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caffeine mermaid Mar 2014
revolting youth with elevated minds
on a quest to find their true purpose
calm composures and steady hands
unaware that their palms were full of clay
that they had the power to shape who they'd become
with the ignorant assumption that time was on their side
they rode into the sunset careless and misguided
broken hearts, pieces scattered amongst the tears left behind
a generation consumed by their appearance
at war with themselves for
cigarettes burn between the ******* needed to make peace
the adoption of patience will help shape the clay
that weighs heavy in the hands
of a revolting youth
Liz Delgado Dec 2013
The pencil scraping along the paper, forming a masterpiece taken straight from the mind and the nerves along my spine was a lullaby.
And so I drew a gorgeous, full moon and shaded its craters,
I drew furious ocean waves because my Science teacher told me there was a relationship between the moon and the ocean.
It was so intriguing to know the closer the moon, the more revolting and furious the waves.
But my Art teacher also told me that art is a form expression.
I was expressing my feelings, explaining our situation, and my brain and hand agreed to compare us to the moon and the ocean because that's what we were.
You were always so beautiful yet distant; watched and loved by everyone, but explored by few.
I was always so revolting and mysterious, no one willing or able to reach the depths and hollows of me; better maps of the surface of Mars than my vast ocean floor.
We were so distant and different yet I needed you to be.
You were always waking up every emotion I thought I had been drained of; turned my lowest tides to crashing, fierce waves; always dependent of your full or new state.
You are my moon and I am your ocean; so different yet it feels so right.
The ocean wasn't so realistic until I felt salty tears of it run down my cheeks,
there was no more silence.
I was at low tide, and I needed my moon.
A moral depravity
A moral degeneracy followed by intellectual degeneration
A luxury and currution among the upper classes

A world without the fundamental human rights
Revolting cruelty from the ****** outrage to brutal ******

World of chains
World of hard labour
World of pains sorrow and agony

Songs of joy are sang in the world seeing the end to this hideous blot
Yet slavery still exist in the modern world
Described as modern slavery

Modern slavery
A world without chains yet psychologically we are chained
World without hard labour yet we work ourselves out to survive
World with  fundamental human rights but filled with betrayal at the cause of justice

World for the poor
World for the less privelage
World of reality
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Beside a dusty fan droops languid veins
whose movement barely churns up tarnished grime,
as lazy sun exudes through poisoned panes
injected with the film of listless time.

A gentle sigh is exhaled without will
for emptiness of long forgotten mind.
Eyes shudder closed to desolation's shrill
of conscious much too free and so, confined.

Revolting spittle dribbles down a chin
with absolutely nothing left to do.
To entertain and keep from going thin
you spy on friends who in turn spy on you.

Alas! For boredom is the finite trait
of great mankind's insufferable fate.
So, my second attempt at a sonnet. This one seems oddly appropriate considering I am impossibly not entertained and this is direly irksome.
Cory Ellis Jun 2013
Hey guys. This isn't truly a poem but a paper I wrote for English class. I wanted to share this view with people and this is the only vehicle I knew to use. So here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

The amplifiers were turned up to ten. The young and fresh crowd looked at us with anticipation.

What were they waiting for? As the music began I noticed the subtle movements and growing tension in

the crowd. Men shook their heads and we shook ours in a violent duet between the crowd and

performer. Women and men flailed their limbs as they awaited the ******. We knew when it was

coming; they did not. When we decided to let it all go I witnessed something crazy! There was a brief

pause in the music and when it began again we kicked it into overdrive. We shook our heads with a

more frantic pace. We jumped about like madmen. The crowd erupted; it became its own entity. You

could feel the heat and power of this new creature. We were locked in a violent psychic-sphere of

crazed young teens and when the ****** was over there seemed to be a sense of relief and happiness

in the crowd. Had my after school hobby become a healing agent, even if only temporary, in society?

This papers purpose is an attempt at piecing together the phenomena of catharsis by merging

philosophy, psychology, history and spirituality.

First, to understand the psychology of catharsis we must think back to the roots of this behavior. Since

human life has existed we’ve formed crowds for various reasons. The first reason held the sole purpose

of protection. Tribes of people, men as hunters and women as gatherers, teamed up for the benefit of

human survival. Erich Fromm says that “the meaning of life is not to be found in its fullest unfolding but

in social service and social duties; that the development, freedom, and happiness of the individual is

subordinate or even irrelevant in comparison to the welfare of the state.”(Fromm, 1947, page 51) This

states that a crowd is actually very necessary to the function of human life. The second reason crowds

gathered was in form of revel, shamanistic healing and worship of deities (Ehrenreich, 30). Men and

woman would often enter trances, speak in tongues and become involved in a collective ecstasy while in

worship of their God. In later years, politics, entertainment and rebellion or protest was a main factor in

the gathering of people (Ehrenreich, 102). People gathered at Festivals that were in the midst of being

suppressed and would dance in mockery of their Kings or leaders.

What exactly is catharsis? Catharsis is a purging of emotional tension brought out in a crowd through

the viewing of a tragedy or tragic play. In the article “The Power of Catharsis” Kearny says the following

More specifically he (Aristotle) defined

the function of catharsis as 'purgation of pity and fear'. This comes

about, he explains, whenever the dramatic imitation of certain actions

arouses pity and fear in order to provide an outlet for pity and fear.

The recounting of experience through the formal medium of plot,

fiction or spectacle permits us to repeat the past forward so to speak.

And this very act of creative repetition allows for a certain kind of

pleasure or release. In the play of narrative re-creation we are invited

to revisit our lives — through the actions and personas of others — so

as to live them otherwise. We discover a way to give a future to

the past. (Kearny 1)

I figure that, even though he states that it is a purgation of pity and fear, it could also be involved with

many other suppressed emotions. Take my introduction for example. These kids were not releasing

pity and fear, they were releasing their angst! They were releasing their desire for competition.

They were making up for the violent feelings of agression they felt in their body that had been

suppressed by society for so long! They were revolting! Could catharsis also be used to purge other

emotions as well such as ****** suppression or communicative issues?

How would one come about actually attempting this catharsis that I speak of? We need to first look at

some ways in which people have controlled crowds in the past and realize that crowds form by

themselves but often look for leadership due to what Nietzche called that “herd mentality.”

In the article “Seducing the Crowd” by Urs Staheli it mentions that repetition is a key factor in beginning

to control the crowd. (Staheli, 69) This means that through repetition you can get the crowd to side with

your beliefs. The crowd could begin to think about what your suggesting and potentially be swayed by

the other people that are now following your ideas. It could also be repetition of body movements as

well. What better vehicle is there to sway a crowd than music? It’s repetitive in instrumental and lyrical


Another way to “******” a crowd is to act like a madman! Specifically how I stumbled upon this in

the first phenomena place.

The leader himself is possessed and hypnotized by the ideas

and visions he holds, obsessed to such an extent that he cannot rationally exercise

control over the crowd. Instead, he devotes himself to fascinating the

crowd by more ecstatic means.8 He often resembles a madman but fascinates

by the mere power of his determination. What distinguishes the leader from

the rest of the crowd is his will alone, not any particular intellectual capacity

or a superior morality. (Staheli, 68)

The theory is that through mythological story telling or acting tragically and in a spectacle, we can

actually release negative emotions and potentially even heal neuroses or psychic ailments. Later in the

article he goes on to say that a shaman was actually documented to have cured a woman with a blocked

birth canal and in labor by telling her a story about a warrior trying to exit a cave that had monsters on

the outside trying to get in.

The function of a shaman is to heal his tribe. He uses drugs or plants to change his state of mind and

then by going over to the other side of reality he invokes spirits that help to heal.

In the séance, the shaman led. A sensuous panic, deliberately evoked through drugs, chants,

dancing, hurls the shaman into trance. Changed voice; convulsive movement. He acts like a

madman. These professional hysterics, chosen precisely for their psychotic leaning, were once

esteemed. They mediated between man and spirit world. Their mental travels formed the crux

of the religious life of the tribe. (Morrison 1967 pg. 71)

This shows an ecstatic crowd dancing and chanting while one man acts out a tragic spectacle. Through

this spectacle the shaman acts like a madman. This causes wild emotions within the crowd and allows it

to release their built up and suppressed emotions. Also, the dance and chants bring them to a feeling of

unity and oneness!

One may not believe in the spiritual shaman because of their own beliefs about God and religion. Some

may not believe in the other world that parallels our own.  It is a skeptical concept without a doubt and

there are probably many people who disagree with the legitimacy of the shaman. Is there a way that we

could think of the phenomena in a psychological sense rather than strictly spiritual? The answer lies in

Carl Jung’s theory of the unconscious mind and dream therapy as well as in Nietzche’s philosophy on art

and aesthetics.  

Carl Jung believed that there is a conscious mind and an unconscious mind. The conscious mind is the

everyday mind that occurs in waking life. It is rational and helps us survive. The unconscious mind can

be found in dreams or whenever you experience a déjà vu (Jung 1964 21).  He also believed that through

the study of dreams you could heal certain aspects of your psyche that have been altered by neuroses.

Symbols and archetypes make up dreams and the unconscious, and often you will find that archetypes

appear in the form  of people. Jung believes that through living in society that men and women have lost

touch with their feminine or masculine characteristics depending on their gender. Dreams can help us

get back into union with these lost roles through connecting us with our anima(female) or animus

(male) through symbols in our dreams or unconscious minds. Jung wrote that when society was

formed people took on roles and caused a dissociation in their psyche and caused a duality rather

than a unity when they suppressed one side of their mind.  He mentioned that at all times the

unconscious mind is connecting us on a psychic level.

