"subscribing" poems - Hello Poetry

"subscribing" poems

no one is subscribing to the universal affection draining subconscious ailment that needs no treatment quaking with fear shaking with revulsion looking to prolong an hour, a minute stretching one second into ten seconds where are we going, past the streetlights the crossroads the commotion inside the canal boat that surrounds and accompanies this road - will it ends one day, sometimes, somewhere and brings an end to the entire's generation guilt and disease?

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Sep 13, 2018

Sep 13, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC

no one is subscribing to the universal affection draining subconscious ailment that needs no treatment quaking with fear shaking with revulsion looking to prolong an hour, a minute stretching one second into ten seconds where are we going, past the streetlights the crossroads the commotion inside the canal boat that surrounds and accompanies this road - will it ends one day, sometimes, somewhere and brings an end to the entire's generation guilt and disease?

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Women are not mysterious. We are not shrouded in cloaks made from the night sky. We are not anomalies or irregularities in the data. Our nature has been hidden from men, by men. We have not been studied; Not extensively, thoroughly, over centuries. Not the way men have been, either. There was no equal footing in analyses. Women were test subjects, when men were patients. When we were "relevant" at all. This pattern literally kills us quicker. In medicine, and love. In the office and the bedroom. In the workshop and the nursery. In the kitchen. In the kitchen. Some food for your soul: Everyone is magical. You don't need a pointy hat and a ****** Everyone is intellectual. You don't need spectacles, white skin, or a ***** Everyone is environmental. Just go outside. You just need to be you. Subscribing to the binary and rejecting it completely: One ties your hands, the other your feet. Be all the parts of you. Then you can feel Whole.

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Mar 15, 2017

Mar 15, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC

Between Our Legs, and Everywhere Else

Women are not mysterious. We are not shrouded in cloaks made from the night sky. We are not anomalies or irregularities in the data. Our nature has been hidden from men, by men. We have not been studied; Not extensively, thoroughly, over centuries. Not the way men have been, either. There was no equal footing in analyses. Women were test subjects, when men were patients. When we were "relevant" at all. This pattern literally kills us quicker. In medicine, and love. In the office and the bedroom. In the workshop and the nursery. In the kitchen. In the kitchen. Some food for your soul: Everyone is magical. You don't need a pointy hat and a ****** Everyone is intellectual. You don't need spectacles, white skin, or a ***** Everyone is environmental. Just go outside. You just need to be you. Subscribing to the binary and rejecting it completely: One ties your hands, the other your feet. Be all the parts of you. Then you can feel Whole.

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A book shouldn't be judged by its cover they said. A person should be judged on their heart they said. Plenty of books go unread They are too small Too thick Too old Too beat up People and love have the same fate as a book. Love is hypocritical. How can an emotion, that is said to be Judged by the heart, Consider the optical cortex's opinion. Before it weighs a soul Hypocrites. Predators are lead by their sight as well. Killing off prey In blood lust That is interesting. Perhaps lust is the issue Their eyes devour what they want While the heart is left empty. If I lose weight am I subscribing to this belief? Am I not fit enough to be loved? Would being devoured by predators truly mend my heart? My windowless soul bleeds. While their eyes ignore me. Am I changing myself to be loved, or Can love change itself to find me?

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Jun 1, 2015

Jun 1, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC

Love is a Hypocrite

A book shouldn't be judged by its cover they said. A person should be judged on their heart they said. Plenty of books go unread They are too small Too thick Too old Too beat up People and love have the same fate as a book. Love is hypocritical. How can an emotion, that is said to be Judged by the heart, Consider the optical cortex's opinion. Before it weighs a soul Hypocrites. Predators are lead by their sight as well. Killing off prey In blood lust That is interesting. Perhaps lust is the issue Their eyes devour what they want While the heart is left empty. If I lose weight am I subscribing to this belief? Am I not fit enough to be loved? Would being devoured by predators truly mend my heart? My windowless soul bleeds. While their eyes ignore me. Am I changing myself to be loved, or Can love change itself to find me?

