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"rubix" poems
Lone star walking roads, crowbar in hand cowgirl I'll die for, I died and I died again, fluent in 6 country's, passports; pardons no cargo, but luggage is a stainless steel flask, half full, half way, to the moon if you asked me? Cadillacs in space, expensive taste that's masked with — the cheap stuff, inspired souls, they walk, and this forsaken path, they'll never make hell a ***** deed or two from heaven, counterparts we're equals, we're lost they're my colleagues, a scandal from remembrance, remember we followed rules? no response **** there's a shift in the rubix cube,  a memo from the warden, no weapons in the visit room, coordinating sin, a taste of gin before the see you soons, world was much warm before stone replaced the sand dunes, scoff at the elixir, cordially she casts stones, ******* of a demon crossing ponds is all the child knows, tales of the fishermen, who heard it through the corridors, all and all departed, with a fear of the other gods, strictly prohibited, a swig of the forbidden fruit, who are you to judge me, When Your Son Is Not Of Holy Proof! wedded to a mortal said your honor, absent i do's, abstinence is bliss and your crime ascends civilian law, guilty -- you're filthy, your son will never know your soul, I know my role and play it well, Your god never admits he's wrong, so why would I? — a baby cried, I'm present for my son's birth, and leave before an open eye the practice of a perfect curse.
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Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
(great grandson of Greek God Cronus) Our Deadbeat Father
a rubix cube upon my desk with half the colors matching near a wayward garden gnome what plots might he be hatching contemplations fill my head of life and all its meanings a conservative at heart despite my leftist leanings someday I’ll find the leprechaun hiding at the rainbow’s end I’ll take that ******** lucky charms before he runs again memories haunt my waking mind not sure if they're even real vertigo and déjà vu are all that I can feel I think I’ll take another hit that should finally stop the spinning as my pet rock races Charlie Brown the rubix cube is winning
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Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 7:06 PM UTC
Rubix Cube
64 hours passed by in a flash, sister are you tryin' to sing and ****** me? my hebrew sillables are all-black as bmf sunset over wondaland, the magic city residing at excelsior hotel, flowerfull mouth french rap intro playin' me like harimah sending me nudes from dubai to wondaland shaped like a statue, willing, please, pleasure booked dat ticket, let's go for it, babe harima is on her way, in the meantime this cleaning lady is flirtatious like crazy, yeeeah her colleague a.k.a. boyfriend ain't working last night, she gave me an intense glimpse and her dude was in the same room, yup so it's time for punishment, seldom signs alrighty, passing babylon-thru, thruuuuhhh wondaland keeps me trapped, i can't leave you gonna see #trance24/7 on most walls fiends dwell on pathways or they begging beatdowns, runners, packs, rubix cubies but on a hill, there is a house and in this house, there are gangstapoetz, hihaho in an iris, you might spot our place simply take note of the... reflections
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Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 10:53 PM UTC
Adventures In Wondaland
This one’s for the smart kids. This one is for the honor students, and the straight A students This is for the kids who stay up half the night studying, and the kids who work their ***** off for their grades This is for the kids who can define and spell Antidisestablishmentarianism or tell you what DNA stands for (it’s deoxyribonucleic acid by the way) This is for the teachers pets, the geeks, and the nerds. And the student who skips parties so she can study for her test. This is for the kids who can solve complex mathematic equations in their head This is for the kids who know that you don’t use “I” in a formal essay, and that okay is spelled O-K-A-Y, not O-K. This is for the kids who can recite pi up to 200 hundred places, and the ones who can solve a rubix cube in 2 minutes flat. The ones who take two language classes, and the ones who have been saving for college since they were born. Geniuses of the 21st century, this is for you. I would give you a gold star and a check plus for what you’ve done, but I’m sure you have gotten plenty of those. So I think I will just tell you something that only we could understand; Superb job at pursuing your academic careers with such ambitious outlooks on the world, and for having such admirable self-motivation. I know that sometimes it ***** to be academically inclined, but in 5, 10, 20 years you will be working in some law firm or doing something you love and making multiple figures while the kids who blow off their school life will be stuck working for minimum wage at McDonalds or as a waitress for the rest of their lives. So keep writing essays and doing extra credit because it’s not enough to survive high school, you have to thrive, and reach for the metaphorical stars.
