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there is always somebody or something
waiting for you,
something stronger, more intelligent,
more evil, more kind, more durable,
something bigger, something better,
something worse, something with
eyes like the tiger, jaws like the shark,
something crazier than crazy,
saner than sane,
there is always something or somebody
waiting for you
as you put on your shoes
or as you sleep
or as you empty a garbage can
or pet your cat
or brush your teeth
or celebrate a holiday
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you.

keep this fully in mind
so that when it happens
you will be as ready as possible.

meanwhile, a good day to
you
if you are still there.
I think that I am---
I just burnt my fingers on
this
cigarette.
Mia Dec 2013
I was born on November 30th , I hear that makes me a Saggitarius.
I dunno what that means.
I  know how to swim, and I'm a sucker for a guy with a nice smile
And nice words.

I'm still learning how to whisper sweet nothings
I'm often loud at times when I should be quiet
I'm often quiet at times when I should be loud
I keep holding back or letting it all out at the wrong time.

I like sweet drinks... a lot.
I've been told that I give pretty bad hugs
People say that it feels like I'm trying to escape
Well I don't like letting people close.
Especially close enough to hear me breathe.

I have this odd fascination with things like time machines and technology,
I assume it's because I like to figure out how things work and fix them.
Am the same way with people, like to know what's coming before it does.
Love usually lasts a few moments,
That's also why I tend to fall in love with men
Who would never love me back
I know it sounds crazy, but it's actually much saner than it seems
And to be honest, I think it's safer that way
See relationships, they often remind me that I'm not afraid of letting go.
But I'm scared of what's gonna happen
The moment that my body hits the ground
I'm clumsy. I usually trip when am following my feelings.
I landed on my pride and it shattered like a mirror i check daily.
Now I can't even tell who's trying to give me a compliment
or just trying to get into my pants.

I've never been into martial arts but I have all these bruises,
I got from beating myself up over things I can't fix
I know it sounds weird but sometimes,
I wonder what the voices in my head say when am asleep.
I wonder what the doors would do if they found out
About all the things that I've done when they are closed.
I've got a trash can that's overflowing with really, really obnoxious mistakes
And a dump site in my closet with all the skeletons.
You'll trap me in a corner and insist I get help.

Hi, my name is Em,
I enjoy ice cream and yoghurt, people watching
And figuring out how to make them work.
I allow myself to cry more than I need to,
from letting all the wrong people in.
I have solar-powered energy, I have a battery-operated heart,
It flickers and dies from overuse.
My hobbies include rewriting my life story, hiding behind poems,
And trying to convince myself that I do matter to someone.
I don't know much, but I do know this
I know that if you don't have standards,
you won't be treated right and be happy.
I know God is still reworking my faults and flaws,
I'm a unique work in progress.
Big Virge Jan 2018
WOMEN ... Raise Children ... !!!
******* Have ... " Kids " ... !!!    
      
WOMEN Are Forgiving ... !!!    
******* Have ... STINGS ... !!!    
      
******* Will Say ...    
      
"Men aren't nice to them !' ...    
      
But Here's The THING ...    
I'm ... " Wondering .... " ........ ???    
      
Do Their Remarks ...      
REFLECT ... Who THEY ARE ... ?!?    
      
When They Look At Themselves In Their ... " Looking Glass " ...      
And Aren't Propping Up Bars SHOWING OFF Their *** ... !?!?!    
      
See ...    
******* Will Say I'm Being SEXIST ... !!!!!!!!    
  
While WOMEN Will ... THINK ...    
And Then ... Make Their Case ... !!!    
      
See That's The Way I Like to ... " PLAY " ...    
Use Wordplay To Keep ******* .......................... AWAY ....... !!!    
Who Choose To ABUSE Rules of ... " The Game " ... !!!    
      
LIKE DON'T EXPOSE A Man In Zones ...    
Where Friends Are Close ...    
Because He Chose To Tell You ... " NO " ... !!!    
      
OR RUN YOUR MOUTH About His Moves ...    
If You STILL CHOOSE To GO DOWN ... " SOUTH " ...    
And Then CONSUME What He SHARES AROUND ... !!!?!!!    
      
See THAT's THE STUFF I'm Talking About ... !!!    
WOMEN Show LOVE While ******* Show CLOWNS ...    
How To DO THEIR ACT And THAT's Just FACT.    
      
That's Just MY VIEW of The Things They Do ...    
Because They PROVE Through The Moves They Pull ...    
      
That ******* Pull TRICKS ... !!!    
While WOMEN Get KICKS From RELATIONSHIPS ... !!!!!!    
      
Where LOVE's ... THE KEY ...    
NOT S P R E A D I N G ... L I P S ... !!!!!    
  
Just To Get A FIX ... !!!    
Or For LUXURIES And CASH MONEY ... !!!!!!    
      
******* ARE GREEDY And Are Willing To ... "Deceive" ...    
For Shopping Sprees That ... FILL Their Dreams ... !!!    
      
WOMEN Want To FEEL That Love IS ... REAL ... !!!!!    
While A ***** Will INSIST .... "Love DOESN'T EXIST !" ...    
      
Well That's Where THEY And I AGREE ... !!!!!!!    
My Mother Displayed TRUE LOVE To Me ... !!!!!!!    
      
NO WOMAN or ***** Will EVER GIVE ...    
THAT Kind of Love Until They're MUMS ... !!!!    
Then Their Love RUNS To Daughters and Sons ............................    
      
Because THAT LOVE Is For ... THEIR BLOOD ... !!!!!    
      
NOT Husbands or For Their Boyfriends ...      
Unless Your Blood's THE SAME As Theirs ... !!?!!    
      