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Ahhh poets of an age words and line so smooth keeping art the focus and rage with nothing left, too prove Wild and free beyond repute no cares for meanings now in vogue playing as piper, devout astute now and then, going pure rogue The rebels that we know and love not subscribing to rote or known hands that guide, in velvet gloves not what they hide, but shown Heed the call my friends and scribes remember why you're here as each and all imbibes the pains and scars inscribed with all the love and yet still all the fear

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Oct 8, 2018

Oct 8, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC

Rising above, a call, to wordy arms

Ahhh poets of an age words and line so smooth keeping art the focus and rage with nothing left, too prove Wild and free beyond repute no cares for meanings now in vogue playing as piper, devout astute now and then, going pure rogue The rebels that we know and love not subscribing to rote or known hands that guide, in velvet gloves not what they hide, but shown Heed the call my friends and scribes remember why you're here as each and all imbibes the pains and scars inscribed with all the love and yet still all the fear

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Dear Mark, You have an uncanny ability to make me laugh. So many times I have been in the darkest of places, To be brought back up by another video of yours. You thank us, me, for subscribing and supporting you, But really, you shouldn't be thanking us. We should be (and are) thanking YOU For helping us For saving us For making us laugh For making us happy For making us forget our troubles For your continued dedication For your hilarity For your generosity For everything.

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Sep 9, 2013

Sep 9, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC

To Mark Fischbach (markiplierGAME)

Dear Mark, You have an uncanny ability to make me laugh. So many times I have been in the darkest of places, To be brought back up by another video of yours. You thank us, me, for subscribing and supporting you, But really, you shouldn't be thanking us. We should be (and are) thanking YOU For helping us For saving us For making us laugh For making us happy For making us forget our troubles For your continued dedication For your hilarity For your generosity For everything.

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We are slaves to the techno-autocracy. A faith of subscribing, of retweeting, of liking things we never loved. We chant into the feed and call it presence. We echo to the void and call it voice. The liturgy is noise. The sacrament is scroll. We kneel before timelines like altar rails and take communion in pixels. We have traded prophets for influencers. Revelation for reposts. Scripture for screen time. The holy ghost got a firmware update, but still can’t answer support tickets. We stare at our gods, glowing in our palms, and ask to be known— but only if it fits in the caption. There is no silence. Only the dull roar of monetized despair. The din that keeps us deaf. The bombast of uninformed certainty. The drivel that drips down our chin while we think we’re being fed. We are full of nothing, and still we chew.

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Apr 17, 2025

Apr 17, 2025 at 1:16 AM UTC

Gospel of the Scroll

We are slaves to the techno-autocracy. A faith of subscribing, of retweeting, of liking things we never loved. We chant into the feed and call it presence. We echo to the void and call it voice. The liturgy is noise. The sacrament is scroll. We kneel before timelines like altar rails and take communion in pixels. We have traded prophets for influencers. Revelation for reposts. Scripture for screen time. The holy ghost got a firmware update, but still can’t answer support tickets. We stare at our gods, glowing in our palms, and ask to be known— but only if it fits in the caption. There is no silence. Only the dull roar of monetized despair. The din that keeps us deaf. The bombast of uninformed certainty. The drivel that drips down our chin while we think we’re being fed. We are full of nothing, and still we chew.

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I'm uncomfortable And always tense In observational Desire From my corner coffee shop Spot. Unnoticed, I see simple embrace One for which my body aches. My body breaks I realize I'm alone and In doing so actualize my own fate. People are aliens Foreign and speaking a language which seems eerily familiar but forgotten years ago. It seems I am not getting better at conversing just daily Rehearsing The same rhetoric Stoic lows recycled and recited to a new day, a new ethereal face Inadequate Inadequacies Inadequately Inscribed, ,described and, imbibed. Please, oh Lord, Let me imbibe before subscribing to speak to you, me, every and anyone. Send Help! Send Anyone! A person to make my lips feel a little less caustic. Casual conversation by the wayside I want what I had Not what I can or could have. I don’t want love. I’d rather have a dog to put to sleep than no dog at all.

