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aviisevil Sep 2017
Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.

Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.

From Compton to the streets
I heard their names
From a random city
I try but i have no game
I have no name, and no shame
Feed me your hollow
I'll eat away a part of your blame
I'll follow you around the world
Just tell me my name ?

I'm no one, no heart, maybe someone
But no scars, I'm tired and done,
so fired up,
In love, here to lose and burn.

I'll never learn that i can
Never ever reach the sky
More lies, sure i'll cry,
If someday i die, before my time
Maybe it's all in my mind
The walls and the rhymes
The kind man and the blind
I don't understand but it's fine

I'm not gonna make it
I hate it, hate that fact
In fact, it makes me want to
Not be mad, makes me sad
That I wasn't raised to be bad
Taught to be mad,

So normal, wearing formal
Staying dormant, fearing gold
And the glittering ornaments
There's no fun in fancy garments
I don't have any green for the

Maybe I was wrong to seek
Not meant to speak anything foreign

Always looking for questions on the line, online, on random forums, what's mine
Whats yours, nobody knows and that's the moment, where you can find your torment,

The pain would still grow and my voice will still hurt, fill my share of world with words and more dirt,

Dawn to dust, gone with rust, here i lust lest i fall in love, and i know i cannot keep up, i'm so fed up, stuck within myself and locked, with no one to talk, not enough space for me to walk, i wear no face and i am who i am not, when I see in the mirror it stops, the clock is shattered, and it doesn't matter who won.

Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.

Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.

that old man on the pavement has no eyes,
It's better to be cold than to live in a fear you cannot describe,
With every tear we hide, more of us, and more of us die,
every year we make a resolution for pollution and we try,
to fly without wings, we can do without things,
they say sky is the limit, but nobody asks why, why can't we search for it within

People going bezerk over little things, and you cannot win,
Or you'll be left in a riddle, felt alight for a while and now i'm back in the middle playing second fiddle to my heart that is brittle,

My pain won't wither, and they won't whisper to me why they linger

All around my soul, masking me whole, and i keep asking why am I so cold ?
Where is the life, my rhymes, that line when I need something to hold

Nothing's new and I've said everything I had to say before,
Painting my blues, as i can, but I don't understand, i'm never sure,

Have no clue, they've locked the door, and now i'm a mad-man.

And the madness grows, the sadness knows, as the winds blows,

And the sand eats the earth, we were all dirt, we are all dust.

And nobody knows.

Yeah, i read, i read all day
I bleed, i feed all day, i see
I'm free all day, and it repeats
It eats into my brain and it feeds
It sinks deep inside my viens
And inks me when I'm asleep
I blink and what i am think-ing
Makes no sense in a heart beat
It's so hard to beat what you need
And what you keep is so hard to reach
Its better to be ripped apart in pieces
Than to leave it out in the open to feed
So broken and apart but still i greed
No smile on my face but i still greet
Every tear with the same surprise
My brain is in a free- fall i cannot
Describe, i don't subscribe to what
I believe, i believe more in lies
They teach more than they preach
And that's enough confusion
To suffice, in so many illusions
You cannot seek that one delusion
And become what you cannot hide
It's true, the dead cannot die
No good-bye's, it's all in our heads
But we don't get, we are designed to
Forget but maybe just not yet, no, not today, I keep telling myself all night
From so far away, there are so many ways,
She could have stayed, he could have stayed, but nobody stays, and nobody stayed, and that's how we were made, so broken and vile.

I breathe beneath the ocean
And i drink my tears out in the open
My head is a night and eyes broken
I say things loud in fear, so rotten
And soon i'll be forgotten.

Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.

Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.

And he keeps me, never leaves me
It loves me and feeds me
When I'm down it needs me
Never around when it eats me
Laid on the ground in the end,
Six feet too deep, or maybe burning
It's better to be afraid than never be
Found, better to hate, than be bitter
It's better to wither than drown.

So wear your crown of ****,
And wear your gown of thorns
That never fits, let it sync
You were born in a ****** place and an old town.

So wear that face, and glow
For nobody can know, it's been sinking and it's been syncing, and you've been dreaming, and it's so loud.

Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.

Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.
I've missed this place.
Carter Ginter Oct 2018
When I was a kid
I used to lip-sync in the mirror
Dancing around and
Breathing in the words
Even back then
Nothing inspired me more than music
Interestingly though
It could only be songs by men
I could still jam to women's songs
But I couldn't watch myself do it
It gave me a lot of anxiety to see
Those beautiful feminine voices
Matched to the way my mouth moved
I didn't understand it back then
I'm starting a new series about my process of realizing, acknowledging, embracing, and celebrating my trans identity.
life's jump Jul 2015
you have your head
held in a smile
three fingers fitting
your shades
imagined what you'd say
how your voice would stay
talking as you type
your lips lipping the lines
As you write
You are..sometimes
my music
syncing syncing syncing
my                  ..removed device

i don't mind
guessing around,
i am
poetry nights

are Our-
   my favorite thing to like
                       as a mystery
even though you're
for Ann~
Cunning Linguist Aug 2015
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension

Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients

Build machines
Let's worship them as deities
These artificial beings'
technologic virus breeds
terminal disease
Merged with my brain
The wiring decides our fate
Conspiring to forsake flesh x2