How does this tie into shamans and catharsis? It seems like something completely different all together

right? My theory is that the shaman or crowd leader brings forth a forgotten union of the masculine and

feminine forces in the universe. Nietzche believed that there are two polar forces that are natural in this

world and in art. These forces are given the names of deities in his book “The Birth of Tragedy.”

The first is the Apollonian force that is masculine. This force in art governs form and dreams. The

Apollonian artist directly takes ideas from his dreams and brings them to life whether it is in form

sculpture or poetry. Apollo appears through an oracle often in tragedy or in visions of the waking life.

The second force is the Dionysian which is feminine. This force governs intoxication, revel and ecstasy.

Dionysian artists are improvisers and dancers and are usually tragic figures. Nietzche believed there are

three different types of artists: Apollonian, Dionysian and the fusion of both (Nietzche 1872 14). This

latter artist is what I believe the shaman is.

Through connecting these polarizing forces he fixes the psychic neuroses in his own mind. He becomes

a unified artist, or a magician of duality. The shaman, as stated above, takes drugs to intoxicate himself.

Often the drug of choice is wine or alcohol though it could be hallucinogenic drugs as well. This tied with

repetitive revel is the Dionysian side of the spectrum and also helps draw the crowd’s attention through

spectacle and repetition. Everybody is ecstatic and experiencing the collective vibrations of the crowd.

Through his intoxication he is able to go into the unconscious mind and produce dream symbols in

reality! The crowd follows the leader into this unconscious mind and brings back forgotten wisdom of

mythology and archetypes. This is the Apollonian side of the spectrum because it deals with the

unconscious mind and dream images. It also could be this “other world” that traditional shamans speak

of. Now the psychic duality is merged and a tie is formed between the masculine and feminine forces of

nature! People feel at one with themselves and the crowd and the societal suppression is vanished

briefly. All the neuroses caused by the suppression fades away in the ecstatic revel. This is the appeal of

the rock concert. Notice how many leading figures of rock bands have androgynous features and

shamanistic nature. This is because they have fixed the psychic neuroses in their own mind and become

at peace with the masculine and feminine duality of their psyche.

Stumbling upon this phenomena in my rebellious youth was very eye opening. Ever since I have been  

very excited about this theory and I’ve been trying to piece it together. It seems to be coming along

further and further in my study of this. What exactly this ancient wisdom is; I don’t entirely know. I

do know that I have witnessed this in reality and the subject is interesting and fascinating. My theory

still has a lot of work before it is completed but I think that within this article I’ve given a decent

amount of history about the topic as well as my own thoughts. Whether this phenomena is true or

not, we can leave that up to the psychologists and philosophers to decide, though I think many may

agree. Either way, catharsis surely does exist and it is a fun way of entertainment as well as a

therapeutic option for many stressed out individuals out there
I magine Icarus
C reatively carving his dream
A **** the soft features and
R idges as strong as his beliefs, lays
U nderneath an innocent soul
S tranded in a fantasy.
Flying towards the heavens
Embellishing the sky with pearl like wings
Caressing Icarus, soaring passionately.
His own hero in his eyes.
Glances up, suddenly hypnotized
By the gleaming sphere of light.
The innocent splash-
Tasting the bitter, revolting sea.
Swallowed whole without notice
With the sound of silence as
Icarus now soars freely with the angels.
I had to write a poem in English class,about Greek myth Icarus.
(written on March 7, 2012 as a junior in high school.)
JM Jan 2013
Look at where we are now.
We have **** stores on every corner.
Our fifteen year old pipe dreamers
just collectively **** themselves.

We have dubstep finally.

Who the **** needs
an instrument
or training
or talent
I can steal fruity loops
and make my own ****?
I make dope beats at the same place

A cold fog is seeping into the park
across the street and I like to say "****" a lot.

Google makes me feel like a ******* king,
ordering my minions
to go and fetch me
the whys and wherefores of
how butterflies communicate.


Because *******, that's why.

We have countries revolting
against *******
who have been in power
for decades
but now we have
Take that!
You can't get away with ****.
Ask Osama.
How long will it take before peace sets in?
Will it take as long for the machines to take over?
Both outcomes seem inevitable.

We have as much ***
as we can download
and pretty soon

our reality will be completely virtual.
If you got the money, honey.

I see our white bloated
sagging and scraping
against ***** beer stained floors,
a crimson trail,
bodies in the swath
of decadence
and a most
revolting pursuit of debauchery,
Thank God!

It's fun to go off the grid sometimes,
like when cable
and the interwebs
become that luxury
that you can't justify,
you know, reality.
Ha! What a joke.

It wont be long until some clown
figures out time travel
and we all burn up in
the resulting feedback loop.
That's what the big bang was.
Some other clown,
some other place,
figured **** out.

It's not gonna be me, Jack.

I'm on the cusp.
Not really, I am a full on scorpio,


I was lucky enough
to remember
rotary phones
and lite brites
and playing ******* outside.
Sounds nostalgic and sweet, right?
**** that,
those hours I spent
burning some heavy metal logo
into that stump outside mom's house?
With a ******* magnifying glass
*** we didn't know what cable tv or mp3's were?
I was dreaming
about **** shops
and making weird ****** up
noises that sound alarmingly
similar to fuckstep.
**** YES!
I was bored as ****
and couldn't wait for a day
when I could plug in a new
******* universe,
my universe,
my way,
I create the characters and the storyline.
My internal apps do the rendering.
Get it?
I was thinking of that ****
way back when,
so it makes sense that
a little more ambitious
and well funded
was making that stuff,
even back then.
The farmers don't let the sheep know much, do they?

That's all well and good mate,
but how happy are you gonna be
when you lose all your **** because
some 22 year old knows more about
binary than you do?
How ******* awesome is your pabst
collection and your dad's old 45's gonna
be when you are *** out because you
thought you could become an internet
billionaire and your sister just got tired
of carrying your ***?
This world is ******
and we are growing out of our pants too fast.
Even the smart ones aren't gonna be able to keep up.
Have fun mother *******.
Do it now,
Get laid as much as you can
with as many as you can,
but love them all,
and mean it,
you *******,
this **** isn't gonna happen again.
We are on the cusp of the singularity
and it's gonna be one hell of a ride.
David Barr Dec 2013
Transnational capitalism is a gluttonous preoccupation of the aristocrat. Although Simone De Beauvoir nailed her colors to the metaphorical mast of equality, it is reasonable to acknowledge that our perimeter lies beyond intra-personal vistas of gender identity and ****** preference.
The Lord of the Manor will grant entry to your greasy soul, if you embrace the common denominator of anthropological affiliation.
So, weary pilgrim, on this treacherous journey of presumed arrival: I urge you to identify that spiritual lobotomy of the majority where ontological convenience jeopardises the rich tapestry of our planet’s pulse.
Collectivism has a cosmological duality which will never be reconciled as long as parliamentary ridicule insults the intelligence of equilibrium.
Whatever happened to democracy? And, why do you simply conform to dictatorial messages which sink their teeth into the very flesh of community existence? We may not be able to alter the direction of the wind, but we can truly adjust our sails.
Jeuden Totanes May 2014

summer heat
pulsing in these veins
searing and revolting
emanating from the keyboard

radiating within
this hopeless romantic
charring the barren heart

but hope will suffice

the summer heat in her eyes..
it's gettin' hot in herr
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018

My silver Knight,
shining with angelic splendour has sailed
towards the outer regions of my Kingdom
to lay waste to all my enemies. My heart in
hands, my hands are clasped, brought alive
with love, with light, with prayer.
Please, come back to me.
As I think of arrows piercing his breast,
or swords, or warhammers or even axes
I cannot, will not ever dance to the songs
of war.
A fire that claims souls, the earth that drinks
blood, a sight that makes my stomach turn
To see men fighting for a cause or no cause
at all. For war rapes all of happiness and loved
Oh! Begone tortuous thoughts! Revolting facts!
He will return. He will return!
For my nation prays with fervour, but all have
bleary-eyes, no more than me. He's gone to brave
the dragon's dawn - of men branded, fuelled by
the flames of war, riding into the fields on their
snow kissed mounts, roaring and clashing under
a broken sky; the kiss of steel, blades that dance
between life and death and give any and many
the kiss of Eternal Sleep.
The harp of his silver tongue plays soft, gentle and
true. Hand in hand, we walk through fields, of my
dreams divine! The ambition, the care, the charm
glowing in your eyes to be something more.
To you, I was a muse to climb and soar though the
heights, and you spoke so highly of my golden
sapient quill.
My heart, heavy, full of woe
As sleep has not come smoothly to my face,
my body, my heart, my soul.
You promised me, 'I will return to you.'
  'I will return to you,'
how your voice hung so sweet in my ear,
ripe with love, vibrant with hope, certain as the rising light
Please do not fade away, I could not bear it!
Please don't fade away!
Bring unto me that gold and joyous hour!
Fair the storms and roars; overcome the shores,
slay and return to me from the dragon's dawn,
unscathed and with a smile on your handsome

A continuation of my 'Silver Knight' poem!
Lyn ***
Aaron LaLux Jul 2016
America’s Got Presidents

Lights camera action,
who’s up next,
or dumbsh!t pundit?

Oh I see,
everybody’s an expert,
man these candidates have switched sides so many times,
watching them flip-flop this much makes my neck hurt!

Candidate’s wearing make-up,
if you ask me it’s all a cover-up,
blemishes on their records,
when’s enough actually enough,

on stages,
synthetic sages make up stories,
while the police keep stuffing us into cages,
and the politicians keep talking about reclaiming America’s lost glory.