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Jun 14, 2015

Jun 14, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC

Inadequate Inadequacies Inadequately Inscribed, ,described and, imbibed.

I'm uncomfortable And always tense In observational Desire From my corner coffee shop Spot. Unnoticed, I see simple embrace One for which my body aches. My body breaks I realize I'm alone and In doing so actualize my own fate. People are aliens Foreign and speaking a language which seems eerily familiar but forgotten years ago. It seems I am not getting better at conversing just daily Rehearsing The same rhetoric Stoic lows recycled and recited to a new day, a new ethereal face Inadequate Inadequacies Inadequately Inscribed, ,described and, imbibed. Please, oh Lord, Let me imbibe before subscribing to speak to you, me, every and anyone. Send Help! Send Anyone! A person to make my lips feel a little less caustic. Casual conversation by the wayside I want what I had Not what I can or could have. I don’t want love. I’d rather have a dog to put to sleep than no dog at all.

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I don't know which is better So I'm tossed by the wind, feeling light as a feather I keep flirting with sin, keep subscribing to this earthly pleasure Finding joy in the moment, but losing my forever. I don't know which way to go I wanna go home but where is home? i don't know So I follow the flow, the flow of the river I want to swim again'st the current but no strength in me, only growing weaker. I want to find peace It rains in the jungle, the nights are cold, and there's only a few trees keeping me shelter I look out between the trees and I see eyes aglow staring me down, I sense imminent danger Should I run or should I stay here? Cause it's only worse out there Soaked, tired, alone and afraid, I wonder Should I pull my blade? Or myself should I try barricade? Why am I afraid? I know I should've prayed and probably should've weighed the actions I made, now in the wind and rain I have little shade I should not have strayed, that course I should've stayed and now I have no aid as darkness sings to me it serenades, it looks beautiful it masquerades. It wants to make me believe, and feel, a beautiful feeling like Christmas eve, so that I can be deceived and caught unaware. unaware, I mean there was never any light in darkness, I just feel the cold, rain and wind on my skin left bare and I know it's bare because I feel this air, my eyes fixed out into the wilderness and looking back at me is still a stare and at this point I'd swear, that I was all alone, no hope, not even a prayer and nothing could compare, to that feeling of despair out in the wilderness, But behold, out of nowhere I saw a light appear piercing through the darkness, signaling me like a flare And a song! A song filled my ear! singing "yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of evil, nothing shall I fear" And not just that valley, but anywhere, and then no sweeter words had left my lips as I whispered the Lord's prayer as I was delivered from my wilderness In the name of Jesus, in his warmth, his care

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Dec 10, 2016

Dec 10, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC

thecalmeststorm

In my wilderness

I don't know which is better So I'm tossed by the wind, feeling light as a feather I keep flirting with sin, keep subscribing to this earthly pleasure Finding joy in the moment, but losing my forever. I don't know which way to go I wanna go home but where is home? i don't know So I follow the flow, the flow of the river I want to swim again'st the current but no strength in me, only growing weaker. I want to find peace It rains in the jungle, the nights are cold, and there's only a few trees keeping me shelter I look out between the trees and I see eyes aglow staring me down, I sense imminent danger Should I run or should I stay here? Cause it's only worse out there Soaked, tired, alone and afraid, I wonder Should I pull my blade? Or myself should I try barricade? Why am I afraid? I know I should've prayed and probably should've weighed the actions I made, now in the wind and rain I have little shade I should not have strayed, that course I should've stayed and now I have no aid as darkness sings to me it serenades, it looks beautiful it masquerades. It wants to make me believe, and feel, a beautiful feeling like Christmas eve, so that I can be deceived and caught unaware. unaware, I mean there was never any light in darkness, I just feel the cold, rain and wind on my skin left bare and I know it's bare because I feel this air, my eyes fixed out into the wilderness and looking back at me is still a stare and at this point I'd swear, that I was all alone, no hope, not even a prayer and nothing could compare, to that feeling of despair out in the wilderness, But behold, out of nowhere I saw a light appear piercing through the darkness, signaling me like a flare And a song! A song filled my ear! singing "yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of evil, nothing shall I fear" And not just that valley, but anywhere, and then no sweeter words had left my lips as I whispered the Lord's prayer as I was delivered from my wilderness In the name of Jesus, in his warmth, his care