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Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Geniuses Of The 21st Century
This one’s for the smart kids. This one is for the honor students, and the straight A students This is for the kids who stay up half the night studying, and the kids who work their ***** off for their grades This is for the kids who can define and spell Antidisestablishmentarianism or tell you what DNA stands for (it’s deoxyribonucleic acid by the way) This is for the teachers pets, the geeks, and the nerds. And the student who skips parties so she can study for her test. This is for the kids who can solve complex mathematic equations in their head This is for the kids who know that you don’t use “I” in a formal essay, and that okay is spelled O-K-A-Y, not O-K. This is for the kids who can recite pi up to 200 hundred places, and the ones who can solve a rubix cube in 2 minutes flat. The ones who take two language classes, and the ones who have been saving for college since they were born. Geniuses of the 21st century, this is for you. I would give you a gold star and a check plus for what you’ve done, but I’m sure you have gotten plenty of those. So I think I will just tell you something that only we could understand; Superb job at pursuing your academic careers with such ambitious outlooks on the world, and for having such admirable self-motivation. I know that sometimes it ***** to be academically inclined, but in 5, 10, 20 years you will be working in some law firm or doing something you love and making multiple figures while the kids who blow off their school life will be stuck working for minimum wage at McDonalds or as a waitress for the rest of their lives. So keep writing essays and doing extra credit because it’s not enough to survive high school, you have to thrive, and reach for the metaphorical stars.
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13
I'm looking for a hailstorm to run blindfolded through For the sake of refief A psychosomatic firing squad to save me from this six by three square feet of dirt that you have left me I now drag behind myself I have taken this earth and sculpted it in your likeness I am Pygmalion praying to the moon for love but instead I get rain and as the picture of Her and perfect summers falls apart like mud through my finger I clasp and grasp and gasp and when the rain stops I am left on my knees in the mud praying with open hands my skin is baptized so clean my scars shine Now as the pieces of a heart are returned to us twisted and unwanted and rearranged like a Rubix cube by the hands of past lovers who we knew too fast and promised so much but didn't care enough to figure out our combinations or to hold the secrets contained or the dreams cradled in this human-sized box I guess no one thought to tell them that if you plan to be a past lover return what you have found just as you have found it and walk backwards that the image of you walking away from me may not haunt me in the mornings and I can make believe you are returning to me at night but even the stars rearrange themselves destiny can be rewritten let what remains of my days be it's pages in an infinite number of realities I am still happy with you in an infinite number of realities I am tragic without you but in this reality I may be happy without you I'm kicking open my wardrobe and cleaning it out of all the shadows I'm putting on a new jacket, a new hat but I'm keeping my old shoes for I will not forsake the path all the roads that once only led to you now lead from you thank you for the detour I'm looking for new hands to run through forests with new arms in which to build a home in a girl to jump on bed sheets with and a shoe box in an attic to bury you in For this heart will grow and one day I will see through an unbroken stained-glass window you were just another piece of me
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Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
Detour
I'm looking for a hailstorm to run blindfolded through For the sake of refief A psychosomatic firing squad to save me from this six by three square feet of dirt that you have left me I now drag behind myself I have taken this earth and sculpted it in your likeness I am Pygmalion praying to the moon for love but instead I get rain and as the picture of Her and perfect summers falls apart like mud through my finger I clasp and grasp and gasp and when the rain stops I am left on my knees in the mud praying with open hands my skin is baptized so clean my scars shine Now as the pieces of a heart are returned to us twisted and unwanted and rearranged like a Rubix cube by the hands of past lovers who we knew too fast and promised so much but didn't care enough to figure out our combinations or to hold the secrets contained or the dreams cradled in this human-sized box I guess no one thought to tell them that if you plan to be a past lover return what you have found just as you have found it and walk backwards that the image of you walking away from me may not haunt me in the mornings and I can make believe you are returning to me at night but even the stars rearrange themselves destiny can be rewritten let what remains of my days be it's pages in an infinite number of realities I am still happy with you in an infinite number of realities I am tragic without you but in this reality I may be happy without you I'm kicking open my wardrobe and cleaning it out of all the shadows I'm putting on a new jacket, a new hat but I'm keeping my old shoes for I will not forsake the path all the roads that once only led to you now lead from you thank you for the detour I'm looking for new hands to run through forests with new arms in which to build a home in a girl to jump on bed sheets with and a shoe box in an attic to bury you in For this heart will grow and one day I will see through an unbroken stained-glass window you were just another piece of me
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49