TAKE Those Words IN And Let Them ... SINK ...........    
Don't They Make SENSE When You Start To THINK ... ?!?    
      
Or BETTER Still ... ASSESS ... !!!    
And REJECT Them Less ...  
Than ******* Have Friends ... !!!!!!!    
      
HELL YES I'm BACK TO Them AGAIN ... !!!!!!!!!!    
Cos' ******* Nowadays Are ALL OVER The Place ... !!!    
      
And ARE ... FAR TOO MANY ..... !!!    
While WOMEN Have Reduced To A Minute Few ... !!!    
      
Leaving The Scales ...  
Somewhat ... UnsTeadY ... !!!    
      
THIS PIECE Has Given You ... Some Clues ...    
As To Why We Have MORE ONES Than Twos' ...      
      
WOMEN On Their Own Are ALONE At Home ....    
While ******* Now Roam Like Mobile Phones ...... !!!!    
      
Texting THIS ... !!!    
And ... Texting THAT ... !!!    
      
USING The Phone ...    
To SET Their ... " TRAP " ... !!!    
      
NO Dialling Tone Or Telephone RING ... !!!    
      
Just Waiting Time .....    
For Their Reply .................................................................­­....    
      
... NO MORE Talking ... ???    
      
It's Their NEW TOOL ... !!!    
To ... Play It Cool ....................  
And ACT THE FOOL ... !!!!!!    
      
"I'll text him when he least expects,      
if what he sends doesn't cause offence,    
i'll give him ***, that he won't forget !"    
  
But If Your Reply DOESN'T Fall In Line ...    
TRUST ME Guys ... THIS IS How It Goes ...    
  
Her Texts Then Take A ... DIFFERENT Tone .... !!!    
She Makes You ................................................. WAIT .......    
And Your Phone Goes ............................................... COLD.    
Now You Either Go Into ... RECOVERY MODE ... !!!!!!    
Or Try To RING ........ She AIN'T Answering ...... !!!!!!    
      
Then You See Her Lips .....    
SLIPPING THROUGH Your G R I P ....... !!!    
      
UNLIKE ..... YOUR PHONE ...... !!!    
      
******* Like To Play These Types of TRICKS ... !!!    
But Then COMPLAIN When They're ON THEIR OWN ... !?!?!    
      
Fellas TRUST IN This ...    
******* HATE Themselves ... ?!!!?    
They're Quite .... UNWELL .... !!!!!!    
      
And Most NEED SHRINKS ...      
While WOMEN Are SANE ...      
      
Well SANER Than .... Them ... !!!    
******* Who Have Got PROBLEMS ... !!!!!!!!!    
      
******* ARE INSANE ... !?!  
    
WOMEN ... USE Their BRAIN ... !!!    
      
******* Dish Out PAIN ... !!!!!!    
WOMEN Aren't So VAIN ... !!!    
      
Therefore WOMEN Tend To Be ...    
MORE .... " Plain Jane " ....    
Than ..... SNIFF ******* ..... !!!    
      
DON'T Let Their SHAPE ....    
Make You TAKE The Bait ......................................    
      
Make THEM ...............................................­....... WAIT ....    
BUT DON'T PLAY Games Tell Them STRAIGHT ... !!!    
  
EXPOSE Their Traits ...      
And When You *** THEM Make It GREAT ... !!!!!    
      
So That They HATE To SEE Your Face ... !!!    
Because They're Sent Back To THAT PLACE INSIDE Their Brain....      
      
YOU KNOW YOUR BED For *** AGAIN ..... !!!!!    
      
SEE WOMEN And ******* Are NOT The Same ... !!!!!    
Their DIFFERENCES ... DISPLAY Their Ways ....    
      
So WATCH Them BOTH And WATCH Them CLOSE ... !!!!!    
      
TAKE Mental Notes So That You Know ...    
When To Be SMOOTH And Make Your Move ...    
DON'T BE Her FOOL or Her Footstool ... !!!!!    
      
Be SHREWD And PROVE ...    
You've Been WELL SCHOOLED ... !!!!!    
      
And AVOID The Traps And GAMES They Plan ...    
SET Your Agenda And STICK TO IT Fellas ... !!!!!!    
      
REMEMBER A ***** .....    
Loves DRUGS NOT Hugs .....      
      
While WOMEN WANT HUGS ...    
And Their DRUG Is LOVE ..... !!!!!!!!!    
      
That's Just MY VIEW It May NOT Be ... True ... ??????    
      
But Whether It Is I've Said Some Things ...    
That'll Bring Some ... TWITCHES ... !!!!!    
      
To .............    
      
........... " Women and ******* " ...............
Following on from my last post, as the treatment of the ladies is such PROMINENT News Currently ......
Graff1980 Oct 2018
I have a heart
made to adore
juvenile fantasies,
despite modern tragedies.

In moments of madness
when modern photography
presents to me
the horrors of humanity
I can engage for a minute
and escape the insanity
in the comics
that carry super hero forms.

When I see bombs
that blister skin
till flesh bursts
revealing red disfigurement
I can travel in
my own mental
compartment
to escape this.
I can revisit
Winnie the pooh
or review the crew
of “Star Trek
The Next Generation.”

When mind numbing poverty
rears its sad faces at me,
with stranger’s eyes
and thin lips quivering
in lonely desperation,
despite my empathy
I have a gift for escaping
the irrationality
of human suffering.

