie to pass the time...
But there’s no reason nor a rhyme --
                                      Less still, a purpose?
I search for something to remind my mind
                                      that there’s truth that isn’t worthless…

But as always, failure appears;
                                        in a sort-of amnesic continuity.
And my reality lies to my own mind
just as well as it succeeds in its futility.
With destruction as its manifest,
It tells me that I stand my tallest
                                       Upon two buckled knees.

Just as faith will find one’s doubt --
                           a search within has left without.
It seems that an answer, once sought out,
                          will be left lacking its question.

My truth divides itself, as a product of infinite misdirection.

I try to substitute a reason for a rhyme.
But with no lies left to pass the time...
                                              I swallow a dose of ignorance.
                                   It goes down smoother than the truth.

In a war that started with a truce,
This world betrayed my faith to show me:
                                                  that I'm only tall enough
                                        Once I’ve been
                                                              cut
                                                                     down
                                                                              slowly.

Like a pill too large to swallow,
                I think I’m choking on myself . . .
Or the irony of asking,
                     “How could I be so careless?”
Here I stand, Barely standing,
                   Consumed almost entirely
By my own dry-heaving self-awareness...

Left to fight the fears that my nightmares create;
I’m still running from my past,
yet, haunted by my fate.
They walk beside me always, shadowing wholeheartedly —
Existing as a duality, both apart from, and a part of me.

These ghosts have taught me very little...
                                    Aside from what I hate.
But, I've come to learn not to fear
                                    The forceful hands of fate.
For I shudder not at the thought of destiny,
                                    Or the inevitable in time...
Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices
That were solely, and entirely, mine.

I fear that my will may be of enough influence, alone...
That fate itself may collapse beneath decisions like my own.
Or that I, myself, might be constructing
What destruction I will find
Among my shattered spirits and convictions,
In these depths to which I climb.

i asked her, does it look the same?
she gave me that funny look she gets
whenever i say or do something a little dim
it's a mirror image for a reason she said

in the mirror i see muscles, and strength
hips a little too wide and fleshy
but still muscular,
strength all the way down

but when i reflect on myself,
no mirror necessary
it is never the same

i don't feel as strong as i could
don't look as sharp and sturdy as i could
those fleshy sides, too soft
for a battle-hardened brain
and turbulent thoughts

i need angles, i need straight lines
but there's nothing straight about me
and that's half the problem

and the other half
is that i hate the softness that lingers
but everybody else loves it
and i don't want to be warm and
able to be cuddled

i want hard edges
and nimble, spindly fingers;
when i play my chords
i want my bones to tap the strings

and when sadness sheathes itself within me
i want eyes as dry
as my eczema-bitten hands
it's been a while, huh?
hey, guys, how are ya?
my 2018 has been a rollercoaster already
i finally got an appointment with a clinic i've been emailing for three months, and my granddad died
Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots, just to make its wine more bitter...
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum that my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
Its a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish, With a thirst that can't be quenched...
She finds the spots within me, that make even deities flinch.
Their knees ***** and crumble, at its all-consuming "nothing"...
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit...
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
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