there are times when the thoughts float through my head, of you, and I picture your face as it glows but from a place of distance ---like it wasn't less than a week ago that we ended almost 4 years of love in close proximity --- instead, it's been 6 months, and with some distance on the pain, rationality has processed all aspects of the break and twisted the Rubix cube of my life back into its solid reds, blues, greens, and yellows. however, as my concentration slips in the early evening, this distance is replaced with what feels like a soft, slow-motion punch ---not just to the gut, but through the gut, twisting my intestines into knots of withdrawal, my eyes drooping from AlErT to "why does it feel like I've had a death in the family?" it's like clockwork; I have a window to work with each and every morning, but by 4 PM if I'm caught mid...... -sentence..... in my.... textbook..... "A History of the Modern Middle East", my stomach dropping like global oil prices in the 1960's under the tutelage of the Saudi King Faysal, every word I read bounces off my irises like they were tennis ***** and I'm playing squash with the pages.
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Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
King Faisal bin Abdulaziz Al Saud
Verbosity A patchwork quilt that I roll roll up in Stitched with syllables Like a little phonetic sausage So deep inside you can't hear me go Dur dur dur. (insert self-deprecating quip about being a wiener) laughing track But it's cozy and neat. And if you do I'll rubix cube your dearest mind Til I'm tucked deep inside once again. And I'll softly pontificate about the genetic code and how it made your irises not quite hazel But still able to illuminate spontaneously teal, laurel, cyan, the sea And if you'll pardon my hyperboles They draw me strong as an Atlantic tide This ocean that ***** me the deepest inside Aesthetically, the contrast is startling to your skin An artist would capture the portrait therein But really, all you need to know Is they're the prettiest prettiest ******* eyes I've ever seen. And I'm sorry That when I get nervous My heart is a little effervescent My words become too efflorescent (I seek not to strangle you with King's English Shrubberies!) As you stand before me, incandescent My dread is that you're Evanescent. ... But that thing about your eyes. All you need to know. That thing about your eyes, Not to mince words But I think I'll feel that way always.
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Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 8:27 PM UTC
King's English Shrubberies
i've become like a rubix cube i am placed in the cupboard         to be taken out on occasion and put in a disarray   twisted                                     turned               confused                                 just to be put back     only after being caused more             damage after once again being re-accommodated                 to the lonely cupboard someone else                                 with obvious time to pass clasps their hands on me               only to expenditure their fancied time on me but once again being returned into the loneliness of the cupboard waiting for the day when someone else finds me dusts me off and returns me to my initial state of orderliness colour co-ordinated and whole ~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
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Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:55 AM UTC
rubix cube
your hands tediously twist and pull the rubix cube not to impress others with your speed of completion but for your own satisfaction it will sit on your side table for years the mountain you will never climb before your older brother gave it to you he rearranged the stickers an impossible puzzle his prank forgotten by him amongst hundreds of others your arms scrub painstakingly to wash away the dark stain on your kitchen floor which never fails to catch your gaze it has become your routine to spend an hour every Sunday cleaning the persistent spot curse it's existence imagine life without it even though it has become a safety net for you the only thing you can count on being there for you when you arrive home still, your efforts never cease you will never discover it was a fault of the painters a careless flaw ignored as they completed the top coat it does not matter how much I try to heal this loneliness or how many different ways I try to fill my emptiness- it is a bottomless hole swallows everything thrown in the hunger is never satisfied I do not think it will ever be full do not think I am able to feel whole but that doesn't stop me from trying
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Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
WHATEVER HELPS YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT
From a single supernova explosion. We are stardust. I am stardust. Stardust that has become self aware And learned to question oneself. Blood, flesh, bones, cells, arteries, veins, brains, A product of God, Or the product of a funny little happenstance? The same as everyone else. But I like to think I’m different. Personality? A conundrum, Paradox, Silent, Stone, Made of stone, That is what they tell me I am. Lost in a garden of graves I reach for the light But retreat back into the shadows When it reaches back. Speaking in sweet solitude My heart lies with green But my body is draped in black. Quiet, a mystery, An ignored enigma Wrapped in Bowie’s melody. Life in slow motion, Seen on tattered film reels. Long nights of insomnia, Driven by an attraction to the monsters, Let’s forget my past, Let’s forget my name, Let’s forget I’m a coward. Long hours With shaking hands Trying to write a happy poem, But that simply won’t happen. That simply won’t happen. Forgive me for my morbid ways. Tell us about you, Tell us the real you, An assignment to create forced poetry. Poetry should not be forced, Poetry should come from the heart, From my heart does not come my favorite authors, such as Scott Westerfeld, Nor does my favorite food, sushi, my goals of being a director, or the llama as my favorite animal, From my heart comes something much darker, More complex. I was asked to tell no lies, And no lies were told. The truth is all there, The real me is in plain sight. It all depends on if you know where to look. In short, to tell you about me, I am a cube. I am a rubix cube no one has yet to solve. (This was a school assignment to write a poem about myself...)
