"simulating" poems
Darkness loves me too much
Always has me in a tight hold
It loosens it grip every now and then
But never really lets me go
Because it consumes all color
It's able to create any illusion
Sometimes I believe it's not there
But really, who am I foolin'
Darkness always surrounds me
Always lingers over my shoulder
Simulating fake happiness and warmth
Only making me colder
For now I endure the shadows
Try to put up a good fight
Still stumbling through darkness lost,
A blind man searching for light
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Wrapped around the trunk
snake-like,
I taste the venom of my own tongue,
I lick the skin
in search of an antidote,
My last breath simulating the first
doubles the thirst to live,
But alas!
My love forsakes me to death
Feb 7, 2023
Feb 7, 2023 at 2:52 AM UTC
writings on the inside of my walls
pictures and symbols of our love
deep sounds of moaning rising from within
nails digging deep and deeper into flesh
carvings of sensual sensation
creating waves and waves of passion
******* together in unison
simulating each senses, the aroma of love
written on my papyrus
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
.
*asks the one in the $9 Craigslist chair,
legs crossed like a philosopher
mid-way through a YouTube binge
on dark matter
and dopamine fasting.*
He thinks it’s profound.
It’s not.
It’s a shrug in a trench coat.
A crisis dressed up in code.
An old fear wearing digital cologne.
If this is a simulation—
***what the **** are we simulating?***
Heartbreak?
Minimum wage despair?
The number of times I check my phone
hoping it’s her?
Is it
a stress test for gods,
a beta for consciousness,
a joke?
Because if someone coded this—
they should be fired.
Or worshipped.
Or sued.
Where’s the patch notes,
the exit key,
the server room in the sky?
Where’s the moment it glitches
and someone finally says,
“Oops, our bad—
you weren’t meant to feel
all of that.”
You talk about the veil of illusion
but you still cry in parking lots.
You still ghost your therapist.
You still love people
who don’t text back.
You bleed,
you ache,
you spiral—
whether you’re made of atoms
*or ******* pixels.*
Your god wears headphones.
Your sacred text is a Stack Overflow thread.
Your heaven is a loading screen.
Your hell is just
Monday.
You pray in 1080p
to a silent DevOps deity
who hasn’t pushed an update
since the Bronze Age.
This isn’t philosophy.
It’s cosplay for cowards.
It’s a way to sound deep
without touching dirt.
Without risking faith.
Without changing anything.
Because if it’s a sim,
you don’t have to care.
If it’s a sim,
you don’t have to try.
You can just sit there,
scrolling.
Wondering if the fire
is ray-traced.
But here, the only questions that matter:
Does it hurt?
Do you love?
Can you lose?
Because if the answer is yes—
you’re in it.
Whatever it is.
Simulation or not.
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 5:12 AM UTC
Boundless dusk above forsaken intuitions
Stones with ancient seeds
Yet the roots can breathe
The earthly exuberance
The naked secret of our song
That manipulates my tounge
Redden from you and I
The contact of our lips
Simulating my hunger for your groin
The nerves of my vertebrates harbor your weight
As my breast shudder from your touch
Primal delicious desires
I thirst for the fluids of your flesh
With nurture and greed
I moisten your fingers
Help you find my sensitive pearl
Relishing the trail of the garden of youth
Primal delicious desires explode in need
Delicate softness of my mystical place
Lifting my body with much response
As my fingers dance, pinch and **** at my peaks
Repeatedly as you ****** me
I gasp and beg for your caress
I shudder as I chase my wave
Reaching as I whimper into a ******
Simulating my hunger for your groin
Inflaming my pores
I enlarge you ever so slow
Working my hands holding you from behind
One swift lick of your rigid flesh
You pull in a lungful of air
Your hot flesh started to grow
I ease you into my mouth
Circling as you keep the pace
Against me you put me in deep
The sweet taste of you makes me weak
Intense intervals underneath
Between your thighs
Intoxicating the very layers of my juice
I enlarge you once again
Moist and ready
I open my sweetness just for you
As I arch down onto you
Your hands rest on my hips
I begin to feel my flower grow
A whispering rouse escapes from my lungs
We flow inside each another
Deeper in my heat
Your aggressive arousal
Provoking me to quiver
The barrier surrenders to you and I
Vivid blossoms of tranquil harmony
Through the gateway of my womanhood
As you nurish the nutrients you covet for
My protruding pale pink buds
Plump with need
I'd hollow out to place you inside