I just sip the soft brew
of nostalgia for old cartoons
recalling a slightly saner time,
when all the sorrows
were only mine,
when I ached
with a mother’s fury
but tv shows saw me distracted
the fact is
I have been escaping
my whole life,

and I don’t see
that changing.
K Balachandran Dec 2013
That crazy look in her eyes suits to his mood so well,
he yearns for off beat paths and forgets saner ways of doing things.
an attraction beyond logic springs, based on needs unusual,
when they resonate perfectly, words hibernate, they dissolve in each other
David Hilburn Sep 2023
Rendered offenses
Sweat in the opinion, sakes
And due attention, to reason amends
Acting only a little saner, the stark stare a host makes...

Do you notice, evermore?
Anyway, the truth we prepose of...
Has a callous beginning, too sore
For a challenge of wisdom, that even does?

Prayers of dour anger...
For the aspire and means we favor
With a realm to a touch, tough knowing you and life's danger...
The reality of another fight, with sin as the futures flavor?

Speed has a question, dwindling in the wind
Suspect days, to redoubt and list the scope of an argument
That has the silence we afforded it, to keep the shadows of kin
Proper is as proper had, the hush of simple tomorrows, a problem to relent...

Toward sharing, the taste of a hoping kiss...?
That when recognized, sympathy is an answer; only a heed can tell...
The prayer of estrangement, has become a chastity's wish
Will a savior in love, know the better of kindness; here's your hell...

With a baring lip, that has suggested a toothsome reply to quips
And hearts to accept the solace of terror, a harrowing finish to past lies...?
That began and ended with a promise found in the bolting and gray wits
Of a dread simplicity, still running to wisdom's charity, which requited...
What gets rid of a ridden nightmare to and from hell and its best friend, death? Light a **** why don't you...?
That night your great guns, unawares,
Shook all our coffins as we lay,
And broke the chancel window-squares,
We thought it was the Judgement-day

And sat upright. While drearisome
Arose the howl of wakened hounds:
The mouse let fall the altar-crumb,
The worm drew back into the mounds,

The glebe cow drooled. Till God cried, “No;
It’s gunnery practice out at sea
Just as before you went below;
The world is as it used to be:

“All nations striving strong to make
Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters
They do no more for Christés sake
Than you who are helpless in such matters.

“That this is not the judgment-hour
For some of them’s a blessed thing,
For if it were they’d have to scour
Hell’s floor for so much threatening. . . .

“Ha, ha. It will be warmer when
I blow the trumpet (if indeed
I ever do; for you are men,
And rest eternal sorely need).”

So down we lay again. “I wonder,
Will the world ever saner be,”
Said one, “than when He sent us under
In our indifferent century!”

And many a skeleton shook his head.
“Instead of preaching forty year,”
My neighbour Parson Thirdly said,
“I wish I had stuck to pipes and beer.”

Again the guns disturbed the hour,
Roaring their readiness to avenge,
As far inland as Stourton Tower,
And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge.
kiryuen Aug 2015
I solemnly swear
I say things I don’t mean
and curse at everything
stuttering around in heels I used to wear
fakely excited at every **** thing
like I have to fill every awkward gaping hole
everybody knows
who is right and who is wrong?
I stopped asking a long time ago
where I am in the distance
I hear only loud noises I feel nothing
I will not come out of my shell
funny how I say it like I have a choice
girl, you’re so out there yet so withdrawn
I solemnly swear
days collide into one another and I don’t lift a finger
I’ve been having dreams
where I throw people overboard just to save myself
waiting for them to drown before crying
“man overboard!”
how do I tell you that there are parts of me that rot and keep rotting
do I tell you I didn’t call the ambulance
I shouldn’t tell you I set the house on fire
wake up every mourning and solemnly swear
my condition started improving from the day you left
I’ve only been getting saner and saner
but even so, not much more myself
I should have more regard for life in general
I was not raised this way
walking the streets only half-awake
can I please live half-asleep
my mind didn’t use to be this blank
what is right and what is wrong?
I ceased wondering a long time ago
has it been two months or two years since?
I told you where I am time does not flow in a linearly fashion
I solemnly swear
the world should just revolve around me
while I judge you so hard
get below me
I am so awful just kidding
is it the time to be serious or immature
I give up just kidding
you wanna play the pretending game
two can play at that game
right hand up
look serious now girl, you can laugh later
yeah right hand up but not too high
palm facing out, say the stupid line
I ****
“I solemnly swear I am decent”
Edna Sweetlove Oct 2014
Have you heard about old Erik Satie?
He was quite slim and not un fatti;
Son père was a Frog, his Ma a wee ****
(which must have given quite a shock
to his musical chums at the Conservatoire
where he wrote "Trois morceaux en forme de poire").

While sitting 'au piano' one fine day
At his Honfleur home so bright and gay,
Our Erik felt himself come over queer,
(le résultat triste de beaucoup de bière).
He hadn't felt so odd since he didn't know when
(that's when he wrote his "Gnossiennes").

Now I don't want you to think Erik was bent
That certainly wasn't what I meant;
But there's no doubt he was a little odd
(indeed many called him an asexual sod);
For, although French, he loved not the ladies
(and he also wrote three nice "Gymnopédies").

Many piano pieces which Satie penned
Are rather silly and round the bend;
One was called "Prélude for a Dog"
(which he wrote whilst sur le bogue);
Perhaps his best known work is called "Parade"
Which some people think is quite avant-garde.

He was a bit ***** and collected umbrellas
Which set him apart from saner fellers;
He had lots of velvet suits to his name
(and for some reason, they all looked the same).
But he over-did it on the *****, was often ******,
Thus he died prematurely, and is sorely missed.
Barton D Smock Jul 2012
Talent is a mime on a mountaintop* said he who gave me each morning a fork and a spoon.  He had said previously other things but this was the first to which my mother caught me listening.  She took my ear and me with it outside and shoved two cigarettes she’d been smoking in my mouth and told me to chew.  When I did not she worked my jaw herself until the tip of my tongue bled enough to give her pause.  Neither one of us cried and the cigarettes were salvageable.  The morning speaker then joined us obviously hoping for a drag.  The moment my mother hated him passed and she told him what hope was.  