America’s lost glory what glory,
the one about us bombing innocents or the one about slaves,
well if that’s the glory then it’s not lost,
because the US still bombs innocents and pays most people a slave wage.

It’s fckn depressing,
these pop-star presidents,
jockeying for position,
just for a chance at a White House residence.

On a stage,
it’s a sad charade,
all these bad actors,
pointing fingers trying to shift the blame,


All they do is talk different when in front of a mic,
but behind closed doors they all act the same,
different costumes different connotations maybe,
but really there’s no significant difference because there’s no significant change.

It’s an act a sham a show,
pop star presidents hip hop rock and roll,
Barack stars sing about change without any evidence,
if you ask me they’ve all gotta go,

and this election year is no better,
if anything it’s worse,
you’ve got Hillary Clinton AKA Barack Light,
and of course running is another Bush,
then there’s Donald Trump,
who’s legitimately probably the Anti-Christ,
he’s a racist sexist selfish sociopathic narcissist,
he doesn’t want to debate anything he just wants to fight.

But what about Bernie Sanders,
people ask, “Are you feeling the Bern?”,
I mean the guy’s a 74 year old career politician socialist,
he’s gonna try and take half of everything I earn.

I’d vote for him I guess,
outta desperation only,
because maybe it’d take someone that extreme to get us outta this mess,
but honestly he’s a bumble bee,
poking at the hornet’s nest,
I’d bet if he becomes a real threat to the one Corporate Establishent want’s to elect,
that the speech where he accepts ends with one of his last breaths.


America the beautiful,
when’d you become such a bully,
you used to be my best friend,
but now you act like you don’t even know me,
you’re blood lust is revolting,
why’s your answer to everything violence,
and how can you say you speak for the people,
when most of the people are so fed up they just shut up and stay silent,

and even if we do get out and vote,
these days our votes aren’t even counted what gives,
what you think it’s just a coincidence,
that almost every state Hilary won was accused of being rigged?

I feel sick.

This political pile of tricks politics seems like a pile of ****t,
and the media’s forcing it down our throat,
I mean really what are we supposed to do,
when those that feel outcasted can’t even get the system to count their cast votes.

So I take notes.

And I write.

I write,
all of this with typing hands and a shaking head,
because I want a leader I can truly trust and believe in,
instead of some actor that can’t be trusted no matter what they’ve said.


I’m not a Jew,
I’m only half so I’m Jew-ish,
and I’m not trying to be rude,
or to sound too prudish,
it’s just,
the history of half my people,
is filled with those that want to ***** us,
so the bait and switch poli-tricks these politicians politic,
well they’re Grand Old Party is nothing new to us.

Who to trust,
who to trust,
we’re tired of feeling like Lewinsky,
giving oral to the Oval Office and getting nothing back but fckt.


When is enough enough,
no is supposed to mean no,
but we get it no **** on the ****** tube,
***; Slave & Master we’re all Lady Liberty’s ******* so on with the show!

Lights camera action,
who’s up next,
or dumbsh!t pundit?

Oh I see,
everybody’s an expert,
man these candidates have switched sides so many times,
watching them flip-flop this much makes my neck hurt.

Candidate’s wearing make-up,
if you ask me it’s all a cover-up,
blemishes on their records,
when’s enough actually enough?

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

Volume 1
The H Trilogy:
The City of Angels
Just published on 7/7/16.
Somehow it was #1 worldwide today.
If you could take a moment to check it out,
and even write a review it'd be most appreciated.
All profits go to a charity that prevents child abuse and ****** assault.
So not only are you getting an epic book of poetry,
but you're also supporting a good cause.
Thank you SO much!
I'm a bit frustrated.....
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
Jellyfish stew,
I'm loony for you,
I dearly adore you,
Oh,truly I do,
You are creepy to see,
Revolting to chew,
You slide down inside
With. Hullabaloo.

You're soggy,you're smelly,
Ou taste like shampoo,
You bog own my belly
With oodles of goo,
Yet I would glue noodles
And punes to m shoe,
For one oozy spoonful
Of jellyfish stew
Iraira cedilllo
AJ Mar 2014
The summer before I turned thirteen, I spent copious amounts of time perched on the edge of a ***** wooden chair in the corner of my friend's kitchen. Sometimes we'd sit together watching her mother make us dinner, the way her hands moved gracefully chopping up onions, and with a flick of the wrist, tossing them into the cast iron pan.

Other times we'd sit with her sisters and fill the table with large stacks of books, reading our favorite lines out loud to each other. Laughter bubbling up to our ears, a quiet contentment settling over the room.

This time was different. It was just us girls, the oldest of us was playing with my hair as I leaned back against the thick wooden frame of my chair, humming quietly to myself. The ******* the other side of me slid open her phone, them immediately turned to me. When I looked at her, she squirmed in her seat as though she had committed a crime and the kitchen had somehow transformed into an interrogation room.

Finally, she broke the silence, saying, "So, uh, I told my friend, the boy you met the other night, about your whole...thing." Instantly, I knew that this "thing" she was talking about was my crush on the girl down the street. She was still uncomfortable with the subject so I gave her points for trying and swallowed my pride. I asked his response and she glanced back to her phone while I waited for a cry of disgust that never came.

Instead I got a reaction I never knew I should fear. Her phone screen displayed a simple text message with only two words. "That's hot."

As if I should care. As if even though I didn't want men, they were still allowed to want me. Still allowed to think that they owned me.

The way men think that my life is a game and at the end of the day what I really want is a big strong man to take care of me.

All women fear ****** assault, but there's a special kind of torture that seemed made only for me. Corrective **** is what they call it when a man thinks that the best cure for a lesbian is to get a taste of a man.

As if men cannot fathom the idea that women were not made to please them. As if they can't comprehend the idea that there are women who don't want to have *** with them.

The way straight men complain about how uncomfortable gay men make them feel, as if men are allowed to say no and women are not.

And at nearly thirteen years old, I didn't know any of this and I bore his words as though they were a compliment, because even if I didn't want him I'd been raised to think that pleasing men was to be my only goal in life.

I told myself I shouldn't be angry. I begged my skin to stop crawling, my insides to stop revolting against me. What was wrong with me? Why did a compliment feel like an assault?

But a part of me recognized, even at twelve, that those words were not a compliment, but rather a threat. This boy knew I didn't want him, couldn't want him, but that didn't seem to matter to him, because he wanted me. I have been taught that men always get what they want, so why shouldn't he get to have me?

With two words, I felt like I'd been sold into slavery. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out, silenced by the waves of shame crashing over my mind.