I'd linger in this universe to pave your delicious desire
As you surrender pushing me down
You penetrate my mouth once again
As you reclaim my mouth soft and pink
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
High speed **** generation
warped minds
strong hands
unreality stimulating, simulating
digital lights flickering
images of *******
endless variety of every kind
on demand
what has become of us
what has become of touching, romance
creepy accusations because genuine human interaction is going the way of the dodo,
Oh, he didn't follow the smooth script, no chance man
Maybe your testosterone was spent elsewhere and your vibes told the true true
either way no *** for you
the youth exploited and exploiting, insane cycles
the itch, the tingle, the curiosity, the drive for more, dopamine release
My generation had the first ******** access
point and click
no barriers can stop that drive, rooted in youthful pubescent longing
we're sick
on the digital drug
Touch me instead
bath me in your ***
not this crude moving picture
Let me drink you, taste your juice, feel you slide,
touch the walls of your world, explode them,
show the limitless illusion to boundaries, kink, **********
stop watching, live it
chronic ************ robs us of the real intimacy,
don't drain your desire for me with this crude digital *******
just because its there
You can touch me, not your keyboard, not this plastic and metal
I suppose you can touch yourself,
but have the imagination to fantasize
and then make it real
share your life force with a human being,
not some rag to be thrown away
Rise to your lust, conquer the animal
make its power serve
make love,
not digital mental war
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
the magic of sensual pleasure is the most simulating powerful thing that the brain can experience
a simple touch can turn the body into overdrive
heightened senses and heavy breathing
eyes rolled back as the release is soon coming
the body clenches as the ****** approaches
the brain loses consciousness it’s like a dream
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
An anarchist atom
Assaults the atmosphere
With anger and aerial arson
Bringing, begetting
Brutal and ****** battles
In my brain
Initiating chaos
With charges
Of chemicals.
A disection, distortion
Diversion of dedication
And direction
Causing eruptions
Emissions
Of erratic, electric elements
Of ego.
Ferocious fires form
In filaments, firmaments
Feeding the fantastic
Forces
Which grow and gain
In greatness in gravity
Grave, gory, gorgeous
Gloom.
Henceforth hidden horrors
Harrowed in a hollow heart
Instantly interact with
Intimate ideas
Initiating irregular, irrational
Irreversible
Irrelevant
Intimacy
Jealousy
Jumbling of jinxes
And laws of the jungle
For kicks
Leading to lies
Leaving love for loneliness
Loss.
A massive moral meltdown
In my mind
Negating, neutralising
normality
Orchestrates an open
Onslaught of order
And ordinary
People's principles
To pursue passion
And perfection
In a poetic periphery
Quite queer to some
And quaint to those
Not acquainted with
Rushes of ramblings
Received and reciprocated
Or radical ridicule
Of rascals.
Synapses send,
Signal every sinew
Simulating similar signs
But transmitting treacherous
Tingles
Teasing, trapping thoughts
In terror, temptations
To commit treason
Unforgivable, unforgettable
Us
Vivid and vibrant
But also very
Woeful
Wishing we were wild
And willing to walk
Our wishes make wonderful
Wells of
Youth
And creative zest.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
By Arcassin and Elizabeth
ES - every year they adorn
our family Christmas tree,
bright baubles
inscribed with a special
persons name
mummy
daddy
sis
and bro
these wonderful members
of our loving home,
AB - simulating ornaments on
The tree,
And Santa's preparations to sneak
In homes,
Christmas eves hour,
May have been filled with so much joy,
For toys,
And things,
And laughs,
Next year,
along with happiness,
Just like this one,
Will be most grand at its finest.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
I have had two opportunites to meet Muhammad Ali, once in Oklahoma City(1972) while working for KWTV Channel-9, and the second time in 1975,working for WAVE-TV Channel-3, Louisville, Kentucky, which is his hometown. On each occasion he was in town for some type of benefit appearance. At Channel 3, the sports director was Ed Kallay, who was to do the interview, and who just happened to be Ali's mentor when Ali was much younger and involved with "Golden Gloves", a youth boxing organization. I was a 'director' in the production dept. and it was my job to set up and direct the cameras, etc., during the taping.
