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Pagan Paul Aug 2018
Smoke coils up and dissipates,
soon the images will be clear,
as she stares with cold contempt,
into the depths of the Seers Sphere.
And she stands toking her pipe,
watching as the story unfolds,
soon her hate will boil once more,
unleashing her vengeance of old.

Smoke coils up and dissipates,
a thousand lifetime's away,
blackened stone and charred bodies,
the remains of a village destroyed.
The flames still licking at the flesh
and melting mortar of cottage walls.
Raiding horsemen ride off cheering,
with swords, shields and firebrands,
carrying amidst them a prisoner,
their prize and sport for the victory feast.
Savages are these violent men,
barbaric in their wanton lust for war,
the red mist and the ****** fury,
it's all they really have a care for.

She waits with patient seething,
her moments will arrive so soon,
the spilling of her black arts,
witnessed by a Woman's Moon.

The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

But the leader here was not a man,
she was the daughter of this warrior clan.
Fierce, cold, she barked out her orders;
build a fire, make food, secure the borders.
Her status unquestioned by her riders,
they would all fight and die beside her,
and as the camp grew out much wider,
her boot casually crushes a hated spider.

Manacles held her ankle fast,
shackled as she was to a tree.
Withdrawn, shivering with cold,
still seeing her burning family.
Images scorch her private intimacy,
awaiting the moment of her epiphany,
eyes watching with careless vacancy,
preparations for the nights ceremony.
But she would not co-operate,
would not give her jailers pleasure,
as she knows these last few hours
would seem to her like forever …

and Nature weeps with a prelude to grieve,
as the Maiden pulls a dagger from her sleeve.

… deny them their sport she will,
placing the dagger 'neath her breast,
a sharp tug towards her heart,
a thousand nightmares laid to rest.

A thousand lifetime's away,
smoke coils up and dissipates,
a cackle rents the air like ice,
the time her Woman's Moon anticipates.
And the instant arrives with joy,
as the Seers Sphere is thrown,
shattering and cackling hold hands,
as the glass touches solid stone.
At that moment of contact with rock,
time slips into a reverberating shock.

The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

And the earth heaved and tremored,
shaking the Vales languid peace,
uprooting trees with tremendous urge,
rending the loamy soil from beneath.
Frenzied horses scatter with fright,
and men are thrown up high,
screams and shouts of piercing pain,
and the stream suddenly runs dry.
The quake unsettles the warriors camp,
leaving many broken bones and blood.
Then an ominous deafening roar
heralds the arrival of the coming flood.
And water coursed fast into the Vale,
no longer pretending to be calmer.
All living men drowned and dead,
encumbered by their heavy armour.
But she was much fleeter of foot
and ran hard as the waters rose.
Tripped by a treacherous branch,
head banged, stunned, her eyes closed.

Sunrise saw many things.
Smoke coiling up and dissipating,
over the ruins of a village,
crows and dogs feasting well.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
squatting on top a new grave,
smoke coiling up from her pipe,
cackling …

She awoke in darkness.
It didn't take long to panic and scream.
It took no time to realise,
she was sealed naked in a coffin.
And she screamed and screamed.
Pushing at the sides, the lid.
The air was heavy, stifling, stifling, stifling.
Precious oxygen running out.
The coffin moved, and she screamed,
desperately scratching and scratching.
And in the box she heard … cackling.
Her frantic screams turn to sobs of pleading
to be let out, to breathe, to live.
She felt something touch her inner thigh,
she screamed, as it touched again feint.
Brushing it away as the voice cackled on,
more tickles on her thighs, she screamed.
And something landed on her face.
The feel of a large spider on her mouth,
and she screamed and screamed.
But the cackling persisted
as she scratched at the wood,
her fingernails shredding to pieces,
but the wooden prison gave no quarter,
the skin raw and bloodied,
scratching, scratching, scratching.
And in her tomb she screams,
she screams and screams and screams.

… sunrise saw many things.
It saw a new river,
wending its way to the sea,
caressing the contoured land,
it saw horses running wild,
across the lush grass on plains.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
standing beside a new grave,
as she places the flame dagger
upon the Maiden's final resting place,
it saw
ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence.

