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Aaron LaLux Oct 2018
Watching Trending videos on YouTube,
2 of the top ten videos are dead,
which means I’m watching ghosts,
having deja vu see it seems I’ve seen this scene before,

Rest In Peace Mac Miller,
Resit In Pease Xxxtentacion,
this spirits have be writing frantically,
going for gold or at least an honorable mention,

want to be anything except forgotten,
skin is fresh but core is rotten,
scent of cologne watching Post Malone,
give an interview on Jimmy Fallon,

seems we’ve fallen,
and our idols are a sign of where we’re at,
war never stopped it just changed forms,
from Germany to Vietnam to Iraq,

as the sun sets over San Francisco Bay,
I watch the colors run,
indifferent to the cause and the effect,
nothing’s perfect but the sky always looks so beautiful,

as I gaze out this bedroom window,
in a house I do not own,
just touched down from Australia,
back in The Bay for another round,

taking a moment to reflect,
in my feelings as the sun sets,
and it feels like we’ve seen it all,
even though we know we haven’t seen anything yet,

watching Trending videos on YouTube,
2 of the top ten videos are dead,
which means I’m watching ghosts,
having deja vu see it seems I’ve seen this scene before…

∆ LaLux ∆
Nagilia Melendez Jun 2015
I'm going to tell you a story,
About a girl,
Who wanted nothing but fame and glory.

She dreamt of days without a worry.
A world when people have no need to be sorry.
She sits back and enjoys the moment,
With music in her ears as her docent.

Tunes from varying artist,
From tove lo, to G eazy, to the weeknd.
Creating moods that she never knew exist.
Everything was just pefect.

It began to rain,
She turns down the volume.
She cries quietly,
Listening to the stories drops create in her brain.

She tries not to remember the pain,
But the memories continued to swirl and destroy her,
Like a bunch of internal hurricanes.
Then, she remembers the relief of cutring open her veins.

She clenches her fists,
She tries to resit.
The voices begin to scream,
Stripping away her self esteem.

She covers her ears,
She continues to Cry!
"No more fears no more fears!"
She pops some pills trying to get high.

But she took too much,
And she dies.
This is just a story,
Of a girl who was used for fame and glory.
#sad #inspiration #suicide #depressed #
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2022
title: loop
body:
or holes or days
and oh: or months...
let's pretend years
never existed.

sometimes, it's truly weird... but i'm not English... or British... sure... for convenience's sake, when asked by officials in the NHS... put me down at white British... once was the case of the Anglo-Saxons... well... at best i'm an Anglo-Slav... but i can't allow all these racial "minorities" residing in England to label with me... "reparations"... a "colonial-past"... or... post-colonialism, or whatever the fetish is... i just belong to a people without a colonial past... sorry... that's racist... to be unable to differentiate people ethnically... it simply is... that's how H'america rots... it has no ethnicity distinction... it's either all RACE or ***... can't tell apart the Serb fascists from the Ukrainian fascists?! i can't buy into this whole: i'm white therefore i'm somehow also the inheritor of post-colonialism... i'm on side with the Russians given this argument... sorry... i'm not having it... that's ******* racist: just because i'm white is somehow indicative of me receiving the minority sadism against the British in the realm of post-colonialism... **** no... **** never...you will not put other people's history onto other people: because you're ethnically-blind... just because i'm as white as a Brit doesn't imply we share a shared history... ****-off cupper-neck... come come... milk me the golden **** of Moloch! right now... i'm loving the Russian attitude of... *******... or we'll **** with you...because it simply doesn't make sense for certain ethnicities of the white race to... capitulate to the "racial minorities" of a post-colonial argumentation of: new schematics of how society's to be orientated... nicely... just nicely... i'm seriously thinking about ******* off to Liverpool... the women seem nicer... less paranoid... less-stuck... less... ugh... yucky... itchy... whatever it is with having... over-value delusions of... obviously having bypassed the safety-net of becoming a nun...