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Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
I Am
From a single supernova explosion. We are stardust. I am stardust. Stardust that has become self aware And learned to question oneself. Blood, flesh, bones, cells, arteries, veins, brains, A product of God, Or the product of a funny little happenstance? The same as everyone else. But I like to think I’m different. Personality? A conundrum, Paradox, Silent, Stone, Made of stone, That is what they tell me I am. Lost in a garden of graves I reach for the light But retreat back into the shadows When it reaches back. Speaking in sweet solitude My heart lies with green But my body is draped in black. Quiet, a mystery, An ignored enigma Wrapped in Bowie’s melody. Life in slow motion, Seen on tattered film reels. Long nights of insomnia, Driven by an attraction to the monsters, Let’s forget my past, Let’s forget my name, Let’s forget I’m a coward. Long hours With shaking hands Trying to write a happy poem, But that simply won’t happen. That simply won’t happen. Forgive me for my morbid ways. Tell us about you, Tell us the real you, An assignment to create forced poetry. Poetry should not be forced, Poetry should come from the heart, From my heart does not come my favorite authors, such as Scott Westerfeld, Nor does my favorite food, sushi, my goals of being a director, or the llama as my favorite animal, From my heart comes something much darker, More complex. I was asked to tell no lies, And no lies were told. The truth is all there, The real me is in plain sight. It all depends on if you know where to look. In short, to tell you about me, I am a cube. I am a rubix cube no one has yet to solve. (This was a school assignment to write a poem about myself...)
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57
They swoon on behalf of the exalted one Brandishing the sword of the spirit Deliberately making a racket Tremolo picking ******* on the man’s marrow Sitting on a pick nick blanket Kicking up new ground You sure have a knack This is the taste of terror Remember what you have learned For now, for when?  Forever Leave no stone unturned Just wait your turn A blind recommended private eye Take into deep consideration Deliver me from the life of a lemming Diving off a cliff into a cesspool Daunted, left helpless in the courtyard Belated birthday gifts given so thoughtlessly Nonchalant sarcasm afterward They shall not speak henceforth These are the days of madness The sanity you’ll lose The colorblind in glasses Receiving Rubix Cubes Tell me what’s the use? Running across the T-ball field Frightening a legion of geese A teenage thrill only to realize My shoes were covered in stool The banshee so aerodynamic Its yawp makes my head split Calling collect just to say Your virility is too impressionable We were the living theater From which your inspiration derived The kettles of fish and cans of worms we opened That we cannot deny We will not lie We are dead From the neck up From the neck up From the neck up
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Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
Hogwash
I miss you like maps miss fingers, Like mikes miss singers, Like hells bells miss ringers, Like bringers miss takers, Like ******* miss fakers, Like cakes miss bakers, Like lakes miss boats, Like bad swimmers miss floats, Like politicians miss votes, Like doting parents miss school plays, Like nymphomaniacs miss lays, Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions, Like ****** misses addictions, Like carpets miss friction, Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts, Like the grim reaper misses grief, Like Henry misses the good fellas, Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas, Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles, Like rabid dogs miss muzzles, Like Van Gough missed his brushes, Like speed freaks miss rushes, Like pens miss paper, Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater, Like the canvas misses the creator, Like the thirsty miss water, Like the hungry miss food, Like ***** miss the lewd, Like the mind misses mood, Like the tides miss the moon, Like the sane miss the loons, Like the dark misses the light, Like the brave miss the fright, Like the kite misses the wind. I miss everything.