© Pagan Paul (02/08/18)
3rd poem in Judderwitch series.

Today, Aug 2nd, marks two years on hp for me.
Thankyou to all those who have supported and helped me over these last 2 years. You are all greatly appreciated :) PPx xox
Amanda Jean Jul 2018
Timing rhymes
Does it heal
Close to feel
And this crutch
It’s a spinning wheel
Imagine us getting killed
And then you see it in your sleep
It just repeats and repeats
Sometimes I'm the only hero
And sometimes it's you who's saving me
We watch it on tv
Getting killed in societies across nationalities, we catch you screaming in your sleep
Sometimes you gotta bleed
We'll leave you to patch it up yourself 'cause
You're all you really need
This is what it means to be free
We catch you getting help we lock you up, it's the rules of the games, money paper book tree
Paper cures us all the time in the schools, the libraries, and outdated trees in the courtyards
They say nobody reads ours
Nobody has gotta breathe trees for any hours unless you breed ours
Gotta pay to breathe
Repeat repeat
First breath I'm writing on paper
Breathe in again we on the crystal
Square shining on my face
We're mentally chasing the sun that never satisfies
Looking for light in all the wrong places we're constantly mystified by how it never seems to last

I'll chase the light in your eye a day before I die staring at the fire of the sun as it slips to early morn where Luna's shining in the storm

So fierce but lonely does she seem without the fire burning her soul to gleam so clean

We scream fire ****** bathroom sinks filled the graves the shining metal gleams gory ****** are sipping tears from powder quakes

We rake the crowds with raining sun so one day we pray we'll see the light of glory goddesses to be won

We’re shambling ourselves
We're lying in the muck
Crying ghostly in our sleep trying to beat the sound of screaming sheep

One side of me growing closer to the sun, she weeps, I'm drowning in these sheets
She pulls me closer and questions me
My split soul is a far reach

Why even ask why you're trying
I know what we’re finna keep
I'm glad who I meet
We should shatter in these streets

I know what you're asking me
But I don't think you're saying it quite right
I don't think we have the time
I'm riddling you and me we're questioning

I don't know how to say it fine
How to finesse the letters to make em mine
Dancing phrases of better days but I know I haven't yet paid the price to pay to shave the way of better feelings

But standing in this storm I'm reeling
I'm hiding, cover, summer stealing smiles from off the deep end brothers flaked and waked you out you baked in heat from another paper so timeless easy smoking

Like my father, a toking fighter lighter laugh on the wall to appall and adore show us more the universe is sure that we're lurking for a cure

Lurking in the hard to reach forbidden injustices in the back of memories of these contemplated possibilities rolling over thots like a crusted raw prince’s

Tongues never seem to think of where their words travel whether they keep their mouth shut or mind open maybe closed like the door to this blocked soul

I want to write and I do kind of sometimes get something out of me that I haven’t seen before.
Times like these I can’t get more.
I’m bore such a sore grasping, letting go in the face of someone I adore.
I need you.
I can’t do this without you I need somewhere to keep my heart arrest while I dive into these depths of ***** streets, dungeons in the roots of mind where lies me dead and stagnant.
Disgusting ******* written on walls in these tunnels, gulping all love, dear please spit out your fears you may never know the destinations of your timeless travels.
But I yearn to, I dig deep scratching at my skull trying to figure out who I am and why and who I am supposed to be in this world, I twitch at thoughts of happiness while dreaming of death I plead, for better days and understanding I’ve never been fond of this blissful lie.
We all die we all live we all run to jump to fly as high as we can possibly imagine knowing that one day we will fall only to be picked up by lovers still floating in the trees.
My guardian angels of my soul.
We speak to the trees of ancestors of these trying again to win our hearts back from these time never healing devil memories.
We only sleep to name the trees our memories.
They say our hair contains our memories.
If that’s how you really feel, squeal.
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Toking on a cloud with ******* Jesus and his family
Lame folks ask me how,
its cause I ******* smoke
No God I smoke religious tree,
I get ****** in the name of heresy
You angry penguin ****** preach acceptance
So praise the Lord and ******* shame on me

My guise is Satan *****
and my swag is undisguisible
heartless and no conscience,
sicksicksix most recognizable
-that statement may surprise a little but since we all surmise a little
Why deny me as the devil when
When I clearly play a golden fiddle. . .