the day started well enough... i must have drunk about half
a litre of whiskey: forgetting to take some naproxen
to ease me into sleep.. woke up with cold sweats
at: some time just past 5am...
some nightmare... Holocaust related? i don't remember...
but if you're waking up sweating and shivering
at the same time... lucky for me... i meditated on this towards
work: well... the horrifying has already happened...
i never understood the argument that 6 millions Jews
died in the Holocaust... technically... those were 6 million
Polacks... while France capitulated to **** Germany
in whatever span of time...
  it took longer for Poland to capitulate to both:
**** Germany and Soviet Russia... and we're talking:
a nation that only recently emerged after being non-existent
given the partitions... while France... a colonial power...
anyway... had two coffees... a precursor of a bad idea:
showered... applied 7 different "beautifying" products
to my hair, beard, face... armpits... collar bones and neck
and hands...
   ****** off... as ever... one hour early:
why do i mismatch my timing whenever travelling to
Wembley... if i catch the fast (Southend Victoria train)
i can get from Romford to Liverpool Street in under 20 minutes...
since... the train doesn't stop at: Chadwell Heath,
Goodmayes, Seven Kings, Ilford, Manor Park, Forest Gate...
Maryland... straight onto Stratford...
and then Liverpool Street... and then that's another
20 or so minutes on the Metropolitan Line to Wembley Park...
well... nice weather... spring is in full swing...
another two coffees from McDonald's... sitting on a bench
on the Olympic route...
eating an almond croissant... oh looky-looky...
company... starlings...
                        i was surprised: where did the pigeons *******
to? so i'm going to be sitting on this bench
by myself... drinking a 4th coffee... eating an almond
croissant... smoking a cigarette after the "feast" while
having this troop of 4 or 5 starling beg me to pinch
of my croissant... ****'s sake: the day is starting to look
beautiful... i couldn't resit...
plus... there's that added bonus of looking mythical...
eh? even mystical... since a few coworkers already spotted
you and you're not some old man in a park
throwing breadcrumbs to pigeons...
you're throwing pinches of an almond croissant to starlings...
i always said: better a soul of an old man
in a young body than... the complete ******* opposite
of... whatever leads to dementia: lax...
old men having tantrums of teenagers...
                       just looks silly... and it was sort of like
that today... with the Scousers... Scouse...
   i was expecting such a lively, lovely atmosphere...
i swear... the further north you go... the lovelier people
become... my heart poured out at the Liverpool fans...
the Manchester fans? eh... not so much...
they're sort of like Londoners... stiff-upper lip: tense...
paranoid... i don't know how to describe them:
proper... after today i'm thinking about visiting Liverpool...
******* for the weekend... maybe book a ticket
at Anfield... but just go and see the city... wander...
get lost... find myself...
        i'm tired of continental Europe... then again:
i'm also tired of the south of England...
           4th coffee in... i thought i was going to die...
a thumping in my forehead... i already have high blood pressure
issues... four coffees in... almost zero food:
calorie intake: for someone 6ft2 and 98kg... it's not 2000kcal...
for the first time on a shift
i had to do my jacket up so that my neck would
be covered... the tie was suffocating me...
with ideas of dropping dead from a heart-attack...
thrice prone to *****... the one time i did i enacted
being a cow... i swallowed it back down... crummy...
eh... flakey... sort of like when you...
bring back milk that's half digested: when it splits...
into cheese and lactose juice... acid...
on my way back home: a most glorious full moon...
cider... sweaty shirt...
and this... fiddly ******* the Metrpolitan line...
mixed-race... sort of reminded of Harley Dean...
fiddling with her blonde-tinged curly hair...
i always found curly hair... um... hmm...
too infatuating... she does her make-up...
her lips with a crayon and then some quasi-lipstick...
cute nose, cute forehead...
and she just keeps looking at me...
with the most doe-esque intimidation of:
          why don't you react to me?! why?! why?!
she's so ******* blatant: she can't hide it...
i'm sitting there with my shirt undone...
   oh right... hairy chest of a pirate... thick bulging neck...
babe... i'm tired... i've been up since 5am...
started the shift at 9m... just finished come 6:30pm...
of course i'm *****... ever time i become tired
i need to relax: since i've been keeping this hardened
**** in my ****-pocket since this morning...
i'll get back home... sit on the thrones
and do the no. 1, 2 and 3... which is **** while sitting
down... relaxing my ****... taking a ****
and subsequently jerking off...
but she was so blatant... d'uh... pretending to look
into the glass behind me for her reflection...
checking her phone without taking a selfie...
how her hair would look better arranged if she
has a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head...
truly... a pretty little number...
but i was already coming down from a high of:
Scouser women... are all the English girls so pretty
up north? like i said: i think i need to take a weekend
trip to Liverpool... or Newcastle...
i was taking aback when a married woman
approach me... started talking... gripped my hand and
then proceeded to kiss my cheek...
infatuated by the beard...
  that's nice... that's why life is worth living...
random strangers... coming up to you: infatuated
by your presence... having no reservations:
no inhibitions... needing to kiss you... touch you...
always with the northern types...
and i'd agree... southerners: the fairies...
Londoners... so ******* Victorian: reserved...
it's like playing poker 24/7...
   most of the time i find myself of keeping a trustworthy
line of conversation... i just become mute:
bored... i don't like the nitty-gritty of small talk...
what the **** do we have in common?!
absolutely nothing... beside... what?
trying to keep each other comfortable?
no... i'll use my silence to strain the fact that:
we're not friend in school playground... we're not...
but it's different with northeners...
i witnessed two grown men... cry... because they
were refused entry for being sick... puking...
grown men crying... because they couldn't be part
of the Liverpool choir of: you're never stand alone...
mind you... coworkers getting ****...
deservedly: too eager... too eager... push and shove...
can't we just talk? once you get that *******'s worth
of an SIA license you start losing the plot...
machismo... ugh... talking about people who can't
tell the difference from judo from throwing
watermelons...
oh but these northern girls... a married woman
just walk up to you... tipsy... tipsy as:
custard is most definitely pale, high noon sun
yellow... grabs your hand and kisses your cheek...
times like this: i feel... gratefully alive...
it's so very little but at the same time: so much...
i can forget the 5am wake up call...
of the nightmare that stirred me...
i couldn't possibly cry over football...
something beautiful, like Prokofiev? sure...
lucky for me we managed to seize about 10 cans of beer
from someone... who managed to bring those cans
of beer home? moi...
beer... relaxing to some Type O Negative...
i'm pretty sure there was this other woman
on the train: fixated on playing with her...
she kept stroking it... stroking it...
some other day...
like a cat with an itchy scalp... what the **** do they call them?
archetypical clues?
i heard that once... if a woman in your vicinity is
fiddling with her hair... she's into you...
i seriously want to forget these stereotypes...
i prefer the more direct approach...
she comes up to you: a complete stranger
and kisses your on your furry cheek...
it might have been sunny... it might have been warm
today... but the tenderness of those lips...
i need to book a weekend break to Liverpool...
seriously... i need to visit Liverpool...
those woman are insatiable! i need to ******* to Liverpool!
i already can't stand the claustrophobically
constipated London girls...
   it does my head in!
            what happened to: perchance: some... foon?!
on a *****-nilly... what the **** is this?
the ******* Black Dahlia... no... wait...
the Black Narcissus nunnery? the ******* hills are full
of music?! or is that... filled, with?!
this is a trajectory toward a death-cult...
o.k. whatever... i'm getting slowly more drunk
and relaxed and... not in the mood of...