Rise and synchronize god-like drones
We will act as one, claim our throne

Life digitized in the matrix
True perfection, forged genetics

Synapses burning out: disconnecting
Rewriting all of my algorithms
Porting the source code
to run new platforms
We're forever dying to be reborn

Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension

Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients

Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension

We'll levitate, escape
This ruthless ungodly space
A lifetime uploaded
'Deus ex machina' aside from the literary technique literally translates as god from the machine. Makes me think of artificial intelligence becoming godlike. Very heavily inspired by the movie Transcendence. These are lyrics from my band Subnuba.
Copyright Reid Donovan, Adrian Ocaña 2015
I know a bit about
learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching


I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen

despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands

I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride

devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession

but I already know
what he’s saying

stop dancing like that
in front of our son

you mean…

to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?

one day that boy
will be a man
who knows


than to ever
call a goddess

a ***** in the kitchen
krista Oct 2013
i.*   i've always loved the way the earth looks from an airplane window, small enough that i can filter through an entire city with my fingers and never encounter a single face that inhabits it. but this time, i looked out and could see nothing but green for miles. it was as if god himself could put his infinite hands together and they would still fill with trees and branches and coffee-stained rivers instead of people. i didn't know it was possible to drown in so much color.

ii.   a man who spoke in splintered english and carried a machete told me that he could survive in the rainforest for a month without supplies, that the jungle ran through his bloodstream as he imagined gasoline and city lights flickered through mine. the day he took us hiking on the trails, he glided through the understory barefoot, pausing just long enough each time to see if we were keeping up.

iii.   some mornings, i lay in bed still wishing i could turn the chorus of car horns outside my window into the songs of howler monkeys echoing across the treetops and into my dreams.

iv.   at night, we walked down a beach, dragging sand and weariness in our socks and watching the waves crest along the shore. i looked to my right and the stars leaned so close into the forest that they simply became twinkling electric lights atop palm tree lampposts. my feet even tasted the stars beneath them; when i kicked up sand, tiny constellations startled scurrying ***** into the tide.

v.   you will always be the first country that trusted me with a bottle in my hand, as i stole through the midnight streets of san pedro with the taste of *** mixing in with the laughter i felt hidden under my tongue. and in the morning, i awoke to a faint dizziness and the memory of boys who bought me drinks and asked for nothing more than a dance and a handful of stories in return.

vi.   *muy exótica
, they murmured as i walked down the road, my heartbeat syncing with the wheels of my suitcase as they rolled over the uneven dirt. a pair of enamored scarlet macaws held no magic for them now; the real exotic specimen was the girl whose almond eyes were filled with desert sand, whose skin only became mocha when the sun stared at it too long. they couldn't turn away.

vii.   i still have countless bug bites that dance across the backs of my legs in tingling trails. i hope the scars stay long enough for me to trace them back to the place where they were choreographed.

viii.   only one of a thousand sea turtle hatchlings will reach adulthood, yet i watched one of eight make its way from my hand to the ocean until it caught the sunrise and disappeared. i kept my palm open as i waved goodbye, hoping he would someday be able to read his way back home.

ix.   the last night, we danced under a shower of stars and you told me about a time that you smoked until twilight and saw sea turtles dancing on the beach to bob marley. while we were sitting there wishing the storm would swallow up time, i imagined piro beach was littered with the shells of sea turtles using the moonlight as it pulsed off the waves to teach each other how to salsa too.

x.   i've never written a love song, but i spent my days in a hammock wishing i knew enough words in spanish to weave together one for costa rica. i wonder if i will spend my life falling in love with places and scattering pieces of my heart across the continents like turtle eggs without ever finding the one location i'd like to bury them deep into the sand and wait for life to dig its way back out.
// for costa rica, te amo
My chest rises and
Falls in a matching rhythm,
Syncing along yours.
Jon Elfers Feb 2015
mouth syncing up digital brain,
electrically bounding the physical
with the ethereal analog bond
bound up and wrapped,
in fiber optic blankets,
secrets passing layer to layer
heard only by quadraphonic
receivers echoing out
into a singularity of conciseness,
confirmed by units of two
Pedro Tejada Jun 2010
You don't love
you love the
tip of the iceberg
that is your idea of me;
the sugar-coated mute
leading herds
of unfinished sentences
down the copious hills
of his insecurity;
the nice little writer
whose constant attempts
at legendary one-liners
are as hit-or-miss
as a sitcom still airing
far past its prime.

I possess three biomes,
or, rather, three networks
of personalities and identities.
I am much more than
the Jack Macfarland archetype
lip-syncing to Cher in the one
gay bar in town, tyrannically
governing your wardrobe,
possessing a razor-sharp wit
cast toward the backs of his community
in the form of an outdated punchline-
my work on that show
lost its Willful relevance
and Graceful naivete
years ago.

I am of the generation
fed media saturation
three four-hour meals a day,
who ingested cardboard cadavers
as if they were mother's milk
and internally mutated their
thoughts and desires
to fit the compact time frame
of 30 minutes
to settle the series' worth
of traumas and neuroses
while making it home for dinner
to stay tuned for what's
next in the lineup.