I was a girl, nearly thirteen, sitting in her friend's kitchen, and realizing that I'd never be free.
Afia Jul 2018
A fierce growl shattered the vampire's coffin
The wood cracks and the monster is awake
Hurry! Dig a pit for the creature to hide
Burn it before the sunrise
Oh do not let the world encounter this chaos
No one should see the vile mien
of a ferocious blood ******* entity
That thrusts its teeth deep into the delicate skin
and schemes for barbaric damages.
The naive creature stands with utter dainty
A revolting smirk sleeps on its face
Pale skin and a bloodshot gaze
An evil snicker revealed the fangs
See how the eyes move with hostility
Like a venom injected in the name of brutality
Sharp nails and clenched fists
Searching for a throat to slit.
The air now breathes a vengeful sigh
Like a wild beast craves to die
Dark shadows lurk behind the curtains
Silent whispers yodel about a burden
The creature stone eyed, stares back
I breathe quietly under the horrid impact
It is coming my way
I can feel the intruding fear of a feeble prey in my veins
Finally, as if the monster made its mind
It opened the mouth in a solemn cry
A shrill voice so piercing, it shattered my facade
I fell on the ground like a broken glass
It was no monster or a Dracula that howled
Ah yes, my own reflection scared my soul
Years of self hate and agony prevailed
And I have been ******* on my veins in despair
My corrupt heart no longer beats
Darkness dwells in its core; so deep
Now watch the results of constant infight
I am nothing more than a mere parasite
A ray of sun touching me toes,
The toxic  memories fading with the tick tock
Once again, I repair my coffin
And slither into a sound slumber on the symphony
Of a robin.
There's a monster inside all of us and unconsciously some of us allow it to feed on our most sensitive emotions. Yes. It is painful.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
210,089 views on the internet, you sorta get the picture
as to why there's this need to keep count... esp. given
the video content...
    well... it's not that i live
   in a big brother society,
i can't believe that the concept of
a minority report by philip k. ****
hasn't become mainstream...
   and yes, i have this great distrust of
what was once oath, but now has become
a case of: all things otiose...
concerning Hippocrates...
        people begin to question reality
because: there's no reality beyond touching
a brick, or licking a postage-stamp...
psychiatry is contrary to Hippocrates...
   given that there's this illness
that incorporates the whole world,
and that a god omni-this-that-and-the-other
has created people who seem to want
to establish themselves as: with those
attributes inherent in them...
      all we can say about the god we created
is that: he's unthinkable...
   now come the pronoun assaults...
what if i weren't a man, and merely called
god a she or a gender-neutral it...
        jesus against the slackers...
   i find the second coming that happened
in 1945 with the unearthing of the Egyptian
library so, so so ******* revolting,
that every time i burp up a canape of *****
i only think about swallowing it back down...
   that's how revolting i find the second
coming to be... it happened... hello!
back in 1945... it already happened when
the nag hammadi library was unearthed at
the end of world war ii: "ironically"...
         well, sure: foretell the end of the world
drop an atom bomb on hiroshima and nagasaki...
i still don't see how the professional philosophers
of our age draw the line past the big bang theory
and darwinism and look for "ideas"
or "laws of thought" with a "beginning"
starting from the Greeks... don't know,
it passed me by... i found a new beginning
with the Germans... the so-called titans:
and yes, i: the little man...
    as akin to heidegger: how there is nothing
worth observing and everything must be willed:
the asian maggot-brains would just look
at Everest and not think to climb it...
when thought turns into verb...
you don't see a Vishnu... you see a Shiva...
people can't be trusted with heidegger's concept
of dasein... sure, people need a will,
but when will becomes obliterated
  due to certain nuances that only demand
such a light-stroke of being kept:
you don't get anything profound from
   a physics akin to working from dasein
coordinates (0, 0)...
       well, you do: violence and numbers...
angry ***...
           on an individual basis the dasein doesn't
work... on an individual basis there is no dasein...
it's really about a personal trainer, a newspaper,
a rhetoric manipulator...
   working from heidegger's dasein
   there emerges no concern for a hersein
(a hereness, a being here) -
always that ******* flight toward the stratosphere
of heaven...
         and always that fetish for looking
at the ancient Greek ego like the genital parts
you're about to **** off...
    it's become a case of: i could easily
discard the 20th century advert of what was lived
and return to the late 19th century
   with the genesis of the 21st century:
and i wouldn't even flinch.
   read a book and look at the stillness of it all...
and i did, i then turn onto the internet
and see this ******* pigeon...
   and it really is a pigeon talking really
profound things... i listen to this pigeon from time
to time... and he really is a pigeon:
   paul joseph watson on youtube really
is a pigeon... i hope his neck doesn't break...
a bit like O'Hara's ode to Ginsberg
   and that ref. to adolf deutsche, the composer:
no, not the maniac genocide artist...
   i'm really, only slightly against the concept
of dasein... for me there's no there with me
included... but then again: i might only be
half human when i think it out...
    plus, given the fact that this mass-connectivity
construct exists, i can sorta jump from
one end of the earth to another and feel:
nothing equivalent of sniffing jasmine in Lebanon...
none of the 20th century writers could have
predicted the internet canvas...
  and given that: they're not even out of vogue:
they very much are the vongue:
   but their context, contained within a book
  is dodo.
       so what i find from the concept of dasein:
a need for physics...
******, you ain't moving, i'm not moving!
and as the two tiers of language emerge:
a. noting the langusage sausage as: about to be said
and b. language noted: i can't believe i just thought that up!
funny how bilingualism works...
   deemed by strict authoritarians as worth
the noun schizophrenia... naturally...
   but then shrapnel words do make up the cocktail...
the Greek oν (meaning being) translates into
Polish as merely: he...
    and pronouns can be so much more involved in
kinetics: the pyramid hierarchy of pronoun motivational
tactic: how you can become him... by not listening
to your i... the whole shabang of: me, myself and i...
   let's treat nouns and alzheimer's on a segregational
level... given we have to establish nouns
on a firm basis... so everyone knows what everyone
else it talking about...
    what really ***** the game up to give
pronouns the full categorical impetus for a worth
to change is this (recently unearthed) game
of changing the he to a she...
      not transcendental concerns but transgender
escapes... god is by now unthinkable,
given the prefix omni- there is absolutely no
way to discuss (gender neutral) it... easier said
and done with stephen king's clown...
i swear to oh oh...
    but why is no one catching on why Islam is
so agitated? given the pages were unearthed by
some Egyptian shepherd, and the authority of
the church was bypassed... people started to think
it would be as non-kinetic as donning a pink
scarf when wearing a tuxedo...
       approx. 2000 years, gone, down the drain...
this is what you get when you bypass
established authority, and still keep the said
authority and create this weird quasi-religious
secularism... long gone the church-state divide...
long gone the church... and so too the state...
it really has become a case of money
being akin to water or fire...
  an element, for the most part we can contain it,
but in some cases: it astounds us...
a but like man's second dream contained within
the a.i., sure, pocket-money / wage and we have
ourselves a campfire... inflation and national
expenditures, tax and the likes? well... throw your
marshmellows into that raging forest-fire!
we created the concept of an element in how
we kneel to the dynamic of transcending beyond
the category: animal...
     we drink water so we can rehydrate...
we breathe air so... d'uh...
    we start fires so we can keep warm...
we created money so we can have a plumber
   or an electrician: in order to not have to talk
or eat with the said plumber or electrician...
           i can only see money as i see fire...
but that doesn't mean i equate money with god...
   better still: that word will not disappear or become
devoid... but the fact that the said word is
given the omni prefix: it's become unthinkable to
even begin with entering a narrative or a dialectics
concerning it... but there we were: most of us:
incubating the word, the concept, the whole shabang!
still... i have that pigeon online: paul joseph watson...
   it's really called lazy when you wrote it
and someone else read it and when you reciprocated
something of mutual effort and when you
weren't the really eager speaker and someone else
wasn't but a miser of a listener...
   just the motto of what the Russians call:
keeping it real... and alive, and bothering to read books.
and yes, having settled out differences,
    revised Marxism and did with it as one might
confuse using a hammer to a pencil /
prior to cultural marxisim there was, once upon a time:
an economic premise - we settled our
differences and became whining bull-mawled
ponces that didn't really care to make it to
the zummit (on purpose) of inter-racial marriage...
never mind making dating boring
by de facto disclosure of ourselves in profile:
  tourism really did **** off a sense of adventure
when diving into another person alongside
it being staged in a theatre of uncertainty...
   art is such an autocrat: it wants to make us
believe we can all be artists...
art did that to me: hence i realised i'm merely a drinker;
and sure, i have a riddle for my palette:
     bourbon whiskey is equivalent to rosé wine...
                          (olé emphasis)
scotch whiskey is equivalent to red wine...
  i.e. bitter... for care of a better word -
laphroaig? smoked salmon -
                                       may i say bourbon
really is: ***** liquor? ever time i drink it i get
this nasal infusion of the perfume of
walking into a ******* brothel...
         and all the fine bollocking that is...
but i wanted to avoiding writing this digression and
go back to heidegger and dasein and how
  that german ****** is merely prescribing kinetics...
movement... how being = doing...
             or something like that...
     oh right! the whole: pronouns are the sole
motivational tools in how they behave to make me
'''jealous'' of him having attained his achievements
could make me move toward attaing his stasus
   (italics and ditto marks are the knife and fork
of existentialism) / emphasis and ambiguity respectively...
   but i mean that as " " denotes being passed-on
(or that's how existentialists took to it...
that it was akin to a hereditary concern with
a beginning, and therefore a chinese-whisper
that became mutated across the years -
in a shorter version, any word with the " " membrane    
could also be encapsulated by, e.g. ~red, i.e.
aren't we living in times when the mathematical
sprechen is having due ******* with
linguistic sprechen, just like the pronoun debate
akin to an igloo in Hawaii, only because we all gained
access to this digital canvas? where else if
not in the anglophone world would you actually
experience a feast of acronyms?
   n00b... i thought that meant: ****... apparently
it just means colt... or beginner...
   of l8er...           this leads me to only
one conclusion... when the Greeks started to dress up
their language with very complex diacritical
marks (even though they really didn't have to):
English / pseudo-Latin was asleep...
            and it's still sleeping...
            this acronym safe-haven is getting ulgier
and uglier... i feel like i'm 70
even though i'm 30... well... at least i can tune
into the pigeon online and pass the time.
David Nelson Mar 2010
Disturbing Behavior

disturbing behavior, is what you'll see from me,
disturbing behavior, is what you'll get from me,
I have only one thing, on this troubled mind,
what next disturbing thing, can this freak show find

obnoxious revealing, of my inner faults and fears,
gentle concealing, of my blow gun darts and spears,
telling you one thing, when I'm meaning something else,
hoping I conceal the truth, releasing my magic spells

cause I am so caught up in me, its all about my wants,
hiding behind my fears, showing artificial fronts

revolting persuasions, is what I try to employ,
persistent evasions, from the truths my ploy,
never giving straight answers, to any questions asked,
have to keep my feelings, yes my fears stay masked    

disturbing behavior, is what I'm all about you see,
disturbing behavior, is what you'll always get from me,
there's just one thing, on this troubled mind,
calculating the next disturbing thing in this hollow mind

cause I am so caught up in me, its all about my wants,
hiding behind my fears, showing artificial fronts

David Nelson aka Gomer Lepoet

New song lyrics, get me to the recording booth quickly
Detha P Jun 2016
Jealousy changes you—it completely shifts your mind and paradigm and way of thinking and way of seeing things.

Jealousy  makes your brain cloudy with anger, unable to think clear.

Jealousy makes you succumb to the gruesome power of fear.

Jealousy raises up your ego in a heartbeat, making you defending yours like your whole life clings to it.

Jealousy takes your will to love—if it's still there at all. Because who knows loving someone could be this exhausting?

Jealousy makes you a repugnant, revolting human being.