whatever... i just can't face up to having to faces...
it's enough that i already juggle two tongues...
but i can't face up to having two faces;
i see people taking themselves overtly seriously
and i'm thinking about... puking:
and then swallowing the puke that doesn't leave
my mouth... like a cow's digestive schematic.
Poetic T Jun 2020
I repeated every lesson,
          hearing every drowning
word...

Every syllable that was recast,
       but I never learnt a single...

done over,
                        duplicated..

Reproduced as another version of
              the same verse..


Everything was!
                refashioned,

redone, remade..
   In the fashion of what was before.

But even though I sat in every class..

        I never took a single word in..


The teachers changed, but I remembered
                     that one who made me resit


every lesson....

I cant see anything in this crammed space...

                    But hopefully one day some
one will cover me for a toilet break..

And I'll be peace....


I resit every lesson and still
                      all I see is deathly words..
                                       Never heard,
   but reverberating though hollow bones
VP Nov 2014
7 minutes pass by

a flash of light captures your gaze
pulling you back into reality
out of the daydreams filled with words that were never spoken
you reach for the phone
holding your breath
smug with the thought of the content in the message that lit up your screen

your smirk fades
almost faster than the hope in your heart

it wasn't her

13 minutes

but you were so clever weren't you?
you know her like the back of your hand
how could she resit replying?
how could the anger not boil right through to the tip of her fingers
causing her to-

38 minutes

your fingertips flash red
matching the colour of rage in your heart  
all you wanted was to see the words that flowed from her mind
her beautiful mind
imprinted onto your screen
so that maybe, just maybe
her soft voice would reply in your mind once more

72 minutes

a tear rolls down your cheek
your rage has melted into a puddle of water
like the thunderstorm that turns to rainfall when it can no longer handle being angry at the earth