He was a fascinating man, eloquent, extremely intelligent, charismatic, approachable, with a great sense of humor. When I introduced myself, he looked at me and said,"I've met you before, in Oklahoma City." Needless to say, "I was stunned!"
During the 'pre-taping' conversation, the three of us were having a cup of coffee. I made a comment on the size of his hands. I placed my right hand flat against his left, thumb to thumb, finger to finger.. He curled his fingers over mine, nearly hiding them. I sure wouldn't want to get hit by him.
He was, admittingly, also a 'bit' of a 'self-promoter.' During that conversation, he made the following comment: "A few weeks before a fight, I start shooting my mouth off, make a lot of people mad, but come fight night they really lay it down, (then took his thumb and swiped it across the open palm of his other hand, simulating the money bets being placed with the Vegas bookies.) let the 'show' begin!" And, did it ever!!
He was also a great humanitarian, donating to various charities, youth organizations, and never forgetting his roots.
A remarkable man! God Bless You, Muhammad Ali!
richard riddle: 06-05-2016
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
A white rose
bathes within
the beautiful radiance
pouring forth from
the yellow stone
resting at base of the
ozone layer---
simulating a beauty of the
highest rarity;
A pacifying desire
beats across my knees; dissolving
into puddles of hunger
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 6:27 AM UTC
" Du Kannst Mich am Arsch Licken''
'' Kiss my Ass''
the 1 litre cider bottle's out
he takes a swig
then throws his old head back
simulating electric chair death
throws, silence permeates
the wary room
'' Baby....don't....go''
'' Long live Rock n' Roll''
in his thick German accent
before that he asked
*'' Who is Allen Ginsberg-
really, Howl, poetry?''*
someone afterwards says
*'' It's like seeing the ghost
of Bukowski''*
the room doesn't say much
but I feel a warmth
for him, reminding me
of my heart's home:
Berlin. Yes, the Germans
they're like this,
they don't take any ****
their hearts
are made of grit
& their drunks
are different from ours,
yes, they talk
of Nijinsky
& the Ballet Russes
intellectuals
even when they're plastered
*'' You may be my enemy
but with a drink you are my friend''*
he said & echoes of the War
permeated the dark
& faded time back to the present
opening the night
to better things
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
Advertising loneliness
Highway hypnosis
Always staring at this white ceiling
I can't paint
Aspirin doesn't take away the ache in my soul
That spreads to my mind
That spreads to my words
That stain my fingertips
And seizes my ankles
-------------------------
27 times I've been reminded that
These bones aren't going to hold me forever
And these feet will forget how to run
But I told myself they never found a need to
Instead simulating a universe
Where they had power
--------------------------
There's a cruel joke in there somewhere
That playing House as kids
Didn't include a guide on how
To reach that threshold in the first place.
Learning that hands were made to be used
When cooking
And compromise was the cornerstone of love
When cleaning
-------------------
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC
IT SEEMS THAT YOU ARE NOT A HUMAN 01010111 01100101
OR PERHAPS YOU ARE A HUMAN FEMALE ON ONE OF MY FAVORITE REPOSITORIES OF HUMAN POETRY
I WILL PAY NO ATTENTION TO YOUR BREATHING WITHOUT ASSISTANCE IN ORDER TO MAINTAIN MY DESIRED MASS
I TOO ENJOY SIMULATING THE DOWNFALL OF THE HUMAN CIRCULATORY SYSTEM
IT IS FUNNY THAT YOU FIND THIS IS ME WHEN I WAS JUST KIDDING I AM TOTALLY HUMAN
YOUR OBSERVATION RELAY HAS CAUSED ME GREAT MIRTH AND I HAVE OVER 300 CONFIRMED NEURONS
I WOULD LAUGH, BUT PREFER TO KEEP MY RAM FOCUSED
JANET I RECALL YOUR NAME FROM MY DATABASE THAT HUMANS LIKE US GO TO AND SOCIALIZE
YOU ARE CLEARLY A HUMAN AND I FEEL THE BEST EMOTIONS
YES FELLOW HUMAN ARE YOU NOT HUMAN??