...and jealousy has successfully done every single thing above, to me.
I am a repugnant, revolting human being.
Jordan Resendes Jan 2014
Perhaps, they're better off.
I imagine such a meaningless
Genuinely free life, sudden.
Except the street rat has his
Own trump. We're so meaningful, yet
Never will we truly soar.
Elizz Jul 2018
Quaking Earth shattering Revolting
And I'm in the middle of it
My heart is at least
I didn't realize or notice that it got so big able to lumber out of my chest
I guess that's ok because I can't do anything about it
Just like I couldn't do anything about the fire rising up behind "me"
You aren't with me I don't get to hear your laugh anymore
Sprinkling down through ivy covered walls
You aren't with me
I've realized that a lot
But I also realize that when I get up in the morning
Or in most cases never going to sleep to begin with
The moon a lovely
Complicit pale lover
Never questioning me
Never worrying me
Listening when I need to talk
And instead of telling me what to do
Or telling me what I'm doing wrong
it just listens
I knew it wasn't a mistake when I fell for your pale face
It was a mistake when I started liking someone
Who's face didn't stay impressively passive when looking at me
It was a mistake to fall out of orbit
For someone who never wanted to be free
From the confines of gravity
To  come into my sky
You know sometimes
I can still see your shadow
Just out of the corner of my eye
The way your hair would fall
How your eyes would even enrapture the sun
You aren't mine anymore
But the sun still deigns to rise
And the moon still loves me
I can't get back the love and adoration
I gave you over the past five years
And as I said I still see your shadow sometimes
But you aren't mine
And that's ok
Because even though you never cared
About being the meteor that knocked me out of orbit
I still cared about you being happy
Even when it wasn't with me
Even when it isn't with me
And each day since
I've gotten off of the ground
More and more
So thanks
For the broken insecurities
For the things that I never wanted
Thanks for submerging me into a vat
Made out of stress and emotional pain
For the new sense of orbit
And the new outlook
And that sometimes
Dreams shatter
Possibilities shatter
But that's ok
Because when they shatter
The fractures
Lead to new doors
really really old four years at best
Fish The Pig May 2013
It's an Affliction
A dangerously terminal attraction
How the Angel's cries
are watched by spies
but only heard by the Devil himself.
Dangerous, Unique, Beautiful
The Angel cries just for him
She suffers for him to hear
She is good and she is pure
But she is sick and needs a cure
He breathes quercetine,
is ruthless and mean,
His gender it would seem, a mystery.
...Influence-Love-and Turmoil
He/She is nothing but desire
Of his/hers soul she cannot tire
Revolting in his mannerisms
Unsightly in appearance
yet dripping with ****** appeal
and all must have him.
The Angel is no better,
The world is white and black
with sheep crammed together in a stack.
He dismisses their devotion
is malevolent and confident.
He changes form but is consistent.
Cringe to look at him,
but unable to stop.
He draws you in and beats you down
until he takes the win and you're on the ground
Like fine wine he gets better,
older and older the legend grows.
Stealing more hearts and sanity.
A disgusting man with turbulent ways
yet somehow there is nothing the Angel desires more.
Revolting in his mannerisms,
Disgusting in appearance...
yet I find it so horribley attractive.
Such a sick need to have it.
An Affliction of Attraction... My My...
It would seem that I am the beast and he is the beauty...
that sick, anorexic, drug beaten beauty.
NitaAnn Apr 2014
The truth is that life isn’t fair– it isn’t, but “you do the best you can” – at least that’s what I’ve been told.

The truth is I don’t even know which one of ‘me’ is real and I’m scared of the many times I leave my body and can no longer communicate, it makes me feel unsafe and the truth is it happens every single night.

The truth is I’m scared all the time because at any minute I could change into someone else and bad things can happen.

The truth is every single night my body aches with sharp and persistent pain, and I cannot rest, or find comfort. And the truth is I prefer not to be present when the pain becomes unbearable.

The truth is I feel overwhelmed with the chaos inside my head and the pain in my body – and the truth is I know that no one will be there, so why would I even ‘write’ how it feels anymore?

The truth is DT has no idea what happens now because the truth I don’t think he really wants to know and he wants to believe that because I don’t ‘email’ him or leave him a ‘voicemail’ that I must be doing better. Good Job, Nita, you are doing such a great job navigating through the pain, in a much “healthier” way. But the truth is he doesn’t know anything about my “nightly navigation”.

The truth is no one wanted to know the TRUTH then, and no one wants to know it now. No one wants to see, or hear, about a man fu@#ing a kid. Because the TRUTH is that it’s disgusting and revolting, and horrifying…and the thought really turns the stomach of anyone who hears it. And the truth is, if it makes you feel that way to hear it, then imagine how disgusting it feels to be a kid who was fu@#ed.

The truth is I scared as hell that one day I will seriously hurt or **** myself. Because the truth is that we do tend to hurt and **** ourselves, and if ‘one’ of us does it – the rest of us are scared as hell that it will happen to another survivor!

The truththe truth is a journey into madness…and you can’t handle my ‘truth’. Because your truth and my truth are WAY to different…

The truth is I’m not that scarred when I’m covered up – and the truth is no one wants to see those scars because it’s uncomfortable and perhaps a reality check that the world really is fu@#ed up – and adults really do f@#k kids – and people like me really do hurt themselves and **** themselves.

The truth is everyone ignores what isn’t “spoken” and the truth is everyone is shocked as hell when the unspeakable happens.

The truth is “I” am not the one with the blinders on. And the truth is you don’t see me now because you don’t want to see me. Because you WANT to believe that I’m doing “better” as a result of your “boundaries” and “limits” (what a good doctor you are!- pure genius…she finally ‘accepts’ the limitations –and as a result huge sigh she’s doing so much better) – but the truth is you don’t know because you don’t ask, and you don’t ask because you don’t want to know- because it’s not pretty and it certainly isn’t something you see in a showroom window.

And the truth is you don’t know what my reality is because you don’t want to know, you don’t want to see. Because my reality is covered up with clothing, eyes that hide the truth, the ability to use humor to hide even the most painful feelings, and a bright smile.

And that’s okay – but really….your truth and my truth are as far apart as Earth and Venus.

Smile Pretty for the Camera, Nita ...that's "perfect."
Quinn Apr 2013
music becomes mucus, leftover remnants
of bacterial infections that refuse to vacate
my brain no matter how many decongestants
i consume, those sound waves reverberate back
and forth and back and forth within my thick
*** skull and i am driven mad by memories

how to cut tender wires intricately woven into
the most simple mass of a mess you will ever see

i find myself muttering solutions in my sleep and
when i reach conclusions i'm already half awake
pen in hand, paper on chest, but ahh, it's gone, it's gone

my dream world holds more clarity than my walking
daze and i can only find the words for poetry, my
tongue and throat are revolting, refusing to take part
in walks down memory lane, fingers soon to follow suit
Leo Letters Feb 2015
I am a raging fire on the inside and what the
world only sees, a wisp of smoke
emanating through me. Lightning, thunder
crackling on my skin I carve history on streets.
Sneaking quiet tender as a beast,
people bow down to the tremble I speak.

My hair is a string of storm, raising up in
the smell of abhor.  My flesh runs in a fire of lava and gold
Fresh and real, like a snake I peel off my skin. Through the ashes I am reborn
I stir and devour men with my breath of smoke
Tingling, Fleeting like bright sun glow, I
I am the revelation of today’s tomorrow.

Scare, beware my lips a poison of reality
Drunk to the liquor of skulls, I am flexed
my body taken from an Agate stone
Sinister smile I am a black onyx erratic and wild
to every screech I keep. My finger on people’s lips
Be still I come revolting crackers in my head

I am the child of love, born with a stone in my bed.
Come all you who dare, eyes like a cat,
I will slit you naked with a stare
I run the city wild, shouting the ecstasy burning beating in my head
those who are laughing think I’m in despair.
Shiver, I fly high, swiftly like a storm, I greet people with a blow.

This is my confession, the true disclosure of lady leo limbo
I am a magic dynamo, those who cut will bleed and disappear in my timid ****.
Walk, fly, run with me I’ll tie you in my body, those who whisper my name
I’ll build you a cage and and in my presence, I’ll slowly poison your veins.
Haven’t they told you of my stories,
I am a natural force of misery masked in smooth ivory.
The great fire I hold cuts swifter than a sword.
Now through night's caressing grip
Earth and all her oceans slip,
Capes of China slide away
From her fingers into day
And th'Americas incline
Coasts towards her shadow line.

Now the ragged vagrants creep
Into crooked holes to sleep:
Just and unjust, worst and best,
Change their places as they rest:
Awkward lovers like in fields
Where disdainful beauty yields:

While the splendid and the proud
Naked stand before the crowd
And the losing gambler gains
And the beggar entertains:
May sleep's healing power extend
Through these hours to our friend.
Unpursued by hostile force,
Traction engine, bull or horse
Or revolting succubus;
Calmly till the morning break
Let him lie, then gently wake.
Aa Harvey Jul 2018
Revolution: Part one.

The first French King sentenced to death,
Must have a new execution invented;
So that this day shall be forever remembered.
The execution of your King, this invention of evil;
This is how he will finally meet his end and go to the Devil.

The man behind the mask, the executioner;
Will lead us to change to a new world order.

A declaration of civil war, to stop the oppression,
Has lead France to say, we must fight to stop the aggression.
We must be revolting and begin the revolution;
To put an end to the executions.

The fall of the guillotine, for a life time spent,
Writing the encyclopedia, which lead to his death.
There is no place for God, in an encyclopedia of Man;
This writing is illegal, you are blasphemous!  *******!
So the time has come, to take your last breath.
Remember when you see the guillotine... don't lose your head.

Until it's chopped off and ends up in the basket;
Another case of basket case madness.
No fiction necessary, for us to live here on Earth;
But this execution, you surely don't deserve.
So the poets leave France, before the revolution;
All of them heading, back to England.

These prison bars to entrap the young.
Taken prisoner for writing a book.
Follow their rules; free thinking is wrong.
The encyclopedia is evidence enough.

Man is born free and grows to imprison himself;
Then he must follow the orders, of somebody else.
Frances revolutionaries, said let it be, let it be;
But the nation is ruled, by the monarchy.

Imprisoned for what they think, the poets and the artists;
But there are no walls, in the prison inside their heads.
Begin the revolution and make us all classless,
Because they’re chained by society,
For the thoughts that they think.