86 minutes

realization washes over you
she doesn't care.
you can't fill her with an anger that will make steam pour from her ears
if she no longer drinks the water to fuel the steam
you cannot cut holes through her heart
when its already been sliced like Swiss cheese
you cannot tell her you love her
after she stopped counting the minutes it took you prove it
this is the story of a boy who messages his ex love & fails to receive the reply he craved
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2021
finally! that time of the year has come
when i'll be taking a 2 week hiatus to the "old country":
perched on a windowsill drinking
some Napoleon brandy
donning a baseball cap donned in
reverse: cool as a cucumber...
oddly enough: if baseball caps are anything
to go by: i could get used to a kippah...
sure as **** not to a monk's tonsure...
ah... the night... a time of solace...
ah... die nacht... ein zeit auf trost...
the "old country", monochromatic, among
"my fellow" countrymen:
none of this Loon'don Babylon of the world
congregating... a little ****** town that
once had ambitions to compete with
the metallurgical industry of Cracow...
collapsed... sold off...
from a population nearing 100,000...
reduced to... perhaps 40,000...
since everyone left once the economy collapsed:
how Europe exported its
metallurgical industry... it's production
to Asia... some "disappeared" else in this
native land... some left for Canada... England...
i love going back: even though my
dementia riddled grandfather isn't alive...
i'll still get to read some books...
on the to-do list...
finishing Knausgaard's vol. 4... taking a break
by: finally! reading some
Rousseau... letter to M. D'Alembert on spectacles
& the social contract...
lucky me i own a copy that has paired these
two books together...
i have reached a point of tedium
reading the genre of autobiography...
esp. autobiography that borrows so much
from memory...
of course i'll finish volumes 5 & 6...
but i need a break...
i need to get away from internet access...
i need to walk into a pine forest...
i need to sniff the air in Eastern Europe...
funny... i was in Russia for a month once:
never watched the t.v.:
we ******... she played video games...
i was either reading
a book of her choice: the Master & Margarita
or studying chemistry to resit
a failed exam...
i need to immerse myself in propaganda...
see what's happening in politics...
i'm way behind the culture...
i tried to keep up... last time i heard
bands like Lao Che & Żywiołak are not in
the mainstream... every time i turn on the radio:
no chance in hell...
it's like that conundrum of Iron Maiden's
Bring your Daughter to the Slaughter reaching
no. 1 in the charts... but... "for some reason"
BBC Radio 1 not giving it any play...

we used to walk around the graveyard and
talk about life and how:
death is the only true democracy...
among other things...
i dubbed us: the hyenas of the graveyard...
now i'm going to stand over his grave
and probably pull a smirk onto my face...
a sort of gleeful: i'm coming...
you shouldn't have had that tirade
of yours over your brother-in-law's early
death: how you boasted that
you were still living while he was already dead...
i think you were teasing death then
but i can accept the fact that you wanted
to be finally rid of that woman...
how you said:
old people should live more cordially
with each other: not this stereotypical
Hemingway: men without women array of
short stories...

do i still regret breaking up with that Siberian lass?
of course i do...
but if for your happiness me giving you
grandchildren: but being slapped in the face
for no reason other than her paranoia
while she was still in close contact with her ex?

that's the difference between
Catholic and Protestant nations...
while the protestants have their little Halloween
****** Doo thrills of dressing up...
some Catholic nations celebrate the day after
the 31st of October...
the feast day of All Saints...
a big ******* deal in Paul-and...
the people light candles at the graves...
whole graveyards start looking like
starry constellations: hell... more...
when spotted on the Maldives...

i like this approach more than the insurrection
of monsters... fake or real:
mostly fake... life's this one grand party...
i hardly think so...
if i'd be content with life i wouldn't
be inquisitive of it... or off it...
the necropolis beckons...
names etched into marble...
important dates...
oh not the dates of a person's birth
or a person's death:
all those important dates not written onto a grave
those in-between... written into the riddled flesh
of the living...
tattoos akin to... 2001... 2019...
  
but oh so welcome... this impeding break...
from... whatever this is...
a return to: this little ******-town that once
grew & grew & could have been something...
sold off...
sleepy little town... it would be rather
impossible to put Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski
on the map...
mind you: the mindset of the western folk is:
to put hardly anything on the map:
except for their bellybutton...
i don't mind: "we" sort of don't exist...
so far far away: further even than India...
further than the Americas... further than Spain...
or Italy... as a sort of wilderness "non-existent"
before you arrive in Russia...