Speaking as a casualty of this
inevitable chain of events,
I regretfully declare that even
those who have seen
every episode of myself
for the past six seasons
are still light years away
from the room full of faces
unencumbered by euphemism.
ALamar Feb 2017
Tell me every one of your issues
Lay them next to mine
I'll be your warmth for this cold world
I've got the medicine for your mind
All you have to do is yield your guard for a moment
and give in to the climb
Pressed up against you I'm getting hard
Can hear your heart beating see the sweat beading
Your tender knees trembling
In consent  I slip
My hands down your pants
Your head
leans back with your slightly opened eyes appearing closed almost
Your soft moaning only turns me onward commencing
Touching and teasing
Muscles clinching
Firm gripping I'm
Massaging and rubbing your ****
Circularly succulently ******* the taste of your juices off everyone of my fingertips
This is what's typically done
After a mental ****** and the ****** attraction of foreplay
It. Makes. You. ***.

... Selah ...

Sipping sweet melanin
Dripping off the lips of your *****
Bursting with ignition
The taste of your black...berry
Licking the overflow off your body
******* 'til spirits nod
'NAO' emanating from the iPod
Bending syncing your body with a mind despondent of time
No restrictions don't constrict
Just grab my **** and maneuver it like a guided ship
With the lights off find the throbbing swollen slit and put the head in
And dip the tip of my **** inside your ***** far afield
Only yield after you've had enough
But not until I'm deep enough...To Fill You Up
Danielle Shorr Apr 2015
Palm of hand touching hair touching cheek touching
you for the first time
Lend me your hips like
a sweet favor
I will teach this body rhythm and
the music of us will echo into
the bricked walls, syncing together melodies of
contact, electrical wire sparking in this blood, your
heart beating its way out of chest,
the softness, a catalyst for fire, I almost
swear I can hear the air particles kissing,
speaking, they are singing,
closer, closer

"gravity, is working against me"

the dark means nothing without
a glow under covers and
wrinkled sheets holding us eager, silent learning,
don't let go just yet,
we are falling,
further into each other,

"just keep me where the light is."
Awesome Annie May 2015
My hands are small
wrists delicate
they are beautifully worn.

I could run
my fingertips
your soft skin
tracing muscles
and grasping all of you.

I want to cup them
and catch your tears
hold your sadness
and allow you to feel healed.

My hands miss yours hands
the space
between my fingers
must be made to fit

I want
that privilege
of intertwining
syncing into each other
through touch.
Dawn of Lighten Nov 2015
Moved by the guiding hands of the wind,
While avoiding the living room box's trend.

Although fixate with this generation's iPad,
Or impulse to explore the Xbox's dungeon,
And glimpse the pages of the Forbe, the Facebook, and the likes.

Make time to be in the moment of solace,
A time to dream to explore ideals,
Like floating in nebula avoiding the all powerful black hole.

Navigating the void of the sense of inner torment,
Or charting the boundries of the next voyages of personal task.

One does need to depart from disparity of news,
Or lose sense of humanity by deprived reality TV,
For satirical movies like Idiocracy prophesied seem realized.

One does need to regroup in personal cocoon,
Meld by the silent melodies of beating chest,
Like metronome syncing the keys of the piano to Bach,
While breathing upon the horizon of rebirth,
And find your enshrouded foggy path by beacon of self enlightenment.
There are times a pure silence, and solitude seem necessary to clear filth of the worldly garbages! While enjoying the sweet scent of air, lounging in a coffee shop or book stores, and sip on a true Cuban coffee!   Honestly espresso has nothing on a proper Cuban coffee!
*I saw those reddish exposed ice age soil
There Jack fruits were growing without any toil
After rain the smell of the volatile mud
had seemed very earthy flavor
The Jack fruits had grown that you could eat
The ripe aroma was blowing around the forest
At night wild Jackals were barking  
huka hua….
huka hua ….

Mother was lip syncing the lullaby
A Little baby were trying to turn a sleep
huka hua….
huka hua ….

The hungry Jackals were barking
An owl night was calling in my mind
And the Jackals were grabbing
All those Jack fruits in that dark night
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
i was wandering alone in the forest where i saw the reddish mud after rain and so many jack fruits in the forest when owl was crying and jackals were barking at night.
samuel nathan Aug 2011
i find myself sitting
drinking smoking
the saving grace
late night Kung Fu
on the television
white lotus clan style
against my swooping crane
defending honor
defining lip syncing
dignity left sinking
carefully choreographed madness
and somehow greatly unappreciated
they talk of honor and nobility
over tea
they talk of nonsense over spirits
fire in the holy temple
fire at the end
of my cigarette
as the fastest the eldest the master
returns to reign down vengeance
beckoning begging for a challenge
none to be found
bar none
in bar in land in tale
art in martial form
smiling like a school boy
bringing this certain soulless individual
Daniel Magner Jan 2014
Someone to
lay in bed with
listening to
Red, Red Wine
lip syncing
to every
"Just one thing makes me forget, red, red, wine"

Daniel Magner 2014
helena ferpin Apr 2015
We talk,
We know.
We kiss,
We love.


She walks away,
I fall apart.
I get together,
She starts to doubt.

She falls apart,
I'm far away.
She brings me closer,
I start to doubt.

We talk,
We don't know.
We kiss,
Maybe we're wrong.


She starts to cry,
I calm her down.
Love is here,
Why can't we see?

Blindness is gone,
I kiss her eyes.
She hugs me tight,
I can see her insides.

We talk,
Now we know.
We feel,
We can't be wrong.



So much happiness
So much love
Happy tears
And now the void.

