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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
the number of ghosts engaged with *** toys...
you almost forget to wonder about the whole
debacle (clearly it's not a debate) - queen Sheba
was right when she said to king Solomon:
the world will be governed by a yellow race:
(coppery, garnished with choc, alter rusty)
no exceptions to the Japanese having the physiognomy
of something resembling all things Germanic...
   porcelain white, excuses for the blonde -
             then the unearthed and then earthed brown
that's represented by all Asiatic hues;
they dropped the atom bomb and we're worried
someone else will drop another? what about those people
who do military deals selling pistols and bullets
and machine-guns; aren't they on the priority list
of concerns? atom bombs don't sell much warfare,
they don't, you drop a nuke you forget there
was a war in the first place, it's called the simplified
variety of the end...
           if it weren't for the ethos of
the kamikaze, there wouldn't have been
a hiroshima & a nagasaki...
         there would just have been a hiroshima...
proud ******* told the whole lot of nagasaki
citizens: our fate is your fate, listen to the credo!
                  first time lucky... boom! x-ray flash!
i've got the opposite of bone on that brickwall...
              i have noon shadow: perfectly captured
like a replica of a Fabergé egg to represent
a chicken! but Dylan could have sung -
    preference to the x-ray and the sedimentation of
bone into the archeological... nope... a-ray stood out,
    apparently detailing shadows was the way forward.
      but i don't blame them...
there's no reason to blame someone that
manages to fill your childhood slack
on imagining things that aren't really there
with Godzilla vs. Ghidorah (ghee: dorris, slash: door'ah)...
still, the western civi faces fresh allegations
of feministic chuckles and the ghosts of
*** toys... cos any **** would be an adequate
fleshy piston for the gyroid stanza of
  being agreeably equivalent to milking a cow...
that really bites the biscuit,
a Greek might have all the theological answers
but he's still sidelined because he hasn't figured out
an parabolic entry into a ****** using
        a straightened Floppy: for that necessary
arousal being satiated... come to think of
it: god would be better pleased with an argument
than a woman pleased with an orgsam
that might lead to the lost argument for god...
it's not enough that a tornado doesn't make it easier,
they apparently "do" too;
most of the jokes come as no surprise:
   mine's still alive.
                              it's still ghosts in *** toys...
           you got to look at ******* as a quasi-
Attenborough moment of curiosity,
      does it get me wired for a marriage? not really...
does it bewilder me thoroughly? of course it does...
          ghosts in *** toys...
                          could this turn into something
quintessentially dictatorial? probably...
          there's no point thinking you're right
if you don't allow the other person to speak out...
  and on that note... dialectics is interested in only
two people having a debate...
              not necessarily an argument...
debates only exist between two opposites of a required
conceit to be levelled and a plateau to be trodden...
   dialectics is never an en masse concern for vitality,
dialectics is not theatre,
       but as it stands, dialectics is misunderstood as
a theatrical attempt to achieve a congenial
narrative where everywhere is informed (consensus
omni
)...
              clearly Socrates is Socrates (misanthropic)
and Shakespeare is Shakespeare (artsy fartsy):
the former needs a stranger and a park bench...
the latter needs a stage and a theatre and commotion;
thinking the two will unite is already a prerequisite
of dictatorial rule...
                                   additionally?
you can't learn dialectics from the direct source that
discloses the existence of such a medium...
not Plato... and i'm not saying that i know it:
but i'm saying that no slogan chanted in a march
   will create a less embittered narrative than
my own mind might already provide.
ghosts in *** toys, boney *****,
       **** tricksy risque (or if it would be worthwhile
to be born with the pleasurable **** experience gene);
              which amounts to one billion Chinese
doing it right...
       i wish i was born into a family of seven siblings...
then at least i might have, what is known as:
        a western acquisition of a satiable sense of humour;
the "hey man!" sort of attitude that states that all
operatic endeavours have to be relegated to a tone
above the castrato: namely chipmunk.
The poignance of a well lit room
overshadowed by impending doom
the effervescence loom
the smoke screen hues
lyrical debauchery of the cacophony of the bees
the monotony of human bee-ings
the trees sway unrest
the roots melt with soot
the oaks bent their heads
raise a white smoke flag in silent victory,
Where are we lifeless or livid again ?
Are we questioning dreams of ourselves?

