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"reloads" poems
you told me to send a picture i looked another way you told me to send a picture i laughed it away you told me to send a picture again and again and again i cared too much not to cave i wish my **** form could be sculpted like clay i tuck my necklace away i try lip-biting, play with lighting, hiding my tan line from last summer you tell me to send a picture i have it ready quivering, quaky fingers quickly, quietly, hit send you tell me i did a good job when the chat reloads, its gone. you reply for two more days. you ghost me.
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Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 8:41 PM UTC
disappear
From life, we learn many a valuable truth That makes our existence one of worth So growing old is no curse As experience aids us steer life’s course While life itself is a riddle Remember, Death is an inexorable puzzle Hatred burns life like fire And wickedness turns it into mire On Earth, forgiveness bonds hearts But revenge, sure, breaks all bonds Even a guilty falls prostrate Before those willing to commiserate Know, a true friend has no deceit And a truly learned has no conceit If jealousy is an acid which erodes Generosity is a fuel that reloads If inactivity is akin to death Creativity is vital as breath If perseverance conquers mountains Laziness dries up fountains While pride leads a man to his fall Humility takes him closer to his goal While Honesty leads him to salvation Deceit drives him to damnation Patience is an inexhaustible well And ********** a sure road to hell Know that those who long for the crown Should also be torn by the thorn While love of God takes us to eternity Love of man leads us to fraternity Ye Friends, with such priceless tips learned in bits Light up your life in glowing glitz Bury your past with all its woes As each morn of hope brightly zooms!
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Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 6:17 AM UTC
What Life Teaches
The flame In his chest The same To the rest But twisted As he was Blessed But gifted With inferiority And was horribly Conflicted Of the message He was meshing With the decrepit Feeling Of his fleeting Half stepping To the Recollections Of his blessings That he was tempted To dissect From the crowd Inflicted Despite the Shroud Of clouded Bouts Torn from The panicked **** Of the phobias He knew they were scared of And glared Right through them Before he opened up His coat And started shooting Proving Others wise In the silent Reprise Of 45's And nines He smiled In the exile Of fear Escaping Through The fading Lights Of dying eyes In the wild Surmise That with each Trigger squeeze Eased him Into shame As he Aimed To please For the release Of lives Crawling For the Finished Lines And in gorgazmic Slitherings He delivered The final blows With power ups And scores Progressing The killing As he reloads With shrilling Grins And stints Of compassion Fashioning The rationed Satisfaction He received From the screaming Mothers and babies Brothers and maybes Splattering On the plastic trees Of escalators And skeezes That laid shuttering Headless Upon the exits Of his Insurrected mind And he was just fine With dying In kind And he was just fine Shining from The shrine Of Santa In a sonata Of solidarity To the led Soldering morals In a story Of victory And of Personal glory For the lords Of defeat Seething In the completeness Of a defeatist As he stuck The heaters In his mouth And was out Without One doubt As to what Nothing Means
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Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
Courage
The flame In his chest The same To the rest But twisted As he was Blessed But gifted With inferiority And was horribly Conflicted Of the message He was meshing With the decrepit Feeling Of his fleeting Half stepping To the Recollections Of his blessings That he was tempted To dissect From the crowd Inflicted Despite the Shroud Of clouded Bouts Torn from The panicked **** Of the phobias He knew they were scared of And glared Right through them Before he opened up His coat And started shooting Proving Others wise In the silent Reprise Of 45's And nines He smiled In the exile Of fear Escaping Through The fading Lights Of dying eyes In the wild Surmise That with each Trigger squeeze Eased him Into shame As he Aimed To please For the release Of lives Crawling For the Finished Lines And in gorgazmic Slitherings He delivered The final blows With power ups And scores Progressing The killing As he reloads With shrilling Grins And stints Of compassion Fashioning The rationed Satisfaction He received From the screaming Mothers and babies Brothers and maybes Splattering On the plastic trees Of escalators And skeezes That laid shuttering Headless Upon the exits Of his Insurrected mind And he was just fine With dying In kind And he was just fine Shining from The shrine Of Santa In a sonata Of solidarity To the led Soldering morals In a story Of victory And of Personal glory For the lords Of defeat Seething In the completeness Of a defeatist As he stuck The heaters In his mouth And was out Without One doubt As to what Nothing Means
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Millions are made off the misery of others & there is no cure in sight. The system just reloads, rakes in the hard earned dollars of real people who they say have no rights. And who are they, but the high & mighty magistrates, sitting high in the pulpit, hitting happy hour before they drive back home after a hard day's work playing hypocrite.