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1 Defined by an intense need to apostrophize and to tether, dictated by nothing but your definitive space’s lissome address, when visited, opens up to a closing, or sizing a gap if syndetic, and reaching out for a retreat a frail gesture meaningfully pursuing a link, a strain that is 2 When you were alive because you felt it, subscribing to a phenomenon, granted by a sovereign of our difference unconsciously at first it was statutory to a fault but then conceding to it and accepting, fit in this meeting as if too relaxed that it may sleep or bear noise even – your incidence of me sees clearer than any lens, and when fond of, you will make out of my clenched fists, when put together, a diptych with your hands taken into, receiving constantly the burden of days 3 As destination of a truth that is if you listen that there is something inaudible in this reality – your dream will make an apparition out of its center, said when it is too comfortable to even slouch at a constant day, setting this faculty tranquil the face of a punctual eve somnambulating through towns triggered by dim white light, forcing windows to contract, the body somewhere afloat, contacting the precision of something as rescue, your life seen with value when peril touches your deepest parts, almost daily in this location as if you were shorn out of difficulty, looking for me to halve all of this.

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May 24, 2016

May 24, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Born out of the difficult

1 Defined by an intense need to apostrophize and to tether, dictated by nothing but your definitive space’s lissome address, when visited, opens up to a closing, or sizing a gap if syndetic, and reaching out for a retreat a frail gesture meaningfully pursuing a link, a strain that is 2 When you were alive because you felt it, subscribing to a phenomenon, granted by a sovereign of our difference unconsciously at first it was statutory to a fault but then conceding to it and accepting, fit in this meeting as if too relaxed that it may sleep or bear noise even – your incidence of me sees clearer than any lens, and when fond of, you will make out of my clenched fists, when put together, a diptych with your hands taken into, receiving constantly the burden of days 3 As destination of a truth that is if you listen that there is something inaudible in this reality – your dream will make an apparition out of its center, said when it is too comfortable to even slouch at a constant day, setting this faculty tranquil the face of a punctual eve somnambulating through towns triggered by dim white light, forcing windows to contract, the body somewhere afloat, contacting the precision of something as rescue, your life seen with value when peril touches your deepest parts, almost daily in this location as if you were shorn out of difficulty, looking for me to halve all of this.

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The man is mad but, he is fair The hostages' fate flips in the air The coin tumbles, two sides, a pair Gravity steers to the man in his chair "Fate" says the man, "is in our hands" Result occluded, desperate strands The verdict of nefarious plans "We all want--NO! We demand!" "We all believe there is something owed" "A cache of treasure just for us, stowed" "Our wealth for subscribing to control" "A fruitless and folly toll" The man of madness makes his reveal The future of the captives it did seal Heads or tails, bound they reel Hopes palpable of a favorable deal "It seems that you will all be set free" A sigh emanates amongst the captive company Bonds removed, Stockholm comradery A passing dismissal to the powers that be "Free from 'freedom', this was your chance" "To escape this tired song and dance" "You could have been heroes, not this stance" "To return to comfortable circumstance" "The path you celebrate was the failure state" "Decency and humanity to arbitrate" "I cannot harm a life doomed to wait" "More than the misery in your own stake" "I have achieved nothing but, you have lost" "A life with no meaning worth the cost" "A Hallmark version of Faust" "A reality casually glossed" The hostages promptly depart All aside from this seeming upstart Younger then the rest, set apart Comes inquisition from the heart; "Did you think these people would change their minds?" "Where fed insipid mediocrity is all there is left to find?" "A people who measure themselves in how far they are behind?" "Zealots perpetuating ego with no concept to be kind" The man takes the coin of 'governance' and reveals the truth: It was blank on both sides.