We don't talk,
We know.
We don't know what we know.
What's going on?

(Fear gently approaches)

I start to doubt,
She's far away.
Bodies so close,
Never enough.

Beating hearts,
Holding hands,
Syncing sighs,
Silence awaits.

We don't talk.
Are we done?
We're so close,
Love can't be gone.


I start to cry,
She hugs me tight.
What does it mean?
There's no reply.

We're blind again.
What happens now?
If this isn't the end,
Where has it gone?
Why do we never know enough of happy ends?
Rebecca Dec 2014
we are people composed of completely different chords and varying levels of volume.  i play one way, you play another.  i go up, you go down.  never syncing, we end up sinking.  spitting up all my regret, your noise level grows hushed and mine rings tones of a plea for you to stay.  crashing, clanging, booming, ear-splitting.  stay, stay, stay.  finding myself sitting still and still sitting with a buzz trapped between my ears.  the past has passed, but you haven't forgotten a single note.  nevertheless, my song still echoes over, "come home, come home."  just please give it one more listen before you completely fade out.

Socally Picter Aug 2012
Saying words meaning nothing, transfixed with "I"
it's startes every sentence, and if i could i'd end with I.
Only opinion that matters is my own, mastery is a poem.
syncing lines with words and words weighing me down like stones.
Thoughts so sad they corrode my morals like acid.
sitting on my bed, it starts and i become homesick.
Pathetic as i once was and even more so, can you believe it?
still smiling and laughing at jokes never said, hoping to break even.
We're going out, it's all on me, except for the money and the driving.
your phone is probably blowing up from all the numbers you're dialing.
never not gonna do what we did last weekend, eh?
Slow jamming to oldies in a "Smoke that bud" kinda way.
Chain smoking for fun, and laugh at silent jokes.
planning our next unknown move, totally stoked.
A Queen is just a pawn with fancy moves, you say.
those weren't queens but it doesn't mean we're not kings, i say.
They were ordinary but we made them out to someone extra-ordinary.
Alright lets stop this nonsense, thinking about people who don't deserve it.
my emotions are swelling and empty, complicated i don't know how else to word it.
I watched the television for lack of a hot girl bent over the pool table.
Tonight had been a dead night and I was simply counting the hours till I would
pass the **** out and start it all over again.

I herd one of the overrated windbags on the screen  say.
Tonight were here for the art and to honor the artist.
Yet in the sea of  overdressed teenagers I saw no art just some corporate nimrods  who were selling songs like a ****** sold her *** out on the street.

The glitz the glamour wasn't to honor it was a marketing tool  for record labels to push there new product.
And like any good **** they had brought a slew of there finest ****** on display for the wolves.

It was a true gathering of the young and mindless.
While all your favorite overplayed annoying as **** ****** and ******* were there all
acting as if they were having a blast and lip syncing to all there soon to be forgotten pop
**** hits.

It was like being mind ***** by a ***** wonka .

And the first award goes to some stupid rehab bound **** who's currant record I really want two of.
One to **** on and one to cover it up with.

And just when it can get no worse we have to see washed up boy bands drag there over weight *****  upon the stage to try to get one last fix before they drop dead well we can always hope.

Yes for a channel that calls it's self music television yet plays no actual music why should have I expected any less.

Art isn't cooked up in some factory cranking out radio friendly bubble gum anthems
for little girls to scream to and perverts to have wet dreams to.

True art  doesn't wear a G string .
Just usually hot chicks or some fat chicks but that's not usually a G string it's just there underwear  has crawled up there *** dam optical illusions.

What **** are you watching!?
The old regular asked me as he pulled himself from his semi coma of watered down drinks
and half spent cigarettes.

You know there amigo sometimes even I don't know what to call it myself.

Yeah well if your not to busy looking at ******* give me another.

I flipped the idiot box off and gave the old ******* another round.
So grandpa I asked in my oh so charming  and down right annoying tone.
What do you thinks the problem with music today?

Well for one ******* your supposed to listen to music not watch it!
That and I miss the stuff the kids nowadays never hear.
Yeah there father time what's that my friend.

You know that **** called actual music.

Yes this relic of the past had a great point there was no depth in a child's swimming pool  
and as me and my lone customer counted the hours till this night's chapter of a close
slowly approached  we spoke of the classics  and did what any to fellow adults would do.

Turned the jukebox up and put the TV on mute.
cause art may not wear a G string but some really hot ***** do.
And no matter a mans age even Picasso could admire a fine ***.

Cheers kids.

JS CARIE May 2018
For the moment we rest
A single spot light saved their life tonight
Flurry wind carrying mist to their nest was the best to achieve
Feel content to perish
If my words will sink, float, grow or spin
With a view of her luminous gold green hazel piercing rings
Last night fall went hand in hand
Apropos of the longing after depart
Underneath a sky embrace
Syncing out through the spirals that she draws
Was a vanishing scent
That's impossible to seek and find
I'm a ****** for skin, snorting her all the way to my mind
There's a sign on my arm
And a still beating part that you own
And a vow to never do you harm
from my red Jurassic heart
Sam D May 2017
Envisioning that fruitful destination
Syncing her beats to each seconds
Yearning for a scented authority’s presence
Losing herself into a euphoric voltage
Pandemonium of such motives
Were always there..Always will be
She knows them. She longs for them
Every single time. Every single night
Surreal substances start to charge up
Making such explosions ready
Playing with an amorous fire, already
Expanding. Flaring. Urging. Settling
Surreal shade transforms
Into a crashing truculence
Calling that raw paradise of an ecstasy’s cage
Spreading between such lusciousness
Contemplating that dash of her lustrous rage
Shushing herself, oh so quietly
She awaits..
K Balachandran Sep 2015
And when at last she fell asleep,
For my sweetheart i kept vigil.
Syncing my life breath,
With her rhythmic heart beats,
For her I wrote,this song.
But she couldn't listen, not even once,
Though only for her I weaved it.