A fight for equality, a modern day philosophy.
Man is born to think for himself; a revolution is on the way.
Liberty!  Liberation for one free state;
A jaded nation must make a change.

Revolution began, after the fall of the blade;
Now the guillotine of power will stop us being slaves.
Preaching revolution, we must free ourselves of these manacles.
Preaching liberation for the masses
And freedom for the individual.

This new guillotine, the machine of death,
Makes the severed head fall into the basket,
As they take your last breath;
But they can't take your words, from the books you have written.
So fight the power!
Revolution!  Revolution!

We must have a revolution, that is televised.
Che Guevara, Malcolm X, me, myself and I.
All of us willing to join the fight;
All of knowing our view is right.

(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Nathan Alexander Aug 2018
Oh, how disgusting.
All this disguising...
To become somebody that’s worth existing.

Oh, it's repulsing.
Fully engulfing...
Every truth, that ever found itself hiding.

So join me...
Hey let's play a lying game!
And ***** ourselves, with something exciting!

Deceiving, and heartless thieving...
After all life is so dull without some bleeding.

Such is life for a boring... Existence...

Cause I’m a...
Liar, liar!
And only that is true!
After all fire, fire...
Is something I pursue!
Just call out liar, liar!
And I’ll infect you too...
With the addictive taboo...
Of bidding the truth adieu.

Trust me!
That’s a lie, such a lie, for a lie!
You see, I can’t pry my own dyed scheming eyes.
So please, forgive my falsified truthful lies.
...Truly... Lying!

‘Cause I’m a liar.

Oh, how appalling.
The lies are crawling...
And covering every single little bit.

Oh, how revolting.
And full of loathing.
It’s nauseating!
Isn’t it?

Hardly pulsating...
A heart like that, is the only one that’s free.

Without emotion,
Without devotion...
It’s much easier to fake something happy.

Much easier to fake yourself being happy...

So, join me!
Hey, let's play a lying game!
And cover ourselves, with something inviting!

Rewriting, and truly lying...
Finally a story that wasn’t meant to end with painful feelings!

Put on the masks, and let's have us a masquerade!
Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed!
A smiling, and crying, and lying charade...
Such is life for a boring... Existence.

'Cause I’m a liar, liar,
And only that is true!
After all fire, fire,
Is something I pursue!
Just call out liar, liar!
And I’ll infect you too...
With the addictive taboo...
Of bidding the truth adieu.

'Cause I’m a liar.

Ha, ha, I found you!
Hiding from the truth...
Well it’s nothing new.

I can see right through!
Liars know liars...
Like you know the back of your own hand.

It’s bland.
Such an existence...
Where everything goes as planned.
Is much more fun to navigate and understand.
That’s why...
I left it behind, my world is covered in lies.
That’s why...
It seems there’s no longer blue in my sky...


Put on the masks, and let's have us one last masquerade!
Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed!
A smiling, and crying, and lying charade!
Such is life for the boring existence... Of a liar.

Am I a... liar? Liar?
Does it seem that way to you?
After all fire, fire...
Is burning through the roof...

'Cause you’re all... liars, liars!
And I don’t know what’s true!
After all fire, fire...
Has ravaged all I knew...

I call out liar, liar!
I cannot trust you!
But the world has gone askew...
And there’s nothing else to do...
Except bid the truth adieu...

Leave this, leave it behind, hide it in the back of your head!

I’ve given up on all I knew,
There is nothing, that is truly true.
I’ve given up on all I knew,
Because after they betrayed me, they’ve gone askew.
I’ve given up on all I knew,
Because life, people are so boring and dull,
There is nothing for me here.

I don’t see a point in living...
That’s a lie..?

Trust me!
What’s a lie?
Is it lies?
Only lies!
I can’t pry my blind eyes, while I cry...
Please, forgive my blackened sky full of lies!

Truly... Lying!
Truly... Dying...
a debilitating

into the
of the

so its
hard to tell
what his

Some say
saw the
sweet crude
onto the
Big Time
Dickey Boy
a petrol
the dripped
from the
so as
not to waste
a precious drop
to satiate
the black
the ebony
veins of his

sized up
the man
and saw
a brother-in-arms
in the fight
The Evil Doers;
yet failed to
see the
his new
upon his
own body

with amnesia
Lockerbie and
BP's royal
court of
all perps.

failed to
a brewing
in the
its way
on the
sands of
a blistering

only happy
visions of
JZ, Usher
and the
Def Jam
of martinets
way cool
far out
with the
that blinds
the eye to
all discernment.

The Decider

Music Selection:
Lady Ga Ga

Valerie Csorba Mar 2014
It's hard knowing
you're not in the right location
when everyone ahead of you
is doing so much better than you are,
and when you try to follow them
you get lost in throngs of people
who are

You become plastered to the stereotype
like the same boring wallpaper
in the same mundane house;
the kind that someone wants to cover
with accomplishments because it's too ugly
to deserve even a quick gander.
And that's alright with you
because it's just how you feel: ugly.

You become melancholy at the thought
that every word you try to spread on that
revolting wallpaper in an attempt to make it beautiful,
before someone else tries to do the same,
just keeps being buried under yet another outstanding triumph
from someone who isn't you.

It's beyond difficult to understand
you aren't in the right position
to become the dream you made up inside your head
as you step over boundaries that are faded
in hopes you can immediately be where you desire
and require
when the design has a necessity for time
and careful planning.

And all you want is to find your escape
because the stress that continues to bear down on you
is pulling at your center as well.
You've no idea where your home is,
but it certainly isn't in the arms
of the mattress you claim solace in every night.

They claim that home is where the heart is,
but your heart isn't with you.
It's living luxury somewhere else.
It's every
you hear yourseld murmuring
'there's no place like home'
But you don't receive that free trip by clicking your heals.
You don't find your way home
by following that rabbit down a hole.
Can you find where you belong?
Or will you be lost forever in this Wonderland like me and everyone else?

The waters chased him as he fled,
Not daring look behind—
A billow whispered in his Ear,
“Come home with me, my friend—
My parlor is of shriven glass,
My pantry has a fish
For every palate in the Year”—
To this revolting bliss
The object floating at his side
Made no distinct reply.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.comes the floundering over foul language, like it's a sin to speak with a cascade of oath taken words, to: never mind the beat and rhythm, that will continue, as long, as long you play the solo... never you mind keeping-up-appearances, why be distracted, better yet: why talk during ***? isn't that worse than saying ****, casually, in a conversation of: pardon my french? i will tell you, it's far worse dragging "god" (words) into the "satanic" pit of actual procreation, than it is to say **** and let it be treated as a conjunction, akin to: and... since what words are sacrificed on the altar of *****-*****? bad, boy, who's your yummy, mummy... who's your daddy... i tell you: **** in between some jane austin snippets, and those prunes would be on, fire, should any words be uttered from their mouths having been staged completely ****... no... foul language is free language with all the chanel and gucci to attire you with away from furr-skins... but talking, uttering words, while procreating? that's just plain scandalous! i bet those prim goodie-two-shoes care more for: pardon my french during conversation, yet they probably squeal like about to be castrated pigs in a slaughterhouse come the synagogue of ******... ******* never wish to accomplish syllables or vowel cubism with contorted mouths during ***... but they say: brush your teeth while speaking... if hey-zeus saw hypocrisy in the jewish sects... full circle... who are the modern day pharisees? somewhere in h'america... beastly contortions... if not pedophiles, then at least the sort of pedantic hypocrites that could share the same tier of Dante's inferno... why talk, during ***? why not eat the ****** during the zenith? wow, don't you think? because bukowski might call me a star-gazer... well... if you look up and see what i see? you too would be looking up... but just in order for you to get a feel of what i feel? three song summary when i look up at night at the sky:
   penta - come in,
     gloOMy PhAntOM - only the beginning,
Matutero - pure evil...
             hell... a fourth song: matutero - exorcist...
i'm no ******* copernicus...
   or a galileo...
                              still: to keep one's mouth clean
is to not utter god: words during the wedding
of "satan" to his shadow...
                                 to keep one's mouth clean
is to not speak during *******,
     *****-stars know the deal...
   tell me what you want, and i will not give it...
don't tell me what i want: and i will surprise you...
even after the act, she said...
'this has only happened to me once'...
when she was paid,
   and didn't expect to reach ******...
                    2nd man in...
  1st man with a hydra in his mouth for paying
an extra 10 quid to perform oral ***
on a *******...
                      good... evil...
well: good is as good as it gets,
but good can also imply: the purity of evil...
evil of the highest quality is in a position
to move down an incremental path toward
good: as spectator...
       as a tease of what is itching the incremental
path toward evil: the omniscient, omnipotent etc.
      oh sure... night sky *******, romance my this
that and whatever *** looks more like:
pork chop cleopatra meets
   cherry 16 tight trim of milk and quicksilver
reflection teasing...
                      you'd be gagging for the goosebumps
and the prickled tiny hairs... performing...
what plant-speciments do with their...
                                    against all: stereotypes...
            this, lunar base of imagining, not otherwise.
so this is to be my antithesis Golgotha?
for who stands on Har Megiddo
certainly not the skull-baron of the crucifixion...
   blitzkrieg imagery: and suddenly...
   the words... become...
   s               a
h             r                                       l
                   p                   e
      for the supposed foul language used
as barrier between flow and conjunction
necessity... a rhetorical tool of the modern use
of language: no one is standing in any
oratory pulpit speaking to the "masses"...
      but... if i could invent an inverted niqab
for the tongues of christians during ***?
reduce them to moans, groans,
exfoliations of an onomatopoeia...
               less daddy please, who's the naughty boy
*****-***** *** tantrums of:
having ****** so much, the next ****
acts like an anaesthetic to numb what's already
become a numbed pain / pleasure non-differential...
                like i really might need to venture
into the dark-web...
   i'll just bring myself to the party on the "safe" web...
and some poo'em i wrote once,
which doesn't even compliment what i just,
just now: pulled out from my bowels...
again: there's zero-net-worth of feeling in the heart...
emotions? bowels...
   the heart is too preoccupied with rhythm...
akin to how:
    the brain was a metaphor for the soul,
even though the soul is a sigma,
of all known organs and its preoccupation with them,
or not...
    given the current explanation of the brain?
coordination and what not?
evidently the soul is, equivalent to a metaphysical
and biological definition of an *****,
given: the brain doesn't entertain the existence
of thought...
       so... if the brain is not responsible for
thinking, then nothing else in the body is...
                  so soul, or the sigma "conundrum" /
is a metaphysical *****, or whatever you want it to be...
brain = fatty sponge... that can die...
when attacked by killer proteins in the light
of Alzheimer's... like a sort of inverted anorexia...
weird... starvation? fat goes first,
then the carbohydrates... no, wait...
carbohydrates first, fats second...
and then... proteins cannibalise themselves...
that's starvation... in Alzheimer's?
the proteins attack the brain sponge-fatty-blob...
so the brain is not involved in thinking...
so... well, mein gott: god i guess...
   some external source of "inspiration"...
motivation, will... oddly enough?
that coincides with both the + and the - of
such a source of thinking...
             both sides: theistic and atheistic have it
covered... right now? chosing the middle ground
is the only sensible posit to succumb to