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Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
Hypocrites Hitting Happy Hour
A whisper A spark A crackle in the dark A fragment of electricity warming up the wire. The essence full implodes Then reloads And clicks the next bullet in place Now falling. Screaming. Failing, to fill the void left by your space. Suicidal lust figured in the expression on your face Just a coward hiding from destiny Fear yourself And that is something that can be tamed with thought The mind is our universe, not a wild animal, and yet the theory is paradox Explore it, search out its mystery, it’s patterns Control it and with a thought move Saturn Out of orbit, out of space, out of mind, just blink and erase. But the looming threat of neon lights is invading our minds The mechanical encrusted upon the living Used and worn definitions With no room for originality or inspiration Or in the poet’s case no water or air And we speed through life, with no acknowledgement of either Pretending it’s a hyperbole, simile or metaphor While Artists drowning in paint, poisoned poets drop to the floor Spinning in cycles like seasons seems pointless Frustrated with feeling, life is a mess Slow down and recover Pull over and wind down the window Breathe And the wind blows softly in your ear All the things you needed to hear Were found within A whisper Melissa Mutch 2006
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Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 9:34 AM UTC
A Whisper (2006)
I'm hidden, shivering behind this curtain of rain Seeing live through shades of pain I'm so tired of listening to the sound of my tears They've been falling for way to many years In this life of mine, it never rains it only pours In my head, the scarred battle ground of wars' Of a million thoughts and memories Trying desperately Pharmaceutical remedies Only to discover there is no cure for my disease Forced again and again to my knees I use to pray to a distant faceless God Religion preaching of His grand facade But He too must be flawed For I stand daily in front of His firing squad Mental health continually erodes Desperately waiting for a lull, as He reloads Coal black darkness paints my life's canvas As I watch yesterday's loss become today's madness Wishing I could feel the firm hard dirt at the end of this hole I fear it's bottomless, just like my soul ©Pauline Russell
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Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC
Sound of My Tears
The System and Time. Generated by Intelligent design With its finger prints thru the space of time Micro and Macro We're all connected as one that shines Constructed as code in Real time Spirals in full time Games played like war and crime Automated as Agents to keep things in line Spied and conducted in Multidimensional space time. Déjà vu that questions time? X's and Y's like a goldmine of "Pastimes" Voices of ideas in spark of time. Augmented reality in our dreams that questions this time? Cosmic Rays that limits us because of the their design Cells like floating thru the the continuum of time Physics and laws of this master design that is beyond Eisenstein. Asleep or awaken in this time? Be-careful because you may be redefine. Following a script to survive in time We're just a code that is a variable in the universal space time. Faith is like a reality that you design. Choice is like a reality that you define. Heaven is like a backup that reloads when you go offline Assign and streamline with a Lifeline that spins in the hands of time. All of this is like a story-line. The greatest mystery of the system and time by the divine.
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Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
The System and Time.
I'm a man of the internet, all sad and depressed Who clicks all day, what video is next Who reloads his page, not for his own book Who expresses his pain,  here you can look I'm a man of the internet, just kind of indifferent Some things are funny, some things are interesting Some grand political scheme clashing together Who is wrong, who is right, how? however I'm a man of the internet, all weird and excited Eccentric, and youthful. Socially invited I can hand you a million memes all day I could plan a meeting with you today Not all words need to be typed Not all scenes need to be screened Not all dreams need to be dreams All you see is what you believe A window to a door and I'm out of the house
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Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
A poem on a site. By a computer in a house.
A boy is a loaded gun Deadly and true Heavy with the weight of himself His tiny moving parts Smelling like oil and death and blood Trigger finger quick as the flash of his smile The white of his teeth reflected In the whites of her eyes A girl is an open wound Scar riddled and lame From all the bullets she has been grazed by Surely one, one day will **** her Or the lead in her body All poisonous trace of him Will seep into her bloodstream Find her heart, aquiver in fear Rabbit under the barrel Experienced hunter, this one His hands do not shake His lips do not twitch His eyes cold and hard as the weapon The world is a red battlefield Silence, but for his steady breath Her tearful pleas Bang The boy reloads.
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Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 7:11 AM UTC
Marksman