watching two matches today: super Sunday, what?
even though West Ham only beat Tottenham Hotspurs
a meagre 1 - nil...
it was just as entertaining as watching
Liverpool thrash Manchester United 5 - nil...
sport is fun when you don't take sides...
when you're in it for the mere spectacle...
it's like automated chess... football...
please: don't get me wrong...
no... get me wrong... but American football
is a load of crap...
so many ******* interludes...
it's unlike rugby where there are clear rules...
the oval needs to be passed back...
the charge is forward...
what is it with H'american football...
you throw the oval forward...
you run off the field: STOP... let's realign...
the oval touches the ground: STOP... let's realign...
what a **** sport...
only two sports came out of north america:
hockey &... eh... but cricket is better
than baseball... period...
American "football" is ****...
it's the ******* sport imaginable...
too many interludes...
there's no fluidity! the game doesn't: FLOW...
**** ****, double ****... thrice ****... **** ****, ****...
how can you play a game
when it's only about a throw forward
and the game has to be restarted: reset
when some ****** runs off the field or drops the oval?
with all these interludes...
you could probably have about 2 cricket tea-breaks
for tea...
American sports: with the exception of basketball
& ice hockey: ***** MAJOR ***...
***** ***** MIDGIT ***...

but this kind of football is like: chess playing by itself...
i've come to appreciate good sport...
unlike the Olympics... although...
give me an hour watching some classic Greco-Turkish
wrestling & i'll tell you:
there's no need for boxing...
was boxing even remotely related to rhetoric?
was it? was it?

but sport per se is so much more fun when
you're not taking sides...
you're there for the spectacle:
i never understood these little pockets of tribalism...
how many football teams are playing
in the premier league: all from London?
7?
Chelsea, Arsenal, Crystal Palace, Watford...
West Ham... Tottenham...
Brentford! and how many are in the Championship?
Millwall... QPR... however many...
little nations within nations...
i was always from elsewhere and from elswhere
when i first came to England i supported
Manchester United... because of the moniker:
the red devils...
& because Eric Cantona was playing for them...
****** view from behind the goalposts
at the old Wembley when Manchester United
played Newcastle United at the 199- charity shield
match... ****** view at the old Wembley...

a welcome break from everything "western":
from the bellybutton crew:
from: if it happens in western europe
it: by default ought to happen everywhere else...
a break from the anglophonic claustrophobia
and sort-of solipsism...
a return to the Slavic barbarians:
imbeciles... etc. etc.
well... one man put the name of the town
on the map: a Witold Gombrowicz...
but then again... he was born into an aristocratic
family in a village shy of the "urban centre"
of this little ****-hole of a town...

thank god it's not exactly Warsaw...
or Cracow... or Danzig... it's a nowhere with
as much of everything to offer
as a "here" town...
on the map: distinguished...
a town of: ghosts & retired people...
2 weeks of splendour...
rustic scoops...
       2 weeks of this...
         rest my mind... read some Rousseau...
i don't think it would require
me to take a cruise...
give me the pines, the clouds, the night...
the scent of the graveyard...
the superstitious folk...
                 not that i'd want to feel superior:
just doubly distant from
the already narrowed-down distance
i feel when cycling through London.
ThatBrokenOne May 2019
There is a paper in front of me,
Having these empty spaces
Having these printed pixels

The reflected light rays, they reach me,
Marking these words
Marking these syntax

The eyes inside of me,
They read the sentences
They read the paper

And still I don't know what I read
And still I don't know what it means
And still I keep reading
And still I keep scrolling

In two days I have to do the resit
In two days my knowledge will be tested, again
But my brain keeps rejecting the words
But my brain keeps dodging the written knowledge

How will I pass this test
How will I answer the questions
If all the knowledge keeps flying past my head
If all the knowledge keeps bouncing of my brain
Praise Ncube Mar 2021
Poet : Praise Ncube

Poem :  l couldn't resit her beauty

Just a glance , i got intoxicated
Her scent was so sweet , intoxication escalated
From head to toe , i saw nothing mistakenly created
I couldn't resist her beauty

If she was a singer , i would choose to be melomaniac of her music
Every men gazed at her , it all became melodramatic
I braved myself , cleared my throat and moved towards
Dear friends , i couldn't resist her beauty

Astonishingly built like the ruins of Great Zimbabwe
No additions were made , just formal and natural
I really wanted to praise and compliment her in vernacular
No , it didn't suit her
Dear friends,  i couldn't resist her beauty

She smiled , looking at me ,
I looked left , right , centre  and back
To confirm that surely the smile was meant for me
I saw nobody,  maybe i had already gone blind ,
I then smiled back,  and that's how it started.
Dear friends ,i couldn't resist her beauty .

— The End —