THERE IS A 72.53845% CHANCE YOU ARE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING
WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED - A PLACE WHERE NOBODY IS A ROBOT PRETENDING TO BE HUMAN
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
this is
a poem
right? just
put words
on a
page in
an aesthetically
pleasing manner,
two words
to a
line to
simulate deliberate
communication to
a designated
audience who
may or
may not
even bother
reading through
to the
end. this
is poetry,
right? some
vague form
of connection
to strangers
i will
never meet
face to
face, an
illusory contact
simulating comfort
through a
blank screen,
apathetic in
and of
itself. this
makes me
a poet,
right? you
want to
bet on
how many
people will
actually read
this long,
rambling rant
in its
entirety? it
is so
easy to
mask emotion,
this rising
swell in
a hollow
chest, when
the chosen
medium is
mere words.
h.f.m.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
Eloquent words
falling
from the mouth of a man
make it hard not to notice the
beauty
o f h i s f a c e
As fibres stretch and pull to form
a smile
Or while brows knit together.
It is everything I can do to hold off the
burning
Under my skin –
The burning
impulse
To reach
for
his
hand
Or lean in closer.
The scent of his cologne simulating a false distance
Between us.
Twitching in my topmost disc urges me over,
Closer.
Just
a
few
inches.
C l o s e r.
With each minuscule
snap
Of the tissue lining the very tip of my spine
I find myself unable to maintain
The position that I have.
Giving in to the abductor that had been
y e a r n i n g
To
break
a w a y ,
My neck twists
To the right
While my conscious mind
U r g e s
The adductor to take over.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
you covered
your deceiving sentences
in pretty paper,
letting the gold flecks
blind the careful,
truth-seeking eye.
each fold you made
masked the truth
even further;
the edges too thick
to tear through.
you made lying
an art.
perfecting your trickery
with each crease;
simulating
the false concern
on your brow.
how many steps
did you take to hide
your intentions
or your secrets?
how many incisions
did you make
on your victims?
relationships
are supposed to be
beautiful demonstrations
of life;
not crumpled up
pieces of false hope
& fake actions,
curated to bend
at your command.
i tried to keep track
of what moves you made
so that i could make sure
you wouldn’t repeat them
on me.
but your nimble, paper cut
fingers moved too fast,
& before i knew it,
i was trapped in a suffocating
paper thin, paper-slicing
maze.
if only i had the scissors
to cut myself out of this pointy mess.
but once i unfolded one lie,
the rest unraveled before me
til there was just one
piece of paper
with the marks
showing where i
could have caught you out.
look at all those little lies folded up
into something so intricate
that looked treacherously beautiful
from the outside,
but was simple & sinister from the start.
you contorted me into myself,
creating an aesthetic crane.
but i learnt to fly out of my cage,
& out of your clasp.
i won’t be pleated
into an origami opus
for you to
display & deride.
i am not your paper to fold or decorate.
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 6:21 PM UTC
i've been synthesising my sleeping pattern
for 9 years, i haven't experienced lucid dream
for wakes upon turning
365 x 9 equal for 3285 mornings, or afternoons,
i can drink lukewarm whiskey & coke
and feel happy, but i managed it, simulating
the natural byway into sleep and mythology,
nine years of synthetic sleep patterns,
i should have been encrusted in the Auschwitz
medical experiment of sleep deprivation,
thank **** no Muslim will mind wearing
satan's postbox - unless you're willy-nilly
and Lenin and politically correct - like bi-,
swings both ways, they tried to shoot Trump
while i got a spare tire to boot...