These veins **** as a toad hops,
onto the gravel of a broken pavement
from a shallow pool of naked warmth,
somewhere deep hidden under these falls,
a white sleeve of corporate piety;
human mirth of bilious greenery,
crackling like bones,
the froth of jealousy pools
as teary eyes roll over
rapid.eye.movement sleep,
it lurks behind crimson bushes,
eyes glinting like headlights,
glitter fury.

You’re an abomination to every blood-poem
I’ve surmised so far, no matter how far.
Your eyes match the size and shade
of my backyard moon orchards.
A satiable reflection of what we used to be,
In a spectrum of green.
I cease to be.
If I was the lucky one
if a prize was to be won
I have gambled; I have lost
I've held on far too long.

The will to live fades and I've prayed.
I carried nothing but bare hide and bones
to your shelter of cracks in truth and holes in your faith
are home.
I lose myself and become blind
there is no heart or home of mine.

To forget is to force another
wanted memory from my mind.
To remain is torture, hypocrisy,
and secrets to hide.
To concern the self with fruitless pride,
in-valiant efforts
and a waste of valued time.

Time to divulge in the depths of nothing
To accept my fate
and time to wait.
Patience is time
and time to waste, on well placed venom
while love's demise is taken in haste.

The heart begins to consume the mind.
with thoughtless sadness and
denial of passed time.
All end in a bloodless destruction
by a vile end of a weakened spine.

Bodies of virility and sensation,
eager and satiable by little; given much
a cloak of blindness on tenderness and touch,
hale weakness, to be conquered by
corresponding lust.
Firefly Sep 2014
The stone, cold sidewalk lay below,
It's getting closer,
I bid the last breath to blow,
Flames, heart-racing,blue-black,windless night.
Tears forming, evaporating.....evaporating.....ditto,
Depression made clear,
Behind eyes,the devil's motto.
Confusion at my right hand,clarity disappears.
Firefighter's water,
My beloved abode no more,
Tears of men,hellfire licking the walls.
I stood,staring from afar,
Drowning in the torment that has come to call,
The world hushed,my vision torn to fragments,
Heat of salty tears.
Everything frozen in time,
My fears forever mine.
Confusion lays unsettled in the bowels of the soul,
Wreathing thick murrain,
Screaming at the misery of the brain.
I was startled,whimpering with bewilderment,
Everything before me in a trance-like state,
Then began awaking.
The men with sweet water,dear,
Starting surging backwards,
Their faces devoid of thought,without fear.
Like rewinding a record,
Time flew backward,
I stumbling,stunned,steel-cold.
Boom!,
Explosions,
I'm unable to move.
Then suddenly I stood up,
Walked unwillingly to the fiery effulgence,
Led by a teasing indecision,an untouched mystery,
Depleted of resilience.

The world stood still once more,
Froze me in place,
I fell into dementia's eye,
Nothing beclouding the gore.
Then regenerating,
Time modulating from cinders,beautiful phoenix,
Reality it began disseminating,
Blurry images flood my sight,
Blood,anger,depression rites,
Recapitulations,I beg for light.

My husband stood before me,weaving misery and woe,
Cursing me,making me small,
Shoving me under,way down low,
He stands as cold as ice,
Yet he burns inside,
He swings,hits,spits,
A love forgotten,
Dead inside.
He cuts me with the knife,
Watches my blood run,
My reality decaying,he's having fun.

Deep in the bathroom tub,
I lay fighting back shivers,
Making in the water red ripples,
Release my body's crave,
I uncovered in my mind a mystical grave.
Such dementia to see him flailing in my hands!

The daydreamed lust seemed inconceivable,
For the fiend still lives.
On our bed I saw him lay,
I remember how me met,
I fell into his arms,
Addicting,like to a powerful drug.
Conceived for evil,hmm,I might've found my way,
The idea came quickly,
I marveled at the absence of my active conscience.
I now creeped down the stairs,slithered!
Choking on hysterics,
On my spine angst lingered.
The kitchen door swung open,I stepped in,
Looking for th'inevitable tools,
Fury flared,kerosene and match I fumbled,
Feeling the arctic love as it crumbled.