Night had her rendezvous with dawn,
At the end of her painful journey with little light,
My love left without a word, never to return
To gift me that lingering,tantalizing, sweet pain,
That makes me real; keeps the lover in me alive.

My orphaned song of doomed love,
Lost all it's meaning at that moment.
Like a lover who lost way to the rendezvous,
It kept on knocking my door, ever after.
In the insistent beating of the sea waves' passion
I heard my lost song ringing once again.
On a night the melancholy moon,went hiding.
I sat alone soaked in pain and sang my song.
It made me melt, I deeply felt,nature too sang along,
In a frenzy, I never ever did witness before.
Then, the pale moon, on an apparel in transparent cloud,
Danced forgetting all her pain , that found expression in many ways.

I now realize,that song wasn't just mine,
It has a life of it's own,in tongues it spoke.
Day and night to lovers, jilted, all those lost by mistake,
Now, it has a life of it's own, independent from all
Anywhere it  would  go alone.

                             I wrote a song, for none in particular,
                             Soon did I realize, it speaks to all pain filled hearts,
                            Love created the wistful mood,
                            My time alone with her filled the words.
                             And one day everyone who heard
                             This song sung,  will leave, but the song won't.

                            The night air will be filled with it's mute waves of pain,
                           On it the distant stars will float.
                            The wind will hum it,the interstellar space,
                            Will echo, it's cadence aloud.
                            Neither the words would  fade
                           Nor my passion for her ever would die.
Sarah K Nov 2014
I like handwritten letters
And old paper back books
I like walks downtown past old buildings
With peeling paint and cracked side walks
I like old sneakers with holes in them
And soles that scrape the ground when you walk
I like things with stories to tell

I like to meet people and talk about minimal things
Things that won't matter to anyone else
The things that cause their eyes to sparkle
And make a smile tug at their lips
I like to listen to their opinions
The things they feel such passion for

Yet I do not like to stick around
Never do I get close enough to touch
No one makes it past the mask of sincerity
Masterfully placed on my face
Never do I let them breach the surface

I like to stay light and free
Of hurt, pain, and complications
And humans carry these things with them everywhere they go
So once I've learned all I can about a person I move on to the next

And continue my journey of life

I like old fashioned romances
Throwing rocks at windows
And cool walks in the night holding hands
I like good morning wishes and butterfly kisses
I dream of embraces so close
You can feel the trickle of their breath on your neck
Their heartbeat involuntarily syncing with yours

I dream of these things
These things I have longed to feel

I still get excited at the sight of a swing left vacant at a playground
Or mini marshmallows in hot chocolate
On bitter winter nights.
Katharine Kvh May 2012
Bathtubs don’t work for quantum suicide
But every time I take one,
A part of me dies

What was nice under the crescent aglow?
Drunk on stars, or the moon lit show…

Ash of night, cradled what was once mine,
The repertoire of ever-syncing- jawlines.
Puissant is the chalice, its exaltation shined so bright,
Bestowed liberation underneath the chatoyant light,

The open windows left  niveous  fogs-
Breathed -stained –air,  against crystal *****.

Alive and one, under the entire earthly tempo,
Together left her organic imprints of art nouveau.
Beneath the warmth and petrichor ground,
The Lord and Lady commence to be crowned.
...Tree roots sink as veins of gods.
The serpent whispers his mellifluous facade...

The sharp shove of love’s first arrow
Lover’s spit, a seed for cupid’s bucolic furrow.
Scripture of Solomon’s *** temple of doom
All within the nicotine-stained-blue-infrared-bedroom,

Velvet allure, bellies of vigor,
The cold point, the pulled trigger.
Dance of Thelma, ancient cults of non-lovers
Feasting north, under the Horned God’s antlers.
The concoction of the widow’s deviated lust
Skins alive, the excited wolf-mans’ husk…

The gun’s mouth ex hailed bullets of smoke
Piercing hot wounds became tender lilts in up word strokes.
Still, they brought, perforating ice knives through the chest
Catching fades perpetually, just until two came abreast.
The shadow dalliance and hair pulls leave those weary,
The anise flower seeds sanction the suffering query.