From Hell I made a deal
and there is no repeal
nothing you see is real,
I will invade and pervade your mind
So wait in anticipation,
life's a figment of your own imagination
I'll watch you dissipate into oblivion
Pound for pound,
I'm a cenobite at heart,
I just haven't a heart to be found
It's not hard for me
its profound,
the sound of suffering
your soul is ours now
and I will tear it apart
Here's a toast to our orchestral
Symphony of the flesh

My swag's so ******* flawless
100 carrot diamonds,
******* love me cause I'm gorgeous
can't stag no more, fat stacks galore
embrace the force it opens doors
Is there a source, but of course -
it just lies dormant/
What's a ***** to a floor except a doormat
And you know that I'm no diplomat
It's just a fact I ******* hate those stinky ratchets
And I sharply lack tact
tell that ***** her ***** smells like Magikarp
Body language, that of Snorlax

someone once asked
why don't have an open mind
brains would spill out
if my ******* snapback
weren't so tight

Its the season to seize C's
and hallucinations be dazzlin em
don't believe your eyes son,
its only a phantasm but

Words are like playdough,
fun to play with not to eat
So clap your ******* trap and get lost to the beat
I can't be defeat
So suckle my teet
My verses are perverse
I'm high as **** words: failing

Get low

ill as ****, so ******* sick,
blowed half past belligerent,
tweaking off my nasal drips,
There's serenity in debauchery -
***** I ******* bask in it

have a taste
I drink red bull it gives me ******* wings

"Memento quod sumus lascivio venatus"
Remember that you are playing the Game
Another rap I wrote when I was 17.
BR Aug 2015
Even if the city is filled with smoke

Because of the fires

Even if the smokes feel my lungs and brains and make me feel dizzy

I still smoke cigarettes
And smoke **** brain feels...

Olivia Kent Apr 2014
The bells of a million bicycles fill the air, townsfolk amble without even a care.
Atmosphere of dozy dreams.
Tulips on the bank side pout, kissing away at the pure ****** air.
No traffic, or trafficking.
They sit, enjoying their trip.
Toking on the hookah, or toking on a ******, that choice is yours.
They roll a spliff,  oh sweet Mary Joanna.

A dingy back room in a dismal dark corner.
Don't ever say that nobody warned yer.
Oppressive atmosphere of sullen death.
Addiction takes control of the lonely soul, who needs to escape.
Who may never get old.
Found slumped, laid out ,cold.
Torniquet locked up tight.
The buzz of the day, that ended the life.
Of the poor soul.
Had nothing better to do.
Attached to the end of the body that's fixed, shot up, sky high.
The world ended, not in that passion filled cafe.
(c) Livvi
There is no evidence to suggest that smoking dope leads to long term addiction issues...However, evidence suggests that dope has mental health issues of it's own.
This poem is designed to point out the differences between addiction to hard drugs opposed to enjoying a joint.
The different attitudes to drugs and takes a look at pleasure and pain.
I have dabbled in dope smoking, but explored may other substance..long before I ever had a I'm super straight!
Never ever did crack or smack....Acid and speed once controlled my life...and then guess what?
I grew up x
There for the grace of God go I x
ringyorm Dec 2013
play wild things
lie is waking
spirit is american
the book is beat
where is wonderland, Alice?
Jurassic period dinosaurs,
oven toasted humans,
plastic skeletons,
dancing to ska,
cupboards organize themselves,
toking indian hides
blaring chocolate chip trumpet solo
as the laughing sun, rises
pen stroke sun rays
into a rainbow bouquet
Julio Lopez Oct 2018
I don't got a heart
I got a punching bag
Come and hit it if you with it
It won't make me sad-
As a matter of fact it won't even make mad
Girl I got a punching bag
Rolling down Ocean soon we'll be blunt smoking
Toking, you know that talk that I'm talking
She a stoner like me, yeah she rolling easy
Riding with me for the time being
She has got my heart beating
She has got my bag swinging
Andrew T Apr 2016
Washingtonians, this Wednesday afternoon, come to the Starbucks on 1600 K Street to become acquainted with some young, interesting, average income level Asian American guys and gals. Instead of meeting Asian American doctors, lawyers, and consultants, you’ll meet Dr. Dre copycats, alcoholic paralegals, and T-Mobile wireless salespeople.