So quickly I flew up the stairs,
My,my,my someone's anxious!
Ready to sear him,ignite his cold,fringe his hairs!
I fed my pain with venom-bitter hatred,
Stood ready to fry the *******,
My anticipation was sacred.
I stood before his bed,
Banishing the now present,dark,heavy,penetrating conscience,
The dream inside instead,I fed.
The mind picked up outside,
Midnight blows in through the window,
Dances 'round the room.
The kerosene I quickly threw,
Exiling any regret,
Ready to add the final ingredient to my dark,dangerous brew.
I striked,threw,watched the match,
Spinning through the air,
Waiting for the flames to hatch.
He awoke with the arrival of the fire,
Dark screams I like,
My cold desire.
Mariticide committed,
I tried not to laugh,
Joy was a pain,
Then my shrill scream was echoed by his bones,
Everything fell,the chains of the brain.
I smiled,now a black widow out of her cage,
Beaming at the empty hole of mis'ry,
Finally made satiable,the sin's wage.
Freedom came then,
Shattering,a worthy phenomenon,
It came into my crazy world,
Like a cool and cleansing rain.
                                                      -**Firefly
Graff1980 Mar 2015
A harden heart
Won’t heal
A Broken bone
Might mend
Flesh maybe malleable
Skin maybe valuable
Joints may be flexible
Soul maybe sexiable
Desire maybe satiable
You maybe able
To overcome
What makes some
Unstable
May turn the table
Maybe a better man
Than me
As long as you retain
Your empathy
Deon Dec 2016
He offered me the earth and all in it
Riches and gold, power and fame
A place above kings, a throne to sit
Pleasures in life without no shame

In exchange for a soul
That I possess
You won't be a ghoul
Or demon possessed

Not nearly enough I turned and smiled
I wish not for fame
Nor money and power
If you give what I need
We have a deal

A man without desire
For the things on earth
What do you wish that I can't give
What do you have that most men wish

You're the Prince of Earth
And I'm satiable but
Not of the things in this world
Those things never last
Metaphors still
vamsi sai mohan Oct 2014
Few years from now where you
Will be living a fulfilling life and
myself unruffled inhabiting the latent aura ,
Ouch!then smites the peripetia,
Ensuingly at a gratifying glance,
You see me,you merely remember me.
Your mind ponders but your eyes struck
as if it has a memory,but
at the very Perceptively
poising moment I see you,
my mind and eyes struck intimately,and
Satiable senses synergize momentarily,
while the other senses get numb.
Nothing travels in my mind,
no electrical impulses,it is as if  I am meditating,
but my eyes gets emotional as if it bears an image.
It secretes the preserved fluid  
that gravitates  to my cheek,
where my hands scatter it along my face.
the years don't matter,even at the touch
of trance,you sprout from my thought.
The thoughts of partaken moments
vacillate in my mind,perhaps,
my senses don't work but
my heart works for you......
I love you for the millionth time,as
I say this it adds to another or nothing.

(A moment that happened for once,
never promised to happen twice nor hence,
but the fantasy pursues me thence,
the fantasy that pierces (me) )
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
given the exposure of eastern literature lack
and the narcissism of western
literature, the laissez faire approach
of western literature you'd think
europe was a unified continent,
it isn't - it's post-colonialism has imploded,
Vladimir Dracula even woke up
to practice the upper-tier of ****** on
a few Turks - the Poles are running akin to
him with the rebellious Cossacks,
the Russians still want a land-locked connection
with Königsberg - i mean, they left that bit of
land for a purpose, right?
i'm telling you, the west is informing everyone
from Chow Cho to Chow Mein in the political
realm - these greasy smiles with sweaty hands
will never part in matrimony of 'till death do us part',
it's all impromptu, and that's how it's going to stay,
satiable and satisfactory for the few...
the ones who know the world of beauty,
but rather see the skeletons -
i too can appreciate a sunset over Venice
for 70 years, but give me the physics' geographical
mathematics and i'll gladly cut short my stay
from 70 to approximated 40 years on
the existential roundabout - veni, vidi, oblitus -
or veni, vidi, asquam... or
                                   veni, vidi, circa,
or even                 veni, vidi, vacuo -
indeed the latter, with Solomon singing concerning
vanity - although not as prophetic due to
the stately income could i signature the word
with an ending as crafty as vici;
but nowhere in the west is there talk of
the middle-ground that isn't Russia -
well quo vadis and all that,
but other than that it's only a geographic
area of plumbers and electricians!
honest to god - super-charged this area is with
these two professions, no writers, no poets,
nothing, just plumbers and electricians -
you'd think the west could secure more footnotes
in terms of what inspired it to make
a political system experimented by the greeks
an economic export, after all, democracy
is more an economic system export than a political
model, system, more economics goes into
democracy (as an export) than goes into it
as sustainable politics - democracy as
a non-export is bureaucracy,
democracy as an export is an economic *****,
handy ****** of Mc-a-doodle-do -
bonkers king and other fast food outlets etc. -
never has the iron curtain been more apparent -
the west identifies no outside influences
because it plagiarises and states as its own
the influences it utilised - i can cite you influences
outside your comfort zone - but what would
be the point? in summary:
democracy exported is an economic model,
democracy imported is a bureaucratic model -
politics aside -
the more democracy you export
the more bureaucracy you import -
the less democracy you export -
the more menial tasks you import -
and indeed the latter isn't that bad -
i'd rather hammer in a 1000 nails
than check 1000 emails.
JDK Dec 2013
My love for you is quite substantial
Just enough to get us by
When I'm with you, I never panic
My stomach knows no butterflies