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Jul 25, 2024

Jul 25, 2024 at 5:05 AM UTC

Two Sides of the Coin

The man is mad but, he is fair The hostages' fate flips in the air The coin tumbles, two sides, a pair Gravity steers to the man in his chair "Fate" says the man, "is in our hands" Result occluded, desperate strands The verdict of nefarious plans "We all want--NO! We demand!" "We all believe there is something owed" "A cache of treasure just for us, stowed" "Our wealth for subscribing to control" "A fruitless and folly toll" The man of madness makes his reveal The future of the captives it did seal Heads or tails, bound they reel Hopes palpable of a favorable deal "It seems that you will all be set free" A sigh emanates amongst the captive company Bonds removed, Stockholm comradery A passing dismissal to the powers that be "Free from 'freedom', this was your chance" "To escape this tired song and dance" "You could have been heroes, not this stance" "To return to comfortable circumstance" "The path you celebrate was the failure state" "Decency and humanity to arbitrate" "I cannot harm a life doomed to wait" "More than the misery in your own stake" "I have achieved nothing but, you have lost" "A life with no meaning worth the cost" "A Hallmark version of Faust" "A reality casually glossed" The hostages promptly depart All aside from this seeming upstart Younger then the rest, set apart Comes inquisition from the heart; "Did you think these people would change their minds?" "Where fed insipid mediocrity is all there is left to find?" "A people who measure themselves in how far they are behind?" "Zealots perpetuating ego with no concept to be kind" The man takes the coin of 'governance' and reveals the truth: It was blank on both sides.

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some are battle hardened but most in the end are broken down - a strange kind of peacekeeping the leaving of the gun behind but never truly subscribing to peace just broken down

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Aug 6, 2015

Aug 6, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC

some are battle hardened but most in the end are broken down - a strange kind of peacekeeping the leaving of the gun behind but never truly subscribing to peace just broken down

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gender neutral pronoun application, and... and an awareness for the "concept" of... space... like... being inquisitive of a spatial standard... of... he: ought to do and she: ought to take... men do better cooking than women... i am to blame, as what point? now? **** you, cubicle Humphreys! i die by the solid tactic of subscribing to paying tax... you ******* increment of i.q. worth! i'm your friend, am i? friendly as a ******* mosquito... i don't want to be part of this, "war", no more than i want to be involved in, "it"... savvy? i forgot to chant... is that a "bad" thing? i keep forgetting to ensure... that... piling on skulls in a pyramid fashion was a... good "thing"! **** "wasn't, wasn't?!" afghan rebels, all readied to misgender the crop of... waiting for the vagina-cock ****** & **** dynamic in the obstruct format for teenagers... but hell... let's rebel contra grammar... you are, dear, mother, your father's wishbone... and what am i? wish... a... hotel abdandoned to encompass filming the shining... you are, most, most, welcome, in claiming to focus on a diatribe; yes? i call it a leisure... to fake anti-gravity levitation tactics... activity... a streisand-hoffman effect... born a jew: never die a redford... or a tony curtis... or a newman... blue eyes... blue tongue... ate more testicles' worth of a circumcision in the parade of humor.... gimmick than... the allowance of extracting ******** for... the skin leaving scoop of allowed tattoos! plenty of alt-fiction sci-fi b-movie templates... and that house is in order... do we have to fake playing bargain economics for the remains of Damascus? no? good... i don't want to visit tel aviv either.