He who gave me each morning a fork and a spoon would not often be seen by my mother.  He and I were late in our waking and she’d be out gathering types of dead bird from the bases of cornstalks.  I’d sit in my highchair and watch him shirtless as he prepared the tools of my art.  The hairs on his back would grow before my eyes and need bitten at the follicle.  He would turn and put his finger in the garbage disposal and pretend it was on.  On was something he never turned it because he said a mantis lived there and what would bite his follicles.  I wouldn’t be hungry then which was good for my show.  He would laugh at the misery of my scooping arms and be full of it and tired and he would ask me to rub his belly while he went to the couch on his back.  His belly the single most reason to keep him said mother.  I’d put my ear to it to feel myself kick and never did stir him from sleep.  Pretty early in this routine some of his belly hair started to grow in my ear and my dreams from then always had a banquet in their midsection.

Careful with my dreams.  Mother said they are kittens and one can bite too hard.  It is like her being stubborn and only calling me boy when most called me boy and girl in equal measure.  Sometimes when boy got the lion’s share I’d long to nurse and have to slap the ******* sound out of my teeth.  For saner things I’d walk the dog with a dog in it.  I had names for both and both were names I would’ve called my brother had I been born.  I once found a sipped at wine glass on the roof of the pharmacy mother later burned with lit stalks.  When the turkey buzzards skittered themselves nightly across the horizontal track of my looking for god I’d imagine my brother skinny enough to fit in the parched tube of his swallow.

Now that I am returning to Shudderkin, the welt left by my larger than life father whipping his belt across the tailbone of Ohio, it is clear to me that what we called a dog was correct only on certain days.  The mongrel keeping pace with my bike, the second name I have for my brother, is not the physical dog a city knows and not country loyal as country wants to, and so makes others, believe.  It is instead more like the talking when one is sped up and words get put together and then are stuck there.  Dog of Shudderkin.  Its tongue does not droop or even wag outside the mouth.  A pinkness has always gone on without me.
Nygil McCune Jul 2010
My words now float
up
to space
and then down to you
in a digital prayer, while
my flesh streaks
down
I-5 with grass seeds
in my hair
and paint on my face.
My soul isn't to be found though,
but of course
no ones' ever was
so i can't lodge any new complaints
into our ledger.

I think of you
and i think of whales
and a spider
braving a crawl space
in an attic that may only hold
starvation.
We're all insane;
there is no debate
on that,
but i fear i might be
growing saner
as i lose things to say,
so i have started
not to speak.

Instead
i try correspondence with the wind
but i only recieve changes
in air pressure
as a reply.

This drove Dostoevsky
under-
ground,
but it makes me want to run
to you:
yes to bare feet
and snow
and the prospect
that something was actually waiting
for us
on that blanket.

Now the sun begins
to rise
but the billboard lights are still on
despite the slumber
of the theme parks.

Soon they will wake
and lines
will spontaneously form
out of forged courtesy
and habit,
but i will wonder
when i can sleep
in your arms
under
a January snow
again.
Copyright Nygil McCune, 2010
Traveler Jul 2013
Counterproductive to hold to the truth
I’m no saner today than I was in my youth
Was it a tragic display that I somehow suppressed
A malfunctioning brain that caved under stress
When things get too quiet the siren I hear
Drowns out the sounds that aren't really there...

I often laugh when life deals me pain
In times like these I sense I’m deranged
But it might be the mechanism that allows me to cope
When the champion of mayhem has me pinned to the ropes
And the drunkenness of the driver, my pilot within
Can't seem to escape the stench of my sins...

The bludgeoned end of reason is hot on my case
Threatening to smash me back into place
It’s these catch-22s that torture my mind
I keep growing older suspended in time
Still my biggest fear is my hindsight going dim
And coming around to trust this world once again...
I kid you, or do I?
Traveler Tim
re to 03-17
Valsa George Nov 2016
In the East, the sun luminously gleamed
And bid the nebulous vapors fly
Changing the gloom into radiant blaze
Cheering the languid drowsy sky

Lying in bed, I looked around,
Saw my room so cozily set
With things just enough to make it fit
For a sweet haven for me to rest

Each little thing in it began to muse
In a language discernible for me to grasp
Of the secret of success so elusive to man
Which striving to catch, oft slips off his clasp

The clock ticking away at the wall
Alerted in a tone of rhythmic resonance
That ‘each minute is precious and dear’
And not to waste it in trifling appurtenance

While the ceiling fan, spiraling above
Discreetly hummed, “Be cool and do not fret”
The open window, to me did urge
To ‘look out far and watch the world in beat’

The mirror neatly fitted on my bureau
With a gleaming countenance beckoned me
Asking me to ‘reflect’, ere venturing into anything
That from fatal fallacies, I shall ever be free

The calendar hanging inside the room
Reminded me not to lag or put off things
But keep my assignments and learning up to date
That to great heights, I can soar on wings

And the woolly carpet gently mused;
“Bend your knees and kneel down to pray
With a heart copiously filled in gratitude
Before a God who didn’t leave you aimless to stray"