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Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
You stayed at home
Iodine damnation cleanses Alice--rock-and-roll medusa alone in the field, she waits for the flies to eat the spider --the third testament of law divinely christened as low as $19.95. Hell is where Schrodinger throws the bodies. Revived Alice is in a burlap sack embedded in the cubbyhole of a mortal anthro-rubix, the small garnishes that spot livers during cancer. "Hello and welcome to the resting place of all Blues songs." speaks the curbed lips of Gluttony. A name that vomits up rebellion, like cleansing the glucose off fish-cleaning tables. Alice touches her eyes rolls them --fortunate galleries, broods deeply on the jaws of her receptors. "After the last drop, the hard boiled spoil and the cats won't eat 'em. Neither will I," Gluttony spews, "You all show up as do I, magnifying the cruelty of digging, digging, digging that follows me and you to the bitter stem and rough petal--throwing this rose, that rose, here and there inside the carcass of lust. The scalding photograph of a guerrilla war playground hangs over the mantle of a prideful garden. "Pulp wisdom looking back at the names of thieves/murderers of simple thought over-turning scars of fallacy in that garden. "Picking, picking, picking out the best arrangement so it doesn't look like I went through a drive-thru for what to say. 'Hey.' 'Yes?' 'I love you.' 'You too.' Something in between what you, I, and the others were looking for has uprooted bushes--the tilled chest of my sister and lover--disarrayed, dirt thrown to the side. Fibonacci colors patterned across the moist earth to distract you and I, all from the dread, and all the relief of ripping apart the white, pink, black, and red."
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Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
The Basilisk Verses (part one)
Iodine damnation cleanses Alice--rock-and-roll medusa alone in the field, she waits for the flies to eat the spider --the third testament of law divinely christened as low as $19.95. Hell is where Schrodinger throws the bodies. Revived Alice is in a burlap sack embedded in the cubbyhole of a mortal anthro-rubix, the small garnishes that spot livers during cancer. "Hello and welcome to the resting place of all Blues songs." speaks the curbed lips of Gluttony. A name that vomits up rebellion, like cleansing the glucose off fish-cleaning tables. Alice touches her eyes rolls them --fortunate galleries, broods deeply on the jaws of her receptors. "After the last drop, the hard boiled spoil and the cats won't eat 'em. Neither will I," Gluttony spews, "You all show up as do I, magnifying the cruelty of digging, digging, digging that follows me and you to the bitter stem and rough petal--throwing this rose, that rose, here and there inside the carcass of lust. The scalding photograph of a guerrilla war playground hangs over the mantle of a prideful garden. "Pulp wisdom looking back at the names of thieves/murderers of simple thought over-turning scars of fallacy in that garden. "Picking, picking, picking out the best arrangement so it doesn't look like I went through a drive-thru for what to say. 'Hey.' 'Yes?' 'I love you.' 'You too.' Something in between what you, I, and the others were looking for has uprooted bushes--the tilled chest of my sister and lover--disarrayed, dirt thrown to the side. Fibonacci colors patterned across the moist earth to distract you and I, all from the dread, and all the relief of ripping apart the white, pink, black, and red."
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54
tetris fits in itself like a rubix cube explaining its own correctitude, only being a distraction of logical aptitude in hiding whats inside of its square. ...russian military scientists thought they had us good.. .....but we had every angle covered... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?
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Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
tetris to the rubixponent cubed
My sanity is a car crash Wrapped in ticking cellophane Armed with the threat of cirrus clouds It threatens rubix avalanches. Hark, Hear the bells. Who Awakens?
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Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
Choirs of the Eye
She had as many faces as a rubix cube. I'm not trying to be cruel, I just wonder who she really is and if the face she showed me was too an act.