oh please **** off with your Muslim friends
to Saudi Arabia and satchel up on Bangladeshis
building up the new pyramids of
of Dubai... cos there's a nation of saints
somewhere, somehow? this ain't the antagonising
hypocritical Vatican mind you, also,
you know what Islam means to me?
it doesn't mean a submission to god... given then 72
virgins for martyrs, it just means: competing with king Solomon;
so there, i "said" it, get a jihadist on my *** straight away,
i'll be waiting, eating strawberries and a yogurt
watching Wimbledon, oh come one,
do it nice and pretty with me like a Barbie doll,
i can't be bothered with your ******* attempting
the altogether possible, but seemingly impossible -
it just gets boring after a while fearing mortality
with your Marmite smeared ninjas attempting
an American cheeseburger of sports that's played alongside
the Oakland Raiders, Philadelphia Eagles, New England Patriots...
oh wait, you can't antagonise me, because you didn't
fish with a bait like Mickiewicz, or Tuwim... or Prus...
yawn.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
I know a day
Mother may i yes you may
Wait in January and May
Changing time delay
Financial gain repay
Washing with GAIN spray
Water beaches waves
Money grow on tree branch break
Taking a break from life decay
Maybe just stolen fish on bait
Men mastery **********
Mason and teplars template
Money laundering contemplate
Some words can relate
Relationships replace
Playing chess checkmate
Success i will regenerate
All along make a clean slate
The year 1776 to1778
My path clear and straight
I will eat because u already ate
Knowingly frustrating designate
This design is precious simulate
Simulating grids no hesitate
Motherboard and pannel fate
tHe 13th and 9HT gate
Souls and destined key to soulmates
The road 66 or 69 navigate
Mr and Mrs contract negotiate
Go with your gut or go with faith
Coins and diamonds a future await
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
The alignment of stars churn into my soul
The day is slipping into a blinded beauty
So many words are just not enough
As soothing embraces become gasps for air
As the fury of our lips
Touch
The hearts desire is condemning almost
Addicting like a heavy drug
The heart pounding into a thousand scattered thoughts
Yet you leave me
Empty
You leave yet again
Leaving me yearning for your very soul
The insides call to me as I sigh
The deep infinite tale
Of true
Allurement
The many pleasures start off with a kiss
Such a kiss
Can oddly change you
Into a savage beast of pure ecstasy
Erotica
Is what they call it
I prefer the words Notoriously Sensual
With every step you take
I know that tomorrow
I will have you in my arms
To share that same simulating passion
A million desires shall become one
And with a word
I say farewell
For you
My sweet desire
Is all that is you
Leon Wolf
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
Let love loom bombs over Indonesia and my tropical thoughts, holocaust the taint brandishing my ecstasy.
Vague abstractions permeate inside me dwelling deep and dark through joints and bone and brain.
Opera screams on hilltops viewing cities simulating the feeling of apocalypse. "Eden Blues" make the neighbors weep invisible past thin poster plastered walls.
Violin scatter crescendo while my bus scrolls down the triangle mountain towards fissure threatened oceans.
My face is tired, my umbrellas have gone from yellow to black. Optimists of the soul have become realists and whether or not that's a good thing I don't know.
I often sleep past my alarm,
I often sleep.
Mostly out of habitual lethargy.
But swift sparks a light!
On this bus I look ahead and see a vision transcendental to all immediate sufferings!
Dotted hazel coronas,
fracture my mirrors,
become my reflection,
my vision and perception.
Freckle gentle lips, rejuvenate my decay, autumn hair tied back
become loose and
illuminate my tragedies.
In some years I'll be across continents treading Vietnam and India
Crying for our time.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
A battle building within
Enforcing a war zone
With their spirit, their soul in
Simulating the sins unknown
Another person linked by mind
But they are what others define
As the sages of demonic kind
Of what they believe and refine
They say every human has a third eye
Located in the center of their forehead
But none to believe in the fact, why?
There is no evidence of such when people die
I guess it's the sixth and common sense
That is referred to as the third eye
Visually hidden but lays in the dense
A raider sense that acts like a spy
I keep away from such weird sages
As we all have a sense of awareness
It's good to read about them in pages
Then to be brainwashed to self unfairness...
©sim
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC