Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Thewallflowerguy Jul 2020
Legs feel weaker
Eyes want to stay shut
It's like my body doesn't want to move anymore
Stop seeing anything but darkness
All my hurt and pain visibly coming out of me
One puke and tear drop at a time
My heart beats faster and faster as if wanting to complete all the beats it has remaining in this instant
I imagine this is what a robot experiencing a malfunction feels like
But then again, a robot can't feel anything
What I would give to be able to not feel anything right now
Or just be able to swtich off with the hit of a button
This is what I felt like after being rejected. Maybe others went through a similar experience. Or maybe this rejection hit way harder than most because it was a best friend.
Edward Coles Jul 2014
There is a beer can bobbing on the horizon.
It poisons the sea; La Cerveza Valdez,
an opposable thumb to flip the swtich.

I think being human is an artwork.
Pierce me, flay my arms in tribal shapes,
kiss the rag of religion, break your soles

for the Hajj. Let's overpopulate the party,
trading red for blue in an endless procession
of masks. Let's straitjacket our sanity,

and document our depressions in late-night
emails, and early morning black coffee.
I lost my mind when I turned sober,

remembering what it means to forget.
There is a hospital bed in the future.
But there are pills I can take for that.
c
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
ι.

you might call them terrorists, or islamic fundamentalists... me? i just call them sand-*******, or camel-jockeys.

ιι.

imagine the movies from the 60s... esp. cleopatra... see that long roman armshake? they don't actually shake hands, they pause in the middle of holding each others' arms, just below the elbow. this practice was translated, but in a verse of insult, not the shakespearean (romeo & juliet): flicking one's thumb against someone... i.e., lodging your incisor into your thumb on the inner side of the nail and then flicking the thumb from the grip of the incisors lodged in the nail gap... anway... this is the elevation of showing the ******* at someone - *tu sie zgina dziób pingwina
(here's where a penguin's beak bends) -
                     and all you do is fold your arm and point
with your protruding elbow... to basically say *******...
         i call it the last roman revelation,
         the long handshake being one,
                and the protruding elbow of the folded arm
as the higher form of expressing the *******.

ιιι.

this is the state english "existentialism" is in, in an article written by a ms. day... she uses the reference of a vowel with diacritical "tattoo" (marking / stressor) as an ambiguity, i.e. she calls ā (an A, with a macron "tattoo") as a long "a"... that could **** anyone off... long "a"? that's canadian short for asking for approval? the ****'s matter with you? ah... no diacritical marks in general, in the anglo-spreschen... i can't even be bewildered by this expression, given the facts of a lack of prolonging a vowel / breath, akin to speaking africaan (africān) when stating: **** i'm ******... let's go to the turk for a kébāb.

ιv.

western fascination with buddhism, the peddle-stool that westerners treat buddhism for a prop to hide their nihilism? what's a westerner's answer? in a cartesian format, counter res cogitans, i.e. res vanus;
and that's it... no mention of the spirituality of not thinking for a moment, very much akin to wishing to have written a fictional narrative as a form of escapism; so why buddhism, and not jainism, to be influenced by?

v.

ooh, **** me... hardly a strange comparison, but a *** and ms. pepsi sharpshooter... ****, white *** slithers down your mouth like a serpent without shedding its skin, that dark *** promotes; i think i'm going to swtich.

vι.

so regarding ms. day's saturday supplement article, the observation by huysmans (against nature) was correct... the aristocrats' greatest privilege isn't wealth to be exact: it's the capacity for being the greatest weirdos, unfathomable fetishists of materialism, and that's the transcended form of their ****** dubiousness, regarding the act of a swan's (actually noble) matrimony; ever heard that story? swan pair up for life... if one partner dies... the other swan remain in a perpetuated "limbo" of widowhood... for some reason, time expands, everything slows down for them; "aristocrats"? demented dogs, ******* your leg; ******* are weird as... well... ****!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
come to think of it,
     i can hardly concern myself with
speaking two languages,
among the polyglots i'm
   hardly...
                      what the normies,
locals, natives:
                     call schizophrenic...
yeah: split-brain...
        i don't speak two languages:
i walk in two trenches,
   among the no-man's land
of the everyday grey and
sadly forgetable... as in:
                               well adjusted.

trust an estonian to conjure
up "premature dementia"
                  as a precursor for
the easily available term of what
becomes a medicinal metaphor
and a lost metaphor:
     which i, just so happens,
stumbled upon.
               dumb ape in england,
chamaleon in poland...
       mind you:
              can "you" even imagine
becoming entrenched
in two languages?

        luckily for the polyglot
there's an intact aspect of him
easily acquiring the multiplicity...
        1st generation migrant
and...
          you know those 2nd
generation ***-nibbling-beavers?
     vector-boy doesn't
want to come out and play today...
no medicinal view,
   no... Hippocratic oath to mind...
writing, as if humming a lullaby...
nothing of
snap and col(l)age format...
      i really think that's an excessive
use of L... too much association
with: college...
      i mean: i haven't read
a single book by stephen king...
it's almost a shame...
   but then diffusion and cinema
happens...
      and why wouldn't i be disorientated?
if england wants to treat
bilingualism as schizophrenia,
   then at least i can point
to the clear divide...
                 tickling inorganic
artifacts of a past: when sentenced
to speak before a tangible
representative of the secular
faith of the asylum...

            play my cards right:
           i might even become a priest.
not that i didn't mind asking
cesare borgia for directions...
        i really did take to the brothel
and a ***** as an imitation
of going to confession...
            took to the religious theme
like a good catholic post-scriptum...
**** my altar my flower
               my eaten heart...

when *** takes up religious
   royalities,
               metaphors,
   and everything else,
  not bound to economising with
a spouse...

another thing i can congest
into my pigeon-brain...
    the "supposed" power of
metaphor in dis-ease
   (negation of ease) -
                       at least metaphor
is a coping mechanism
   to what is otherwise,
just dumb placebo pushing
  with self-"help"...
      the whole genre of "literature"?
placebo.

- but i never thought that
england would deem bilingualism
to be equivalent to schizophrenia...
there goes my Napoleon quote...

almost all psychiatric definitions
  of "madness"
           resonate unde the umbrella
of lathargy, in unison;
     what's sad about depression?
         that there's some sort of romance,
a mystery...
          behind plain old lethargy...
can't exactly feel pumped up
            when there's no sweating
horse next to you, but a sanitised swtich
ON / OFF...

         madness "is" an attempt to
make lethargy base yet at the same time
                                 eloquent...
       a romance among kings,
                a whip among paupers...

        what,
   because             every
                 is            "is"              
                           an
                                             =            ?

— The End —