With such counsel, silent and salient
Got out of my bed with resolutions profound
To greet the morning and start the day
In greater zest with a mind, saner and sound
Wrote sometime ago after having read something and finding it very inspirational decided to put forth in poetic form all the thoughts expressed there in !
I'm proud to be out of my mind and in God's control.
I'm happy to say that He owns my soul.
My name is written in the book of life.
So why then do I cut my arms with a knife?
I try to think of thoughts that are good.
I'd lead a saner life if I could.
I have Christ's example to follow.
I feel this misery's so hollow.
I think of things I've done and said.
And my mind feels so cold and dead.
Yet I find  hope in God's good love.
I can feel Him blessing me from above.
Yes, there is hope in Jesus.
Thrice-Strung Judges, Thirty Pieces you Shout
Be that Iscariot or Ally you relay
How the Once-Loved Prince now the Blubbered Pout
Has sent me to Interest another Fey
So it seems a Pillow for the Sullen
Whom by Lines saw no End to this Debate -
Which Petal weans; Or scratches Tears fallen
Least charge one's Sanity before its too Late
The Wheel was Right. Through Change Strength will confer
And sign assurance Monopoly disown
For Saner Men; And Women leaves Fresher
Let each bare Happiness bid for Reknown.
How Wonderous be, this Marble whirls for Love,
Then Season the Troll; Then Sever the Dove.


‪#‎tomdaley1994‬ ‪#‎tomdaleytv
Noandy Mar 2015
Would you like to talk about
The winding water
And its sprouting light?

Yes,

The one you can see at night
From the soup parlor by the river
That serves memories, carved inside
A polished mirrored platter
Which made the boys all bright
And washed them saner
Along its tide of deluded truth

Come,
Would you like to talk about
The winding water?

The home for a thousand soul
All wrapped up, though foul
In a confounded streaming wire
And there, strayed the traveler
For a good four-hundred-year old
With his face down, and stories untold

Would you like to talk about
The sprouting light?
From the lanterns hung
To adorn the tide long
From the flowers of the head
Wilted and and still drowned
By the name of the lil moon’s
All dead hopes

Talking about the winding water
And its sprouting light
The old traveller
And the years has passed,
our little moon killed itself
Just to know that light
Eventually looked beautiful
Shrouded in darkness

Say now,
All my darling—

Why would you talk about
The winding water
And its sprouting light?
Why romanticize a world
Dull and weary?

Because beauty is made up,
and we live for beauty?
Or because we live in beauty,
and life is made up?
Q Jun 2013
It flows
Like blood
Like fire
Like tears down my face
It hurts
Like love
Like hate
Like an end of the days
I want
I need
I don't even care
I cry
I weep
But nobody's there
The balcony is calling
Softly
Sweetly
It hurts to ignore
The ground below it
What am I waiting for?
The knife is whispering
Inside my head
It hurts to ignore
The peace behind the blade
What am I waiting for?
The  fire is calling
In my hand
It hurts to ignore
It's lung killing brand
What am I waiting for?
**** me
Hurt me
I'm so immune
Stab me
Laugh
Drive the knife home
Unfair with me
But not with them
Because you love them
You love them
You do
I'll **** them
And then **** you
Because I hate you
I hate you
I do
I'm insane
I've crossed the line
I feel the heady
On the Joy of time
After you've taken to much
After so little
I'm insane
I am
I look to the mirror
It speaks to me
I yell as my answer
As I am guilty
The mirror laughs
Like it always does
Then morphs into me
And by then
Through the tears
I can barely see
I hurt, I hurt
But I'll never let it show
Right down to the day I **** myself. No
Point in denying my end is my own
And I'll see to my life, on the way home
My head is collapsing
But my eyes are wide open
My shoulders crumble
My torso dissolves
But my legs keep walking
Until they fall
And fall they do
However, they fall up
And my head is abandoned
While my legs float up
I've no way to regain
The rest of myself
And what's left of me
Is still useless
Collecting dust on the shelf
And there's no one to love
And no one who'll love
There's no one to smile with
No one to talk to
And yet, all in all
I still stop in awe
As I look at those people
That I called friends
Who know so much
But so little in the end
And my family
Which isn't family at all
And my father whom I hate
And mother I abhor
And sisters I despise
What am I waiting for?
I could end it all
End it all tonight
**** them all
And leave at first light
And that's when I remember
I'm not truly insane
I put the knife away
And scold my brain
A stick of cancer at my lips
To chase the thoughts away
And as I inhale
I feel saner in every way
A fake smile that carries me through the day
I show it to my friends
And brush away
My problems, my issues
Because I don't matter
They should be happy
As my heart shatters
Four years, four years
Since my insanity began
I found love
I lost it again
I gave up my body
For hasty "I love you's"
Gave up my soul
Though I didn't mean to
Gave up my heart
I gave it to him
He thanked me
Took it
And left with it
A lifeless
Loveless
Disgusting corpse, I am
A foolish
Hopeful
Shell of what I used to be
I'm still waiting
Still hoping
But It'll never come
Just a bit too ugly
A bit too mean
A bit too caring
A bit too confident
A bit too smart
A bit too dumb
A bit too Me
To ever find love
A bit too paranoid
A bit too hurt
A bit too aggressive
A bit too hateful
To ever want it
A bit too human
A bit too desperate
A bit too needy
A bit too clingy
A bit too expecting
To not need it
And the Balcony calls me
And the Noose calls me
And the Knife calls me
And the Flame calls me
And Death is just behind their voices
And I run
Run
Run
And they follow
**** me
**** me now
I'd like to fly
To be free
Above the clouds
Or at the very least die
For the absence of sound
I'd exalt in that second
Where I would be free
Before the fire's of hell
Would rear up to claim me
I'd laugh
I'd scream
I know I'd shout
As I let the years
Of suppressed insanity out
And I roar it down
Onto the Earth
Until everyone feels my pain
But before I let the thought fester
I shake the insanity away
It's funny how
I think I'm insane anyway
I'm just a normal child
With a bit more pain
Wearing  my heart on my sleeve
In the pouring rain
And so I beg one last time
**** me
**** me dead.
I wrote this about a year ago and found it today.
a m a n d a Feb 2014
ask for more?!
   ask for more???
have you lost your mind, man?
i mean really,
   ask for more! (said with a chuckle)

asking is admitting
asking is revealing
asking is believing
asking is expecting
asking is...
   asking.

nothing is better.
nothing is nothing.
well.
  nothing is nothing for awhile
nothing is something after too much nothing
   surely, nothing is better than asking

can i infer?
i will infer.
i will make gestures.

i will not be so dumb to act as if there were nothing
    but not so bold as to be asking for something
   i will infer
     i'll will things with my mind
i will desperately wish things
   quietly...
      silently, even?
that seems noble and perfectly normal
  mind reading
     inferring
  making ridiculous gestures
struggling
and talking to oneself
is surely
a saner and wiser path.

ask for more!
ha!
madman!
inspired by nat's comment:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/589053/hope/
Third Eye Candy Apr 2020
so sleepy now… but with all engines running into turmoil
too busy to be redeemed. more longshanks than swine.
with too cumbersome a soul
to be Actually with...
as long as the angle of my descent
is the square of my somber Fall.
Joy lay saner, where the crazy began
because hoofprints
were brisk shallow
for all the sauntering
to an abysmal
collapse...

soooo sleepy now… the Bedroom’s the outskirts
of a private Diaspora. with Charlamanges cookies
and a dearth of impoverished -
harmonics. sleeping through the worst  
Conspiracies… So Songs still sound
Like Nothing, -
with just a pinch of Thought
where the Salt
should Be
Unanimous

And Lost.

As ever would
Be.
Graff1980 Dec 2018
Bereft of depth
the cattle calls
a chattering clutter
of noises that bothers
saner minds
and their ****** daughters.

When fools ferment
deep discord
from a good temperament
turning sweet wine
into a bitter product
wilting from some
rotten vine,

and honest hearts
no longer entreat
the wisdom of fools
they once deigned
to share
humanity’s goodwill
and ever shrinking grace with.

Let them loose their tongues
and see drool dripping
like a sea of diarrhea.

For these things are
matters of darker dreams,
past times parting
partial truths
to the cruel schemes
of the obtuse
and greedy hearts
who abuse
all those
who challenge their views.
neth jones Apr 2022
sorrow
so    very   sewn
the doleful mind is sung
post  to  pillar    weeping  bedlam
unplugged and unsnug smutting out ugly
stopper  in        now  properly  so
property now preserved
dammed up river
sorrow
so     very     so
woefully  head is hung
side to side sweeping pendulum
frothing out malware and mad medicine
saner  cure     joins  the  jettison
salmon         up  a  river
g o d s  deliver
sorrow
( s o r r o w )

MARK
Cody Edwards Apr 2010
I’m taller than her now.
I joke and say I’m growing
Up and away from her but
She doesn’t laugh. Because
I am: horizontally.
Plants grow toward the
Light and my movement
Is matricidal as the womb,
The matrix. That’s what really
Makes me sick.

I’m taller than her now.
And smarter, and stronger.
And saner, if that, colder.
But still I’m smaller, or
When I say good night
And watch her
Watch me shut the door.
I feel my angles, rounded
Corners. But I really don’t
Know who I am.

I’m not a boy and yet I
Must be. Not a man though
I should be. What she sees,
Or what I think she sees,
Might take my breath away.
That’s why I thank god for
Making humans irreflective.
If I could see (She sees herself
In me, her father too.) I’d
Oedipus my eyes out.
© Cody Edwards 2010
Alaa Apr 2020
How can simple nonoffensive words hurt so much?
How can the plain question: "who am I?" make my stomach clutch?
Why does the disability to answer make me feel like a bird in a hutch?
I try to look for answers, but I end up too weak straying from my goal looking for a crutch.

Speaking of going astray, here goes my mind once again.
Even I don't know the depths of my thoughts, not the tenth of my brain.
After all, I am just a demo, a soul in a chain.
What if: "What am I?" is saner?
That I can say. I am a human that yet did not drain.
A believer of the old saying "no pain no gain."
Oh no! I am more than that! I am a grain.
And I hold within me the power of a reign.
All I need is to grow, all I need is rain.

Rain... rain ladies and gentlemen is nature's beloved soundtrack.
It is the pitter-patter that makes my heart crack.
Sky, why are you so black?
What is it that you feel you lack?
I promise I won't stand back.
Dear horizon ease your anxiety attack,
for you are more loved than FLACK.

I am a 16RAM program of a telegram whose programmer programmed to deprogram all pogrom to the last gram by the use of an epigram.

In simpler terms, I am a poet.
I love the world when I'm high and when I'm at my lowest.
I believe that I am a poet because poetry is the highest expression of love.
I am a lover of this earth and the heavens above.
Love isn't just a myth,
it does exist.
I could go on like this, naming all that I love with a never-ending list.

I have learned to adore the darkest of times,
I have learned to be fascinated by all lives.
Earth why are you falling apart? Why are you so angry? Why are you committing all of these crimes?
Ease your typhoons your tornadoes pandemics tsunamis and volcanoes. Dear planet no need for more hives.

I can't promise you that we will behave,
for mankind is foolish,
him who once lived in a cave.
I understand your wish for the extinction of all humans.