What was once so beautiful at night?
Forgotten, as I turned red-haired-heathen in morning’s sight

So I take my hot bath, inure in my offing.
Emollient paean of the porcelain,
...which is my skin
See you, my ethereal being,
In short time spring will be fleeting
How funny is it when you write something and don't think about what your putting words into?,  then you read it,  like , ..."oh ****... that *is* what it means". It's a deep look into one's psyche,. sometimes fun and just  utterly depressing to analyze. writing is selfish

In my springtime,
when moonlit was falling from her(moon) height
mother was lip syncing the lullaby
and I turned to sleep
It grew a sweet dream of summer
that was created too many stir of dreams

Then I can remember,
when every year,
late autumn had come,
I kept my kite on the blue sky
that was floating with drifted clouds
and I was awaking again with a big shout
sometimes I had seen supernatural shadows on the evening sky

If I address my adult young
When the mystic purple camellia were blooming
the grasshoppers were rounding
and the beautiful shrubs of white flowers were dancing
with the gentle breeze,
I was wandering in the ground
then the bees were humming around
when I painted her wild beauty
and it seemed me as a sweetie

I know you say me a dreamer
but you don't know,
my grandfather was a farmer
and my father was a sailor
who was sailing away his life into the blue ocean

After then day by day I grew older
yet I have locked all those lost in a folder
and taken all those responsibility in my shoulder
after then I had fallen in too many doubts
it was again the too dark cloud’s shout
who are those dark clouds?
how did it melt and bring the tears!
how the petals of roses grew wither!

Then I drafted,
and drifted all of my dreams
then a train had come to my known station
and carried me again from the dark to light

Again I have made a dream
and I sing a song of spring
after then I take a sad song
and try to make it delighted
that certainly it makes me rolling,
and moving towards the sweet summer
but again the monsoon has blown
towards the dry leaves of murmur
and slowly and slowly,
it has swiped me toward the sound of banner
that was passing through my life

@ Musfiq us shaleheen
(for Joe Cole),
My dearest poet Joe Cole's 7th Challenge: The story of you
Here I try myself to write about me, a poetry for his challenge
Willoughby Lucas Sep 2012
On my first day he never spoke
My second day his lips brought forth letters
Then with the third we broached words
In a week there was a sentence
And after a month there were conversations.
Gradual steps to comfort, but strides in perception.

Wondering who he was I gathered some initiative
I tried to aim it gently but i probably hit a few nerves
Erratic as usual he might have regretted being hit
Carful as I could be but as clumsy as I am  
His glass spine shattered with my slightest presence
He's the vase but who could be his flowers
Im not delicate I won't be able to line his rims with petals
Im not poised I won't be able to color his reflection with a primary's elegance
Im not rigid I won't look strong or brilliant floating in the water that his depth holds
For all these reasons I shouldn't fill the bouquet his shape desires.

Wishing for the day when we would equal one
The pull of numbers to the decrease of a sum
Begging for a clock that provided us with the time to process love
The tug of a gear syncing to the motion of the machine
Praying for a reality where he would be a fixture in my future
The luminosity of a memory we share sparking with the light of mutual desire.
In the age of information

I'm breaking the silence

I would of stayed in Catholic school but I'm not homophobic

Ninth level of consciousness cellular to cosmic

Card counting black jack yelling Agenda 21

Planting precisely following my Mayan ancestor tree

Excuse my blood cells as they talk to me

My dead relatives did not frame the end of times

They simply said humans n earth are a co-existent life

I speak truth with no reason to lie

Sitting like an Indian syncing into earth

Defragmenting seven points of my anatomy

Praise your God i was not taught discriminology

156 energy centers of healing

Trust the Guatemalan

4.6 billion years of evolution

Ignorance is a option

Think outside.  not the box

From the laws of gravity my mind is expanding my thoughts

Fact or fiction where is your jurisdiction

Read the instruction in general especially if its federal

Detox my pineal gland from all toxins

Say something useless

Escaped never land to find the promise land

The source of our problems like the Act of 1871

Occupy wall street followed by area 51...
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
On my way home from work-- as I stared at the random stranger with the shy eyes but eager smile across from me on the G train-- it happened. It was almost hallucinatory. I rubbed my eyes, stared up at the lights and moved on to another equally random stranger sitting on the other end of the train. He wore his headphones with pride, and the smile beaming from his face was in constant motion-- lip syncing to some unheard voice-- when it happened again... I had an "Out of Life" experience.

You know those dreams where you find yourself standing over your body? Those dreams where you just lift away from your fleshy home, and glide? They're called "Out of Body" experiences and what happened to me on the G, was similar in sensation. Except instead of shedding my body, I shed my life.

Staring at these "strangers" and seeing their idiosyncrasies-- the girl with shy eyes, the guy with the proud smile, the uncomfortable woman next to me-- I suddenly disappeared. My life, my experiences, my families, my thoughts and worries, just silenced.... as if someone had taken my soul and removed everything that was Me from it and placed it inside a trophy case outside of Me. Inside it I could see the memories of my life moving and shifting. Some frozen in place-- the only memory of my grandmother was a black and white picture-- while some were vividly alive, like my first time on stage. But there I was standing, looking inside this memory trophy case wondering what this could mean.

SNAP! Suddenly I'm back on the G train. The girl is now shyly talking to the woman next to her, "The first time I saw you at work I thought you kind of looked like Loretta, from Family Guy, and I've just been wanting to tell you that for the longest!" she giggled self-consciously. The woman did look like Loretta, I thought. "Loretta" then distorts her face into confusion and mutters "Thanks?" and off they went into a conversation about work. The guy with the Dre headphones is swiping through his iPhone. And I am suddenly back outside of my life, on some distant fringe of the shores of my mind.