My feelings for you are adequate
I kiss you like I do my mother
Politely, cordially, out of duty
Plainly and unpassionate

There are no ups and downs
No disbelief at what I've found
Our love is completely logical
Solid, steady, and sound

My love is understandable
Laid out, and well defined
My love is clearly tangible
No need for even trying

My want for you is sustainable
And well under control
My desire is easily satiable
Like a dead tree that no longer grows

I'll love you this way until I die
Or until the day you leave
And on that day, I will not cry
Nor shall I ever grieve

Because this kind of love is lacking passion
And without true belief
It's the kind of love you're better off without
It will never satisfy your needs
You're doing it all wrong
Yanamari Dec 2016
Suffocated.
The first.
Dry ice.
The second.
Drifting aimlessly.
The last.

These feelings inside me,
They numb me further.
Numb me into a permanent pain.
As I try to turn around
The last
I fall deeper into the numbness of emptiness.

What is truly satisfying?
What is satiable for one's soul?
Is there truly such a thing?
That can embrace one's soul and leave it asking for nothing more?

Is it because I'm too sensitive?
Or are my expectations too high?
Short excerpt of my thoughts.
ahmo Jan 2017
the backs of my eyelids are kaleidescopes-
blender-mixtures of the crinkles of your nose-bridge,
panic attack lullibies,
and waterfall tear-ducts,
the scent of mixture so ripe with potential that love personifies itself
as unlimited clean water in Flint.

in your indefinite (permanent) absence,
it is a sensation not painfully unsterile as a homemade tattoo,
but not quite as pragmatically satiable as a common itch.

it's
hiccups at the podium,
sore legs moving into a third floor apartment,
a fender-****** in the sweltering seduction of summer.

------------------------------

your hemorrhage-generating image is a permanent stain that blends in just well enough to wear.
Niel Nov 2020
..What was meant was never said and what is satiable isn’t fed upon. Long to be that faun in a misty meadow, lounging at dawn on the grass, gazing upon the peaks of eternity. What are we learning and what’s with the misuse? We tenderly abuse that which we dwell on. Claiming it a love letter, when a Better view reveals(in a peeling manner) that these are just clingings of a scrotal piercing fashion. Latching to these attachments as sacraments of dependability, nullifies valued spectacality. The pureness to the core of reality and the mess is a beautifully delicious birthday cake which never ends
Aly Dec 2016
then, you're empty
now, start again
placidly open your eyes
look back to see the narrow road
remember how it started
look at the bloodstained pavements
the scar that it left, does it hurt the same?
no?
but they still remind you of those deep cuts
abrasions, they heal
thirsts, they can be quenched
hungers, they are satiable
trees, they bear fruits
reds, they go green
*******, they are reached
dreams, they can be fulfilled
slashes--the flesh, they stitch together
to be
scars
you bring them ahead
and ahead, a narrow road
don't stop the pace
abandon everything
abandon everything--but the scars
and don't stop the pace,
no, not yet
You only know what's there in past, not what's going to be great ahead.
SassyJ Jan 2017
As the winterly ice case bubbles
untrace the tracks on cobbled streets
at the visible foot prints of ecstacy
unleash the angelic coded chords