But like any other love story, our love did not last.
While earth took us in her arms in the past,
whilst earth lovingly caressed humans otherwise.
In the present, it has harassed us as if we were Pennywise.
The touch of life used to give me butterflies.
But for now, all I hear is earth's cries.

The earth has loved us so purely,
although earth is 22 500 times older than man she has welcomed him so demurely.
And yet, man polluted destructed and poisoned. Oh isn't man such a disgrace?
How can he look earth in the face?
I have started this poem in my signature way, discussing random topics that have crossed my brain during this confinement.
In the end though, I have turned the subject into discussing the environmental crisis.
I held her in my gaze on the iron rail of summer noon.

This moment of humid silence wetting her heat burn cheeks

I knew would melt pretty soon.

Like moisture droplets on her lips and her palm’s sweat

This heavenly moment would retreat

With its phantoms of fancy it’s never too late!

Then sobered and in saner head

We would find our place under the banyan’s cool shade.
Siobhan A May 2013
Eyes brown, eyes green
Looking at you looking at me

Smooth lips, pink lips
Your smile waiting for mine

Brown eyes, green eyes
Searching for something I can't see

Big hand, small hand
Fingertips brushing

I look away, I can't help my blushing
The waiting is killing me

So we go for a smoke
Breathing it into my lungs it's a saner kind of rush

Your eyes, my eyes
Seeing the same stars

Bare feet, small feet
Our bodies carried back inside

Your hands, my hands
Can't wait to intertwine

Keeping our eyes glued ahead
Our hands do the talking

Words get confusing
our hands have better grammar
Natasha May 2014
Embarking upon
a saner
wired mind.
We track
seconds upon
minutes upon
hours upon
days upon
years upon
decades and
(arms, legs)
lost centuries,
do we
ever have
the time?
Everyone is
hopping, skipping
sprinting, flying
everyday growing
closer to
the final
moment, dying.
All of
these people,
supposedly succeeding
to be
more than
like me,
but in
the end
of the
day... Are
they really,
truly happy?
just a thought. society's pretty ****** yknow
aviisevil Sep 2018
too late to hide
to pretend to be a namesake
forsake the people
and go deeper
deeper than the knife
you can take

it's not all about life
everybody is alive
and the dead won't tell
you any of their secrets

walking in dark alleys
watching faces go blur
from one station to the next
and they know- and I know
they won't comprehend my laws

i come in the end
and then come my flaws

i eat my brain in ways
no spices, or dices
no gamble, there's ample
to cry about, and the ice
won't thaw

keep following me
but you'll lose me too
you won't know a thing
because everything makes
no sense

no, it won't make no sense
at all, cause' you can't fill my shoes

the noose is loose
and i hear the whispers
of the fall- i'm gonna fall

i was never meant to exist
but i lived and i loved and i crawled
and i sipped on my sins, neck
too deep in the water and the
laughter won't let the boat sink

i hope i can cope with the world
when it's my time to be sober

right now I'm in pain

but I'm so afraid

what if tomorrow- like that,
it's over ?


it won't be all over the news
nothing new- people die all the time
you don't know my mind
and i don't know yours and
i don't know mine, and you
don't know yours and even if
we want to- we can't- and i know
it'll haunt you, me, us- but it was
so wrong of us to never find the time
to make a better world,

words- smoke and the rebel
a broken heart that hurts
words choke me and the pebbles
roll down the hills, and submerge
the rock in its grave-

it's safe to say, we can't stop ourselves
from making the same mistakes
the longer you ink, the more it fades
the longer you blink, the better it breaks

brittle to the core, too late too little
so, come hither and i'll tell you
all about how i ******* wake
everyday without a soul.

it's true, i don't want to live anymore
i've given up on that- but i can't
stop bteathing- i've tried and all
it does is makes me ******* grow.

they tried to burn me down
and now the whole town knows
the ******* lore

come **** with me
i scream in my dreams
and i never lock the door

you think you know me
i implore you to explore
you can't even follow my rhymes
you think you can map my mind
and i won't just explode ?


you can't claim whoever i am not
to be, you see- the blind don't care
if you roar, and i'm too deaf and dumb
to be stupid enough to not **** the
cupid, that cute kid, this cute sh*t-
so ******* crude and sick,

and when you taste the blues-
you forget all that must have
come before,
sometimes ignorance is bliss,
but that one rhyme, back one line
the thought in my mind

but oh, i can't tell you
how beautiful a mind can be
when it sees the light

it's fine by me, i don't find
reality to be that much saner
of the things i'm not sure

so, i implore
let me die, good-bye.

(i have died)

and all that will be left of it
will be another night.

(a good day to die)
Dave Bosworth Aug 2013
sundown
blend to bed
harsh plastic, things are undone in that interval called 'growing up
for piano turned to lines of wire
from love for you - wish me up a white lie   & forget everything we ever told ourselves
about us
-
the calmer aspects of the world
tell us to swim deep in our uncertainty tonight
the saner prison we were never aware
or obliged to
sometimes it wouldn't even receive a curt nod
-
so needless to say, fragile thing, when they wake you
from trespassing out on the moorlands
with your brain in tow or
gold beneath your feet aglow
a worldly & shaken grin may be enough
but I'd like to know you'd   been laughing

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013
Sally A Bayan Jun 2016
I have walked my paved and beaten roads
crossed my old and new bridges
and jumped my low and high hurdles,
unrelentingly... allowing nothing...or no one
to rise before me...and tell me : you are wrong,
when, i feel it so strong...that i am right!
no reason could be saner than what I've been taught
no voice, could be more reasonable...or gentler
than those voices of my folks...my childhood...my past,
nothing, or, no one...can ever destroy...or impede
this bursting...yet tempered love within...
i let it grow, the right way i know
i let it nourish my soul,
for, it saves me...from sunrise, to moon glow...


Sally

Copyright June 16, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Moonsocket Oct 2016
I only write well when I'm a mess

Knowing this I spit on a fine line

My neighbor thinks I write very bad poetry all the time

I don't argue because it very well may be true

Meanwhile

Burned by my upstairs nuisance

He promised a case of red bull

But only delivered a stereo with no knobs

I would be angry but he is saner than I most days

So I sell the stereo to a deaf bird for nutrition

But my ramen packets break dry and maggot filled

So I eat cancer and drink the sun instead

my pens are all gone

They ran away when I started pacing

most things do

Preparation is key on nights like these

Fall weather comes and I breathed easy

But now my climbing tree's are dying
and my shoes fail in spades

I met a creature who said my words were strange

I laugh because what is normal?
I never did fully know

So that time tested debate unfolds with mouths clenched from use

I offered peace in the way of grape juice but gave myself vitamin c poisoning

So I ***** into the rabbit hole
no home left for that metaphor

I never really saw what all the fuss was about

good night
L Smida Nov 2012
I'm not really crazy
when I say I'm crazy
It's when my laugh joins my smile
And my mind forms my style
My sanity thinks its saner
And there's no thought of anger
Is when I'm bound to obliterate
Happily lost, can not locate
Any trace of crazy
Is when I'm really crazy
JDK Jan 2017
A liquid thing.
Somewhere between melting and floe.
A shifting thing,
separating sheets that shroud the unknown.
A spiraling siphon that grows as senses heighten.
A quickening pulse that gathers and glows.

"Man, I thought I told you the show doesn't start til eleven."

No man, the show goes when I do,
to wherever I'm headin'


He glides down the street on free swinging feet.
Slides through the scenes in this ballet of dreams.
The only audience he needs is watching from heaven.

It's a burning thing.
Somewhere between an eruption and candle,
with sizzling skin left behind by things too hot to handle,
and footprints singed into the sidewalk.

It's a shifting of plates inside the brain.
A breaking up of the saner parts.
A typhoon of thoughts and a flame in the heart
that hits the body like an earthquake.
No one gets me like you do.
Mercury Chap Apr 2015
Purple thoughts of sprinting mind
Beautiful, loving, a shade of pink
Wandering, stressing out too much
The thoughts blotting my mind like a permanent ink
I want to say it to him
But I don't know how to think
Of something to spread smile across that face from grim
I don't know how to speak out my heart
I don't know if I do then would we be apart
Or closer than I never thought?

I want to burst out those words
In a simple manner
But simple seems more difficult
Difficult which makes me less saner.

So soon I would
Flush out those feelings
Into a void
A
   N
D
     I
WOULD
     FEEL  
   LONELY
TO
     BE
ALIVE,
Bury the thoughts and revive my sadness
Like I did it yesterday.
Can the purple thoughts be easily flushed out?
Barton D Smock Apr 2014
town crier

poems March 2014
99 pages
pocketbook style publication
8.50

preview of book is book entire on lulu site. the spine of said book has title. front cover, back cover, are purposely blank.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/town-crier/paperback/product-21548368.html

---

Talent is a mime on a mountaintop said he who gave me each morning a fork and a spoon.  He had said previously other things but this was the first to which my mother caught me listening.  She took my ear and me with it outside and shoved two cigarettes she’d been smoking in my mouth and told me to chew.  When I did not she worked my jaw herself until the tip of my tongue bled enough to give her pause.  Neither one of us cried and the cigarettes were salvageable.  The morning speaker then joined us obviously hoping for a drag.  The moment my mother hated him passed and she told him what hope was.  

He who gave me each morning a fork and a spoon would not often be seen by my mother.  He and I were late in our waking and she’d be out gathering types of dead bird from the bases of cornstalks.  I’d sit in my highchair and watch him shirtless as he prepared the tools of my art.  The hairs on his back would grow before my eyes and need bitten at the follicle.  He would turn and put his finger in the garbage disposal and pretend it was on.  On was something he never turned it because he said a mantis lived there and what would bite his follicles.  I wouldn’t be hungry then which was good for my show.  He would laugh at the misery of my scooping arms and be full of it and tired and he would ask me to rub his belly while he went to the couch on his back.  His belly the single most reason to keep him said mother.  I’d put my ear to it to feel myself kick and never did stir him from sleep.  Pretty early in this routine some of his belly hair started to grow in my ear and my dreams from then always had a banquet in their midsection.

Careful with my dreams.  Mother said they are kittens and one can bite too hard.  It is like her being stubborn and only calling me boy when most called me boy and girl in equal measure.  Sometimes when boy got the lion’s share I’d long to nurse and have to slap the ******* sound out of my teeth.  For saner things I’d walk the dog with a dog in it.  I had names for both and both were names I would’ve called my brother had I been born.  I once found a sipped at wine glass on the roof of the pharmacy mother later burned with lit stalks.  When the turkey buzzards skittered themselves nightly across the horizontal track of my looking for god I’d imagine my brother skinny enough to fit in the parched tube of his swallow.

Now that I am returning to Shudderkin, the welt left by my larger than life father whipping his belt across the tailbone of Ohio, it is clear to me that what we called a dog was correct only on certain days.  The mongrel keeping pace with my bike, the second name I have for my brother, is not the physical dog a city knows and not country loyal as country wants to, and so makes others, believe.  It is instead more like the talking when one is sped up and words get put together and then are stuck there.  Dog of Shudderkin.  Its tongue does not droop or even wag outside the mouth.  A pinkness has always gone on without me.

— The End —