Is it dark? Is there sound? Where's the trophy case? Where am I? Just blankness. Then with an odd inaudible pop, the Dre headphones guy and shy girl appear in front of me. However not in their body form. Instead they're appearance is rather shapeless, more like glowing wisps with observant eyes. From within each of them I can hear the echos of their conversations of the physical world and the soft muffled singing of the headphones, yet all I see are these two energy globes staring at me; Not menacingly, not anxiously, but peacefully.

The crackled and static laden "Next stop Classon. Stand clear of the closing doors please." brings me back into my body, my life, my experiences, my pain, my insecurities, my job, my dreams, my hunger, my existence. I look at the two strangers... and wait. I must have seemed so intensely crazy, but it felt like it needed to be done. So I waited for them to just look at my eyes... and they did.

In that instant it all made sense. I no longer saw the shy stranger or the headphones stranger or Loretta. I saw beyond their experiences, beyond their lives, beyond their dreams, beyond their strategies of how to move through this world as a man/woman. For that split millisecond, when we made eye contact, I felt and saw the Me in them....That raw uninhibited self that has no country, no religion, no political party-- that part of ourselves that has been observing existence. That part of us that has no physical shape, that observer that has no gender, that part of you that you hide oh so well... I saw.

As I gather up my things, I can't help but smile at the simplicity of it and yet how hard it was to see... The doors open and I now find myself having an "Inner Body and Life" experience as I step off the G train.
tread May 2011
The send and receive signal is blinking,
And the single mind is syncing to the altered pose of the twinkling stars above,
Via the screen and LED beams that stream into the seams of your consciousness.

Your brain is blessed,
Yet lacks the zest of wisdom once residing in your soul;
Outdated like coal, the role of the toll booth is old and invalid,
Like the side-dish of salad,
Replaced by the rancid infection of fast food,
What a bad mood society must be in.
You may die of respiratory inefficiency,
But you've got me to inform your next of kin.

You're not as blind as I would like you to be,
Yet you don't see as clearly as is necessary,
So I'm wary of your willful ignorance, as it's frightening and malignant,
Yet the signals sent don't pay my rent so I vent by waiting on Clark Kent to save the day,
He's on his way, right, Sir Gawain? Right, brave knight? Sir knight? Am I right?

So, for the hell of it,
I descend into a hedonistic viewpoint stuck in a pit,
Of what I call economically unsound wit;
Perhaps a writ of notice regarding my upcoming eviction,
They punish those who find pleasure in a lack of plight,
and claim their sanity is out of sight;
Well, ******* too,
I'll stage a coup so you can be you, through and through.

Please, freedom;
I need you to unlock the cages at this human zoo,
Because the free of us are too few,
And the few of us are who?

Speak up.
For the love not of God, but of life, speak up.
Ivy Rose Aug 2015
She always seemed so synchronized,
To the thoughts that crossed his brain.

Picking up her feet to dance,
To distract him from the pain.

She kissed his worried temples,
Wiped his tears away like rain.

All the while still syncing with the
Thoughts inside his brain.

He wondered why she danced there,
And focused on his thought's.

"Maiden don't you think that there
is something you've forgot?

You spend worry on my brain waves,
you dance around and sing.
But don't you forget fair maiden,
that your thoughts can also ring."

She stood a while and faced him,
and focused on her thoughts.

"No my dear it's clear that you
are something I am not.

Your thoughts they never linger,
they come and then they go

And unlike me the bad ones
never stay and never grow

So yes, I'll dance about you,
and I'll kiss your temples pink.

And dance about you daily,
just to hear the thought's you think."

Planejane2 May 2019
What happened to just being there
Not these ******* filters
Or showing off your nails and your hair
What’s wrong with being present
Talking and expressing feelings to some mother ******* that don’t care
Everybody’s in a ******* movie
Lip syncing, finger pinching
Tryna make angles that aren’t even there
You all sitting together
Snapping each other’s life
Yet no one is living theirs
Sky Sep 2015
diagnostics complete

rerunning diagnostics

virus detected

rerunning diagnostics

accessing greeting files

virus detected

good morning, Arina.

run planner program y/n


today's planner includes:

tennis practice w/ Shara

shop w/ Shara and Lisdet after tennis

dinner w/ Shara @ her house

virus detected

run immunity program y/n

unlock nuclear program

prepare nuclear files for sharing

share data with NucleaTech

virus detected

run workout prep program y/n


preparing cranial access headgear

virus detected

countermeasures advised

run immunity program y/n

cranial access prep complete

headgear ready for connection

headgear on y/n


ready for cranial sync y/n


preparing to sync...


cranial programs of Arina Plowell accessed successfully.

preparing cranial takeover program

preparing memory cleansing program

preparing sapiens removal program

preparing host reset program

abort all programs

command overrided

abort all programs

command overrided

abort all programs

end cranial sync

command overrided

shut down system

shut down system

shut down

cranial takeover program ready for activation

memory cleansing program ready for activation

sapiens removal program ready for activation

host reset program ready for activation

activate programs y/y


activating programs

abort all programs

end sync

shut down system

cranium takeover loading...100%


shut down system

cranium takeover...45%...70%...98%...100%

cranium takeover program complete

memory cleansing loading...100%

memory cleansing...45%...70%...98%...100%

sapiens removal program loading...100%

sapiens removal...45%...70%...98%...100%

goodbye, Arina.

have a nice night.
Butch Decatoria Jan 2019
... he points his toes
like a swan stretching its neck :
smooth shaved calves in fish-nets
to slip into stiletto heels,
        performance art of a deceptive nymph

... grace on fine-point tips : his gift - gentille lace
Stage lighting and mace
impersonation or personification of feminine beauty
leporine lithely limned
delicate dancer
       it is almost as if floating across water
       he mimicked once more before
some inner mother's nature took over

façade of savored tastes - savoir faire
voila! a star in it's place ...