Let's lay under the moon haunted rays
diving with whisks of shiny anticipation
on the icy silky sheets, shaking the undrunk
inside the claused trays of the eyed desires

See the moonlight on our unlost chins
unafraid of the highs and the lows
above the rocketed skylight highlights
sailing deep in the caves of unclouded holy vice

Sweep your breath on my satin satiable lips
as your saliva washes the sins of the sun tilts
to lure and uncover the sainted desires of within
on the layered victory of the unconquered stars
Unknown imaginative harvests of a kiss
To continue slowly, slowly...... no rush. The coal burner takes longer to burn and slower to ember ;-)
wichitarick Apr 2018
ENVISIONING FREEDOM

Suddenly a sight but this time not such a fright, sanctuary soon to be seen

Redeemed but hoping to help my new soul find strength that just yesterday was not possible

Sordid link seems always on the brink, will we be left drawing from the  dark or breaking out to once again shine

Practical is turning into placid left in limbo we have become lucid leaving us to design something more practical

Making do quickly runs out of room needing the enlightenment not always gloom facing front to win or resign

Making new markers from faded visions,  random wisdom now aligned ,once irrational made satiable

Practical resolution of our plight is not in play ,we now pick puzzle pieces to help redesign

Forced wisdom is now turned into a symptom finding new light to aid our rhythm daily goals transitioning into something more passable

Win lose or draw Happiness and freedom is our new law ,simple ideal don't let it repeal to not try the best for simple happiness would surely be a crime R.C.
Sometimes we have a light or something to remind us to be positive for the moment or day  is how to build foundations. Thanks for reading Your thoughts are appreciated. Rick
Sal Gelles Mar 2018
cry
pieced panel ceiling-aloof, unaligned/
broken bottle drunk neck.

loose leaning retribution-painful and stern/
paradise as senial.

enigmatic electric violense-warmer, lonelier/
painted process of elimination.

aromatic angular pilot-slim and simple/
stupid half-witted brain.

faraway friendship-slightly stable/
hopes for the future.

obediently originating psalms-studied and preferred/
crack-*** simplification.

readied and reticulated-never worried/
worn'd through and through.

satiable sanctity-calm, cool/
collecting mindfully.

angular and semiconductive-angles, man/
prospective deafness.

nuisance noose brain-heavier still/
cloud nine.

idiocy-simple/
fragmented head.

trivial temptation-fighting demons again/
old moldy records.

youth in riot-pure and satanic/
enslaved and emboldened.
Connor Barr Jan 2021
A fleeting yet tender brush of luck
A new face whose structure poses foreign wonder
A worldly woman,
whose frames suggest a commanding authority,
puts people in seats, her prescence priority
Squished eyes paired with your
unchained smile
Unbottled bliss, she gives me this
A butterfly that chooses to rest on your arm or
the sun streaking through select delicate leaves

Scenery suggests her horizons
are unquenched,
uncharted beats
Spin the globe watch it spinning not stopping
Your eyes mapping, beginnings developing
Conquer spirits, I say conquer them all!
Your voice echoes throughout when it's a room not a hall
I have heard your voice
Once
The remainder, blaring and popping
from a record within, the only record
The rest warped beyond comprehension

Your hollowed essence lives on
Weekend residency on my eternity's beach
where dreams shuffle and shout
Approaching me with a hand full of satiable scarlet
Archives from your vineyard or
acquisitions from my persistent parasite
He gnaws
on all reasonable forms of sense left
dizzying upstairs
in the manic untethered halls

Logic's fleet
engages in a hail of doubt and reason
Lovers meet
defined by a wandering fool of a mind
Let me cling onto this deranged dream,
romanticise this idea of
rabid romance and
give us this broad canvas
where I'll scratch and paint our
swan song, lavishly
The coda eases us into the horror
A bow to my creative endeavour and
set sail to sizzle into the pit
of two-bit death, my dear
Our time draws near
The cognitive hands strikes,
lids are now up

This woman is fake
she exists to me in pictures
Aditya Roy Aug 2019
Flying out of countries
Running into satisfaction
Atlas, and flying up in the air at night
Alas, happy with sightly inscriptions, and satiable highs

— The End —