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Feb 17, 2019

Feb 17, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

titdal, if it wasn't a wave (the boogie boogie man)

gender neutral pronoun application, and... and an awareness for the "concept" of... space... like... being inquisitive of a spatial standard... of... he: ought to do and she: ought to take... men do better cooking than women... i am to blame, as what point? now? **** you, cubicle Humphreys! i die by the solid tactic of subscribing to paying tax... you ******* increment of i.q. worth! i'm your friend, am i? friendly as a ******* mosquito... i don't want to be part of this, "war", no more than i want to be involved in, "it"... savvy? i forgot to chant... is that a "bad" thing? i keep forgetting to ensure... that... piling on skulls in a pyramid fashion was a... good "thing"! **** "wasn't, wasn't?!" afghan rebels, all readied to misgender the crop of... waiting for the vagina-cock ****** & **** dynamic in the obstruct format for teenagers... but hell... let's rebel contra grammar... you are, dear, mother, your father's wishbone... and what am i? wish... a... hotel abdandoned to encompass filming the shining... you are, most, most, welcome, in claiming to focus on a diatribe; yes? i call it a leisure... to fake anti-gravity levitation tactics... activity... a streisand-hoffman effect... born a jew: never die a redford... or a tony curtis... or a newman... blue eyes... blue tongue... ate more testicles' worth of a circumcision in the parade of humor.... gimmick than... the allowance of extracting ******** for... the skin leaving scoop of allowed tattoos! plenty of alt-fiction sci-fi b-movie templates... and that house is in order... do we have to fake playing bargain economics for the remains of Damascus? no? good... i don't want to visit tel aviv either.

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Glamour, health and politics, are ideal morning topics blending well with hot coffee, and, these early risers...share openly their impassioned accounts, simultaneously seething, with a dark and strong bubbling sea, making the most, out of a few hours of bonding, breakfasting, after morning chi kung (sometimes, with family, reuniting...) they have moved with the times and days, subscribing to both old and acceptable new ways... anger and dislike are voiced gently no despair hidden...i believe, not a tad of ennui, .......surely... these ladies have no fancy hats, flowered, feathered, or with colored tats no jewels crown their heads...........just plain hair: black, brown, long or bobbed, no pearls grace their necks.....or gloves that are trimmed, to hide overworked hands, or wrinkled knuckles......they're past their golden years, prim and proper, their own sets of rules are flames burning, steam rising, like those of coffee brewing deep in their minds...their values, churning, their inner beauty, transcending... their mornings are like a coffee maker, brimming with bubbles and dark swirls, tamed, paled in mugs, when cream is added in twirls... complex issues considered taboo, sometimes, even plain tattoos are discussed in hushed tones voices agree or disagree...until froth is gone and bubbles have simmered down... the hours are fleeting, time passes so swiftly one has gone...but these enterprising ladies excitedly plan ahead, for their next assembly... Sally Copyright November 2, 2016 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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Feb 17, 2018