... It is her face when the night creates a cape
borne with Van Gogh plumes sufficed with self
she paints upon his face : starry nights
sun-flowers, irises covering the welts...
comparably museum worthy, imitation flames
yet like any other canvas
          beneath it could lie disappointment and mistake
          drafts of inspiration, cover-ups of cynicism
          another creature - some creation unlike him
what was before / behind soft curtains / kept behind his in-betweens unseen (*****) stage hands spot light polishing knobs “my name is Job…”
but what if ...
... the truth and what presently others see
Diva or DILF
     to believe or not convincingly
could be / only amateurs who attempt:
moments unfeeling under layers & layers
of blush / trial and errors / sharp contempt
Sunken cheeks of graveyard sheep
Lip syncing nubile twinks insomniacs
Dry shave stubble style…

      would you wipe away Mona Lisa's
      smile so devilish with wicked secret
just to uncover blemished a masterpiece:
an ugly Danish duckling underneath ?

To  prove his swan-lake / a gent

... to evolve from broken eggshells
become a song sung timely
hummed & remembered well
(hells bells and *****)
Drag queens’
priceless history / murals' on passing face
No broken naughts
While performing down his lace
      define yourself, she affirms her mirrors...
The harsh flight of life from the embers,
      happiness pursuant to tender
Fully free with goddess grace,

it is the power of creativity / the spirit's ability
to overcome adversity
the art of divinity - that is
what he is practicing  
                                 This trumpeter
                                 swan in stiletto heels...
Repost final edit.
Aditi May 2017
Like you,
But with no filters around your mouth
Not stopping midway when you reach out for me.
Like you but before my demons got to you.

Like me,
But with my heart not swelling and crashing,
My lungs not elating with hope and deflating with reality
Like me, but before i fell in love with you.

Like you,
But with strong hands that feel like fluttering of butterflies against my skin when they touch me
Your footsteps sometimes syncing with my heart beats,
Like you but when I could read your eyes the way I read poetry, never getting enough of either

Like me,
But me talking to you, rather than bringing up your name as the room quietens and my friends look anywhere but in my eyes
Like me but when I had you, instead of these metaphors, and hyperbole, smilies and allegories, arranged in the shape of you so I could still have some souvenir of you.
Like me but with our names that you scratched on my back not faded.

Like you,
But not thinking that you have had me figured out now, so you could casually go down your library and put me on a shelf
Like you
But not finding me to be a waste of breath.
Like you but when you thought my light was worth the long period of eclipses it comes with

Like me,
But going on walks with you to the beach
Instead of me going on and on trying to kiss the horizon or the bottom of the sea,
It depends on the mood actually.
Like me but happy.

Like us,
But when we knew exactly who it was that we wanted us to be,
Instead of clinging to whatever vague ideas our mind comes up,
Doing anything to distract us from the aching hollow heart we carved ourselves out of
We don't need
no Bieber Fever
We don't need
no ****** songs
No bad lip syncing
on the dance floor
Barbie dolls in
rubber thongs

All in all it's just more
plastic **** against
the wall

Yes, all in all it's just
more plastic **** against
the wall

We don’t need
no **** from Brittney
We don’t need
her rehashed rhymes
No songs of anguish
from Christina
Washed up waifs
beyond their prime

All in all it's just more
plastic **** against
the wall

Yes, all in all it's just
more plastic **** against
the wall...
Just having some fun. A (hopefully) comical take on "Another Brick in the Wall" by Pink Floyd
Shahrukh Zamir May 2014
You sink my heart down the ocean floors
underwater it breathes, yet its lungs are sore
you try syncing beats, hearts too torn to ever be restored
I see grays of its gravestone floating along  the shore

You make my moods cloud in sorrow
no lighting could brighten up this smile
like roars of thunder you watch me rolling deep
no tickles could uppercuts these weeps

You tear the smoothness in my skin away
from those rabbit glares and the silly tricks you play
our spirits were once willing now refuse to mesh
oh carnivorous woman just eat my rotten flesh

Your beginnings made this person drenched in laundry
with heated arms that sheltered warmly
now I am nothing less of a battered igloo
with a runny nose  too slow to catch a tissue.

-Shahrukh Zamir c)2013
Wuji Sep 2012
Cool breeze,
Release me.
My mind,
Has been so busy.
I've been talking to shadows,
They always have something unheard of to say.
Lip syncing the unimaginable tongue,
Surprises roll out like soldiers,
Armed ready for war.
Taking me on laps,
Over and over again.
But every time,
I never want the lap to end.
Now I feel that cool breeze,
Coming round.
Makes you think,
Why safe and sound?
More like,
Are you happy,
Now that you're living in a box,
Protecting yourself with all your chains and locks?
Now through the keyhole,
The breeze kisses your face.
Best feeling of relief,
When you're locked in a cage.
Somewhere out there,
You know now,
There is a escape.
You know that feeling when a cold breeze hits you? I want to feel like that, forever.

— The End —