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May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
Untitled
During our last move we made sure to pack: all the paraphernalia, both toothbrushes, most of our clothes, old pictures, broken ashtrays, tools we didn't know how to use, the computer, both cats, commitments, all the shot glasses, a bed, and your unsolved Rubix cube. It all fit in the car. We left behind the couch that one of the cats ****** on, the shower curtain liner, every working Bic lighter, your sanity, the Monopoly game, two new pens, one old pen (no ink) and a bag of marshmallows, plus one hell of a mess. During the move we misplaced our sense of direction, a suitcase full of only my clothes, logic, and a globe that doubled as a lamp. ***** given? Zero. We still had both cats.
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Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
Things We Lost Track of
It's a dark shadow, not knowing how to tug your path through the oceans waves, It's a blinding sunrise, understanding what you hold internally for all those whom seek the bluest river, It's a rubix cube of thought, feeling unaware of set solutions like the procrastination of a premeditated checkmate, Why do these toes enjoy hanging over the cliff? Why do I taste bitter aspects of living and then bark at them with the snarling grin of of a man less fortunate? I am who I am supposed to reflect, The water invites me to wade but I would rather think about the clouds and drift, Far far away, I dream of white puff with many hunchbacks and a baby's grasp of the finger, warm like a winter's hug, I am now and forever, yet those are impossible actions to reach out for, I am faded in my cage and forgotten in my youth, yet she provides me with balance and clarity, We will die and from death we will count numbers in our slumber, until the curtain bleeds through the white dress, a stain that will linger no more, We will become our dreams and live on for a soul purpose, Just Imagine.
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Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Flat Lines
Things come and go. Like people I suppose. We play games to pass the time. Roll dice on gambles. Take chances with our lives. Only there is no collecting when coming full circle. That's called a mistake. So we jump to other boards. Hoping we aren't sorry. Realizing there is no perfection. Trying to balance every risk. Like we ever had a clue. Some try so hard. While others scoff at effort. What is the right combo that will lead to the end game. It's like an ever changing rubix cube. So many patterns to memorize. But doing the same thing. Over. And over. Is that living. Or insanity. Whatever it's called. One thing is certain. We shall never get bored. Playing with our demons.
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Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 8:41 PM UTC
To distract
I Imagine I imagined in my recollection, my friend staring in awe of red clovers - as the sun let loose ruby drops of blood. Crying out like tears to be heard. The dust settles as the orphan stares at the sun with green eyes. Green eyed jealousy stirs as she stretches to remember what its like to have parents. All the while I am worlds’ away Spoiled, yet still stretching out my hands towards substance. I dare not speak of freedom, because I have already known of it, And thrown it away mindlessly. It even has its paid spot in some alley where it’s Slowly dissipating alongside nostalgia. I imagine formulating lines brick upon brick but chaos conforms to life and the structure goes away. So, I let my words and thoughts sift beyond my fingertips. Falling onto new porcelain Creativity escapes down the drain along with the dirt wrestling itself off my dry skin. And finally I imagine skies splitting into oblivion, and rearranging gradually like a ****** Rubix Cube.
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Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
I Imagine
He said he's on his way with a rubix cube, maybe to diss me with his concept of love, while I'd stay a square peg and yet let him in as I don't see the man who came in my dreams.
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Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
One night stand
Sometimes I think about. High buildings, moving cars or bridges with beautiful scenery. I have this saviour complex, an rubix cube lover.   Destructive distractions are a pass time, I have an infatuation with underdogs. Blowing bubbles, I like to swim against them.   Purgatory is my sanctuary. Pain is paradise, numb to most. Inflicting paper cuts for fun.   The caring nature of a broken soul, is a laughable misery.
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Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
Self Diagnosed
My mind can be compared to a rubix cube. It has a patteren yet only a few can solve it. Out of those few comes one person, who doesn’t even have to touch it. Their eyes and mind work simotanesouly. Forgetting that I am only human. They devour my defense system. All the colored squares around me. They solved me. You see the pattern. You don’t even have to touch me. Your eyes do all the work. Its almost as if you read me like a book. But for now you are just a myth in my square mind. My colors haunt the mindless but make you oh so envious. And all I can do is wait. Wait for those eyes. That can read me like a book. And when I find you. I will be yours. And you will be mine.
0
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 6:05 PM UTC
Solved