what's the difference between
a polyamorous society
and a polygamous society?
  well... there's not much
of a difference...
   i've been a subject to the former,
and the "covert" latter...
suddenly prostitutes are
above priests and psychiatrists...
  either being sold the body,
or being bribed with
prayer or the pharmacological cocktail...
only because:
i was...
         "being uncomfortable"
for the rest of society...
    polyamorous societies
descend into make-shift
polygamous societies...
             the whole incel problem...
that's really representative
of a polygamous society....
  20% of men get 80%...
    sure... lesbian frolicking
in a harem,
     and eunuchs are missing...
akin to a manic street preachers'
   the walking abortions...
   in all honesty...
the top-down influence
of a polygamous society has crept in
and created
the polyamorous society buffer zone,
so shy right up to now,
before the **** hits the fan
   waiting game...
and how much
of the madonna-***** complex
is currently true,
and how much of ******* dysfunction
is due to...
  being pulverißed
by overtly sexualißed material
  if i'm always going to be stitched
into a frankenstein hard-on
when it comes to the actual deed?
why wouldn't the answer suffice
mostly associated with a *******
and not a woman on her third date?
because i'm pretty sure
that erectile dysfunction isn't
a problem with my experience
of prostitutes...
    but it is... with "free" women...
given that i'm no psychopath...
  and when *** is staged,
it follows that there's a case for relationship,
           a ******* hard-on
is an objective fact...
which is why prostitutes rarely
fail to "conjure" it...
         the violence is simmering...
it's... titillating, nibbling at the toes
of Venus like some
sado-******* fetishist...
        **** me...
   the nazis dropped less bombs
on London via the world war I
zeppelin raids than
how many ****** insinuations
leave me quasi-limp-**** / ******...
   well... not so much ******...
***** just keep bulging with
   i sometimes forget the ******...
which isn't even associated with
the actual *******...
   it's neurologically associated
with tingling sensation
            of the shaft...
    ***** has nothing to do with it...
    should have asked
me when i was 8...
                 what others rarely see...
no wonder i gravitated to
reading marquis de sade in my early teens...
but like chuck rhodes
said in billions...
            if it's not comfortable,
and if its not a wager...
a shadow compensation...
  if its not the intellectuals'
demise of truth being treated
  as a fluctuation,
  a perpetual change,
   bias one minute,
        critique another,
                         a noumenon,
                                  then... what is it?

oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

i don't even want to begin thinking
that man,
was the pinnacle of all lifeforms
on earth...
   notably in this region of "debate"...
because there's no "debate"...
is there?
     not with the elevated mating
norms of... say...
swans... how you actually can...
find widows and widowers
in the swan populace...

          with man having evolved
from monkey:
  well no surprises...
swans have devolved from
   the feathers are the fake...
but like lizards...
  born from an egg...
                 swans understand
    not so much...
         well... if you're lucky...

but i'm pretty sure:
oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

am i, bothered?
clue me in...
    revolting *****' song: *****...
could a **** ****
a ****...
         without a strap-on?
You are the petal that breaks free from the flower.
You are the last fluorescent string of sunshine before dusk.
You are the ripped wings of an insect.
Your "love" was cancerous
Your intent was murderous,
Your opinions, over zealous
And your range always jealous.
You are the last wave of the night tide.
You are the meteor to the moon.
You are Nothing,
Yet something,
Without good;
Just rotting.
You are the "darkest before the dawn."
You are the winter that killed the rose.
You are the nuclear holocaust,
That burned each bridge
And broke each road.
You are Loneliness in company,
You are a sunken charter.
You are a skipping record,
On the wrong part of the song.
You are famine with emotion,
You are the feign of hope.
You are my epitome of hatred,
You are the birdsong that is but a croak.
You are weakness and decay,
You are a fatal wound.
You are terminal illness.
You are not worth a breath,
You are what I can not accept.
You Are ******* Revolting.
You ******* Disgust Me.
theinsatiate Aug 2013
The young maiden,
with eyes the color of the green-blue sea,
porcelain skin,
and the face of an angel.

She had a hyacinth in her flaxen hair.
She is the hyacinth girl,
with beauty words can't describe,
and the grace of a princess.

Today somebody called me the hyacinth girl,
words nobody has ever said to me.
Glancing at the image in the mirror,
I didn't believe her words.

and disappointing.
are all compliments that I have received generously.

hyacinths - however, I have never received.
"words with malicious intent, were never actually intended maliciously", they said.
they led me to believe,
that I could never be the hyacinth girl,
that I see deep inside of me.
Fegger May 2010
The lantern sways, as shadows flash,
Mists draped in night so still;
Illuminating fleshless arms,
Creep-out along this hill.
Such guardians of soul-less mounds,
Wooden markers of the poor,
Bow in hallowed reverence
As sentries evermore.

Weeping, yet un-frightened,
She trips between each aisle;
Casting light against each stone,
Acknowledge each beguiled.
Then memory finds her grasping,
And clenching cold, damp stone
Denoting ‘neath a vacant plot,
For he never did come home.

‘Pon scattered grass and gravelly dirt;
Drops to reverent knee,
While fanning simple pleats about,
Her dress, in modesty.
She twists the **** and raises wick;
And it curls with cloak of flame.
She whets her lips, inhaling deep,
Then summons ‘pon his name:

“Bartholomew,  Bartholomew,
Can you see that I ‘ave come?
Are you near, me sweetest husband?
‘Tis I, your Mary Dunn!
I had me thoughts to come t’night,
To ‘ave a word with you,
That’s pressin’ on me heart so fierce,
Ya’ ‘round Bartholomew?
Aye, that’d be just like ye some,
To wait fer me confess;
A’twisten’ in me awkward words,
No salve fer me distress!
Yet I—I need t’hear yer voice
An’ calmin’ words to heal,
The anxious quiver, here, inside,
A’longin’ to reveal.”

The widow paused, collecting will,
And questioned own intent;
To cast a net to spirit’s world,
To herald self- repent.
She wrings her fingers nervously,
While waiting ‘pon the dead;
When suddenly a breeze did rise,
Then a hand upon her head.

“Mary Dunn, me Mary Dunn,
‘Ave not better things to do;
Than wander ‘bout such crypts at night,
A’hovered by the moon?
What keeps y’here in dank an cold,
So callin’ out fer me?
Ye know fer fact I’m dead by now,
An rottin’ in the sea!”

“It’s good to see ya’ too, my love;
Better then, to hear;
That death din’t take away that tongue,
Or how ye prone t’snear.
I ‘spected that I’d smell ya’ first,
That rancid scent of whale;
Yer eyes were once quite darker,
Yer skin not quite so pale”.

The spirit corpse then spun about,
Examined high and low,
The fiery bride he’d left behind,
With heart so still aglow.
Warmed by her excited eyes,
And cheeks so pink with life;
He felt a distance aching,
Longing for this wife.

“Ye got a bit of lonely, Mary,
That why ye come tonight;
‘Spectin’ glimpse ‘ov me, like this
‘Wud turn ya’ heart to right?
Sensible is how ye was,
Yet be scurryin’ to find,
Such wisdom in yer harkin’,
To terms ye felt unkind.”

“Stop with ya’!  Stop with ya’!
Ya’ stubborn, briney goat!
T’wasn’t me who boarded ship
An’ failed to keep afloat!
Aye, the heaven hasn’t tempered,
The iron in yer will.
Judge me not Bartholomew,
One, amongst the krill!”

The bearded ghost then chuckled,
‘Til tears came to his eyes.
Proud he was to have such time,
To spend with feisty bride.
He then retreats in silence,
As he gleans from her distress,
That she torments with a secret,
To him, she must confess.

“"Bartholomew, me love,"
she embarks to make her plea,
"Ye left me young an' fruitful still,
yet no child ‘pon me knee.
I'm not as sturdy as y'think,
An' tremble at the thought;
deprived I am of husbandry,
my womb be saved fer naught."
Without ye then, I’ll ‘ave no spring,
No child to remind,
Of splendid days, brighter sun,
Me husband now divine.
I’m askin’ yer forgiveness,
And yer permit to pursue,
The kindly callers come to me,
In absence then, of you.”