Feb 17, 2018 at 7:58 PM UTC

Glamour, health and politics, are ideal morning topics blending well with hot coffee, and, these early risers...share openly their impassioned accounts, simultaneously seething, with a dark and strong bubbling sea, making the most, out of a few hours of bonding, breakfasting, after morning chi kung (sometimes, with family, reuniting...) they have moved with the times and days, subscribing to both old and acceptable new ways... anger and dislike are voiced gently no despair hidden...i believe, not a tad of ennui, .......surely... these ladies have no fancy hats, flowered, feathered, or with colored tats no jewels crown their heads...........just plain hair: black, brown, long or bobbed, no pearls grace their necks.....or gloves that are trimmed, to hide overworked hands, or wrinkled knuckles......they're past their golden years, prim and proper, their own sets of rules are flames burning, steam rising, like those of coffee brewing deep in their minds...their values, churning, their inner beauty, transcending... their mornings are like a coffee maker, brimming with bubbles and dark swirls, tamed, paled in mugs, when cream is added in twirls... complex issues considered taboo, sometimes, even plain tattoos are discussed in hushed tones voices agree or disagree...until froth is gone and bubbles have simmered down... the hours are fleeting, time passes so swiftly one has gone...but these enterprising ladies excitedly plan ahead, for their next assembly... Sally Copyright November 2, 2016 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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love and all, but truly a form of distancing, love among distances, and if in close affection, a love loved for an ideal rather than coherent practice of your biological conquest of history, really, darwinism chose a wrong sparring partner, instead of theology it should have chosen history! love and all, but truly a form of distancing. words aren't enough to decipher what i saw, a tearful girl on my moonlit path... ever look at a moon with sunglasses? i can't love you enough, because i simply can't love you... i don't get agitated as such, prostitutes don't lie... among them i the truth-teller... i have fewer words to say to encapsulate this... and poets are indeed the unaknowledged scribblers of events, so shaded so whole in eyes being pardoned... i, she, the street moonlit, i was there once, with a fox she walked past with mutual calm... why do i have my mother's eyes to cry with! the guilt of not subscribing to a mortgage or car insurance i mind to know avoided, avoided - and the killer ate with me... i want his mother's eyes!

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Mar 21, 2016

Mar 21, 2016 at 6:51 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

title (optional)

love and all, but truly a form of distancing, love among distances, and if in close affection, a love loved for an ideal rather than coherent practice of your biological conquest of history, really, darwinism chose a wrong sparring partner, instead of theology it should have chosen history! love and all, but truly a form of distancing. words aren't enough to decipher what i saw, a tearful girl on my moonlit path... ever look at a moon with sunglasses? i can't love you enough, because i simply can't love you... i don't get agitated as such, prostitutes don't lie... among them i the truth-teller... i have fewer words to say to encapsulate this... and poets are indeed the unaknowledged scribblers of events, so shaded so whole in eyes being pardoned... i, she, the street moonlit, i was there once, with a fox she walked past with mutual calm... why do i have my mother's eyes to cry with! the guilt of not subscribing to a mortgage or car insurance i mind to know avoided, avoided - and the killer ate with me... i want his mother's eyes!

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Being, behind the words Feels a sublime ease With a calm memory A sense of being alive In no Man’s land Subscribing a new world order With a sacred realm Encrypted hope Where, The soul speaks The Heart listens An Ancient script, In a native tongue Don’t get it, Regardless? A native tongue, Same syllable, Stammer astray Misspelled, misunderstood Those celestial pieces Being, gracefully rude Phenomenal, All in Innocence.

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Feb 6, 2018

Feb 6, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC

mystic-ink-plus

Being, behind the words Feels a sublime ease With a calm memory A sense of being alive In no Man’s land Subscribing a new world order With a sacred realm Encrypted hope Where, The soul speaks The Heart listens An Ancient script, In a native tongue Don’t get it, Regardless? A native tongue, Same syllable, Stammer astray Misspelled, misunderstood Those celestial pieces Being, gracefully rude Phenomenal, All in Innocence.

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If there's one thing I know best It's My obsession Which lay deep down In a room with shackles Waiting for that uncontrollable period To exhibit it shape I know for sure it changes shape To be satisfied with figure For obsession show's With out knowing It stain without showing Just like a phone with password I tell you it always a reminder As date is. It's certained that obsession leads to Desiree's Some can't be spoken of Nor to be believed For to know an individual Know his obsession And to know his desire Hook up to his obsession Like subscribing to YouTube...

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Sep 11, 2020

Sep 11, 2020 at 7:08 PM UTC

If there's one thing I know best It's My obsession Which lay deep down In a room with shackles Waiting for that uncontrollable period To exhibit it shape I know for sure it changes shape To be satisfied with figure For obsession show's With out knowing It stain without showing Just like a phone with password I tell you it always a reminder As date is. It's certained that obsession leads to Desiree's Some can't be spoken of Nor to be believed For to know an individual Know his obsession And to know his desire Hook up to his obsession Like subscribing to YouTube...

Continue reading...