These guys and gals are looking to meet new friends that include: white, black, Hispanic, or any other race of people, just as long as you aren’t a F.O.B. Because after all, they don’t want to perpetuate the stereotype that Asians only hang out with other Asians. Just kidding, we love our F.O.B brothers and sisters! But **** stereotypes.

If you are a Washingtonian who likes drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana, stop by and make a new Asian American friend who will provide mixers and match you on a blunt. Please, do not ask these guys and gals for college study notes for Math or Bio, because all of them have dropped out of college to pursue their artistic passions, like: writing a novel about having a white group of friends and being the token who reads Tolkien and likes Toking; playing electric guitar in a grunge, punk, post-emo garage band with your black buddies who like Fugazi and bad brains but ******* hate Green day for selling out; and drawing sketches and painting portraits of the half-Asian girl you’re dating on a wide canvass, but really you’re secretly into selfies and taking photos of breakfast on Instagram.

We don’t discriminate against the kind of alcohol you drink, whether it be wine, beer, or liquor—within reason please don’t bring Franzia or Rolling rock, this isn’t college anymore. Yes, we get it, you’re highly considering attending this group because you’re a huge Haruki Murakami fan and you’re wondering two questions: are our Japanese American patrons also huge fans of the author, and do our patrons behave in a similar fashion to Murakami’s characters like Toru Watanabe and Toru Okada?

First, our Japanese American patrons are huge fans of Murakami and they own books like Sputnik Sweetheart and The Windup Bird Chronicle, but they also think the author often is obsessed with Western culture, in a way that possibly, and seriously possibly transforms him into a Brett Easton Ellis derivative based on Ellis’s American ****** and Glamorama.

Second, no these particular patrons do not behave like Murakami’s characters, because they’re real, living, breathing human beings, and not some fantasy figure or made-up person! But enough of the rant, please come though and let’s have conversations about jazz and talking cats.

While we respect Asian American actors like Ken Jeong and Randall Park, we really aren’t interested in having a lengthy dialogue about The Hangover’s Asian **** scene, or how Park was kinda offensively funny in The Interview. Although Park is awesome in Fresh Off The boat! All we really want is to just drink jack and cokes and smoke Marlboro lights and have conversations about the latest trends in indie rock and Hip Hop culture, and whether Citizen Kane was better than Casablanca, or vice versa.

At the meeting, we will have our guest speaker Jeremy Lin’s college roommate George Park answer questions about Lin, as well as a special appearance by Steve Yuen’s ex-girlfriend Marcy Abernathy who will give us an inside scoop to Yuen’s fetishes as well as his quirky habits. We will also be providing free snacks like LSD Pho noodle soup and Marijuana Mochi ice-cream. On a serious note, we’ll be giving out guilt-free Twinkies.

Before you arrive at the Starbucks, you’ll be getting a name tag and a free A.A.A T-shirt that wasn’t made by little children from China; instead, the shirts are made by Ronald Mai, our aspiring fashion designer whose twitter handle is @thatsmyshirtwhiteman! If you’re interested in coming out to the group our first meeting is this Wednesday at 6 p.m.

Leave your apprehension at the door and walk in with a warm smile, as you’re greeted by an expressionless face. And phoreal if your car is messed up and you require a ride, please call A.A.A’s number at (202) 576-2AAA (we know we’re phunny). Hope to see you there, and if you don’t come, you’re a ******* racist! But seriously come out and meet some cool *** people.
tread Apr 2011
Where was I, when you were alive?
Was I sleeping, dreaming, kicking, screaming,
Staring in wonder at the bright stars a-gleaming?

Where was I when you were crying?
Was I thinking of life after dying,
Seeing as it was, or blind and sighing,
Where was I when you were crying?

When you were born, what was I doing?
Was I speaking, walking, peeking, stalking,
Dancing, singing, laughing, mingling,
Looking, lying, toking, trying?

Where was I when you were on the beach,
Staring out towards the sea?
Perhaps I was taking a ***,
Or sipping my hot cup of tea?