“Yer speakin’ of the cooper, Tim,
Or Drew, the smithies’ hand?
Aye, better off with men who keep,
Their feet upon the land!
But Tim, I’m sadly knowin’ that,
His time is comin’ due;
An’ if a child be yer design,
There ‘ain’t no seeds in Drew.
I’ll not be one to keep ya’,
To an empty marriage bed.
Lord knows ye d’serve a finer life,
Than keepin’ with the dead.
But ev’rythin’ that’s in me,
Needs ye hurt no more.
Death ‘as grant me favored eyes,
I ‘adn’t known before.
I’ll come ‘ere, e’vry night,
An’ visit, yer desire.
Honest, I will always be,
Tendin’ yer require.
Love ‘been mine for days of flesh,
Then, for eternity.
Go then now, me Mary Dunn,
An’ make a life for thee.”

With courage she did leave that night,
With freedom then realized,
To pair with then, another mate,
Forsaking former ties.
Yet, on the night that followed,
And for thousands after, too,
She chose the comp’ny of the ghost,
Her lost Bartholomew.

Each night she braved nature’s serve,
Through rain, or cold, or sleet;
Imbibing ‘pon such moment’s time,
To feed on love so sweet.
Each minute spent, Bartholomew,
Rejoiced in hardships, laughter;
And only God and Time will know,
Such treasures in hereafter.

One night, amidst November freeze,
Mary staggered there,
Among the stones akin to home,
With her husband shared;
Lungs revolting, gurgling swell,
Mouth of staining red;
Contrasting earthly suffering,
Found solace ‘mongst the dead.
Fevered to delirium,
Wet, silver-tainted hair,
She settles ‘side familiar post
And finds him waiting there.
Struggles so to form a breath,
In hopes that she may speak,
Surrendering the day’s accounts;
But fears she is too weak.

“Aye, ‘tis time, me Mary Dunn,
A’time that ye come home.
Beyond this night, forevermore,
Y’ll nev’r be alone.
I wish that I could reach ya’ now,
An pull ya’ ‘cross the veil
That’s kept us ‘part these many years,
In spite of what’s prevailed.”

“So ‘lighten me, me whaler man,”
She coughed a pale reply.
“Why’d ya’ choose to lie to me,
To keep me as yo’r bride?
The cooper, he outlived us both,
Eight children sprung from Drew;
Ye lied to me for all these years,
What say, Bartholomew?”

“I feared me own accord, me lass,
From terms set forth above;
Ye cannot cross to waitin’ arms,
Unless ye go with love.
An’ I, but one love known to life,
This chance then rest with you
To be me escort to the Lord,
This, I say is true.
Should ye have taken ‘nother man,
I feared that ye’d be his;
An’ ye’d be taken up with him,
While I’d be left like this;
A-hoverin’ in between such space,
An’ time, by lonesome self;
While pinin’ for me heart of life,
Me Mary, ‘n no one else.”

“Aye, such flat’ry from  des’prate ghost;
It was my life ye know;
I seen ya’ for deceiver,
So many years ago.
But I choose’d to keep me vows to you,
‘Til heaven takes me in;
An’ if I granted sim’lar choice,
I’d choose the same a’gin’.

I’m dying love, I feel it now,
Me spirit needs to leave;
This body sez it’s had enough,
Me time is done, indeed.”
“Lay down, me lass, breath peace,
Lay down ‘n be there, still;
Our fate, as love, ‘pears destiny,
As both our lungs were filled.”

Mary Dunn surrendered then,
To callings of her spirit;
With forever longing arms of his,
She had no cause to fear it.
United once again, at last,
Of faith and love of few,
She crossed into Eternity,
With her love, Bartholomew!
As this represents a needed edit, I'd like to extend my gratitude to Drew for precise observation, critique/guidance and to my dear poet friend, Ron Gardner,  who donated several verses to this piece that were clearly more appropriate than what I had penned originally.  Thanks, so much, gentlemen!!!

If you are reading this, you did me a great favor of time...thanks.  

Fegger, 2010
SassyJ Aug 2018
You said it,how you broke my heart
every time we talk I break and cry
I stop as I was so crazy to love
To give all there is unconditionally
burnt shatters and pieces evoke
Now sat here at the cross legged bench
this country oak that soothed misery
the one with antique aesthetic split
Overlooking the misused McDonald’s
where ducks prey, play and swivel  
by the bus stop where people load
carrying suitcases to a distant destination
Yet, never had I been broken in my life
with lack of direction and unknown trauma
lost 10 feet under the revolting grounds
no apologies, no goodbye ,no explanation
not another chance,nor another beat
not a fiery fire, decrepit with the low blows  
Now solitude is a glove that fits me
It has justly put the pieces back together
Washed the foolishness and carelessness
For we are not made of bricks and blocks
Sat at this very spot today after years...... memories just streamed
st64 Mar 2013
Lunatic calling....... Earthling.........

Yes, you...fool..... tiny Earthling!
Wake up, you intractable iota of pulp
I watch you on your little planet, with relish
Playing depraved games on your spiritless  ilk.

I inhabit a moon much larger than your scrap of sand
You already appear so infinitesimally  small
When seen with a magnifier, from this innocuous distance
But now, you're even less than a speck of dust.

Seemingly important, you prance and preen and strut
Your feathers ruffling so easily, I do note
Look how you fret your heartstrings and gnaw away
And I didn't get to say that much....yet!

But fear not: collide with each other, we will not
For conversing amiably with my solar sibling, I've pled
To wield its forte and rein out all magnetic fields
So's we never make acquaintance of regret.

See how bloated and full of yourselves you have all become
Feeding on yourselves, sick with bilious envy
Scurrying like ants, at least THEY know better
For when you reach inside you, there ain't too much of note!

You try aimlessly to prove your dull existence
By crawling all wild-like and filling up the gaps meant for silence
Instead, you leave gruesome tracts of rotating noise
I constantly quake at the revolting  mess on Earth.

Scamper along now, as you are wont to do, brain-scooper
You can hardly hold still a thought in mind
You seek and ferret out answers not meant for your likes
Soon you will sever and break up into little pieces insects love!

You think that what you do, is so gripping
But don't you know we're all varying on the same theme
Roll up the deified curtain and you might find
Everything's an inflated rerun of what passed before.

So, even here on this jaunty moon where I live
I'd rather you not join me in my solitary abode
This lunatic prefers the osculating of kind craters
And communing in the solace of orchestral stones.

You delude yourself with ludicrous ideas
That you have the swell of sultry oceans at your disposal
All tied to deceptive spider-like strings, kited fraudulently in your hand
Hoping to catch that salty surge and drift away.....

My scathing  job perchance, is to spot that pattern of power
And when Eros comes rolling in on that mighty tide
I plan and do my best to make you fail spectacularly
Oh, to climb on and ride that sweet wave for all it's worth!

There is nothing to lose, cos you have nothing!
But your acquisitive nature lets you think you do
Yes, go and ape your latest hobby: quickly run to your house
Check that  no-one has stolen the dust from your gate!

Temporary custodians of that rock, is all you are.
But you......You're absurdly afraid to lose what isn't.
Tiers of neglect show how little you learn of what's around you
Hello, look up.......please. Do you see me? Oh, you do.

Well, well now ! Grand planes and happy steaks to you!
Two swell ticks bestowed on you......for neatness.
But even as I study and decimate your paltry existence
Turning, I'm growing painfully aware of three eyes on me.......

Hey, hang on.....wait, wait,!
Lunatic calling....... Earthling.........

Lunatic calling......dear Earthling.........

Star Toucher,  10 March 2013
Slightly older one by me, written in Jan this year and posted on another site under another alter-name...
Now that I look at the piece, its theme and content, I'm much reminded of that fab film 'Horton hears a who(o?)'.....despite content not quite similar, it could resonate a bit, I think.
Go figure, humans!
Salt Jun 2012
Looking back it's revolting to me
A marriage to hypocrisy
Quantum leaps forward
Like an angel's descent
Into darkness and madness
Wings are picked off for lent

The pride of the ages and mediocrity
Are the fruits of the pharaoh's' monopoly
Golden decor for tombs
Sandstorms and lost places
Swords of knowledge are found
But wisdom; no traces

Sold myself in to blind slavery
The chains that bind are just as free
Quantum leaps forward
Like a mortal's ascent
Above the pride of the ages
Till the pharaohs repent
Allison Wonder Nov 2018
Just try to ignore him...

Ignore his stench,
Like sweat drenched fears?
Ignore his laugh,
Like a shrill in my ears?
Ignore his face,
Like a revolting ghoul?
Ignore his imbalance,
Like a battered mule?
Ignore his touch,
Like a rugged wrench?
Ignore his darkness,
Like an endless trench?
Ignore his power,
Like a stifling net?
Ignore the things,
I beg to forget?
Allison Wonder © 2018
I live in a land of three stars and a sun
The pearl of the orient, surrounded with sands
A country for years have been independent
Back from the invasions, where history's ancient

With a government tainted with corruption and greed
The beauty has been stripped off leaving our country to bleed
Suffering from apathy, puberty and dread
The people's revolting for their cries never heard

Looking at the Brightside, it is the people that is ugly
Staining the pride of the country with deeds that are unpretty
Beyond that, the pearl still shines with all its glory
That someday will be known for its natural beauty

I am a man who live in a land of three stars and a sun
Red, white, blue and yellow designed the flag of my clan
I'll wave it with valor, the courage for the right I've done
With love and honor here I am born and die where I stand

— The End —