Where was I when you were sleeping?
Perhaps I was in mid-air, leaping,
Or watching as MTV was bleeping swearwords.

Where was I when you fell ill?
Was I parked up on a hill,
Waiting for life to arrive
With a plan it did contrive?

When you were driving,
Or tidying,
Perhaps on a snowboard somewhere, sliding,
Was I alone at home and hiding?
Or on the bike somewhere, and riding?

Maybe I was wide-awake,
Or laughing with my friends, while baked,
Or greasing a pan to bake a cake,
Contemplating what makes a lake.

Or perhaps I was asleep and dreaming,
and lost in my subconscious readings,
With avatars of all my friends,
Buying a Mercedes Benz.

Where was I when you were wasted?
Was I laughing at old hatreds,
Staring at a crawling aphid,
Or in the shower, and stark naked?

Where were you while I was thinking?
Perhaps you were awake and blinking,
All the sleep out of your eyes,
After dreaming of cute Albanian guys?

Where is everyone this second?
I mean, this specific second,
As I write or read this poem,
Perform it for a crowd so wholesome,
Where am I as you read this?
Up on a stage and fighting fears false lisp,
To make sure all of these words are crisp,
Or eating bread with ham and swiss?

Are you dead, or are you living?
A minion to society's bidding,
Or policing streets and finally ridding
Pavement of the hobos twitching out of crystal ****?

Perhaps you're firing a gun,
Or you've found the only 'one,'
To love through thick and thin, till death;
Or thinking, "Wow, poor old MacBeth."

In this moment, is it all;
So listen to the moments call,
And cancel all your texting plans,
And use those thumbs to grasp the hand,
Of a loved one next to you;
"The day before" was never true,
So there's no better time for you,
To look for some more love to brew.

So get up, and go do.
Go do it.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
Seems like every ****,
every deep ****
I take
of this crazy life,
things get sadder
& more beautiful
at the same time.
My lungs burn,
burn with the visions
of the next sunrise,
the tears watching moon glow.
My love continues to grow.
Anthony Duvalle Dec 2010
I once knew this one dude, whose real name I don't recall
But homie was haunted by ****, that would make your skin crawl
He'd wake up at midnight, cause he was feeling a fall
Covered in sweat, dreaming things from when he was six years tall
His uncle's a creep, a member of the ****** brigade
Real ****** up, he'd say bout anything to get laid
Spacing out, no friends, the kid just wanted to fade
So by age ten, homie cuts himself with a blade
Says it relieves, so he's always sure to make them deep
Says it fights back some things that he sees in his sleep
Awkward in class, shaking, always grinding his teeth
But no one else really knew what you can see in your dreams
When opaque, is how your barren, buried life seems
Drinking and toking just enough to make his empty room lean
Grades slipping, no job, cause they need the **** clean
******* cause unemployment can't buy the kid's green
Angry at life, his first resort was to kick and to scream
Feeling observed, living life under a social spot beam
The coach talking of courage, when he tried joining team
But I guess it's hard to keep your heart, when it bursts at the seams

So homie smoked constantly to chill out his thoughts
A high as **** THC count in every gram he bought
Seeing **** and hearing **** has got him distraught
In his mind he's not fine but what his sickness brought
Was an escape from his living, but he wanted it to stop
Addicted now to heroine so his bed he would hawk
Homies in his home alone so he scarcely would talk
Zoned with his mind blown, homie can barely even walk
But the voices always kept him company in the dark
Schizophrenia setting in, insanity's made it's mark
Hallucinating, kids ripping his punctured arms apart
Shooting up to see if he can stop the voices from the start
But AED's had to come around to kick start his heart
Overdosing, sometimes didn't think he'd ever come back
Shooting up the **** that he always carried in sack
Thought process making his mind and blood pulse attack
Stole a gun, needs some mons, now people gonna get jacked
Lost his project house so you're finding him blacked
Out on the curb but needs money earned
Succumbed to the voices he heard
And went back to his old house, sitting up in the burbs

Homie fought and he screamed but couldn't control himself
The voices told him to ****, take all the jewelry and wealth
Standing outside his old home, pacing, tearing his hair
Gun in hand, praying for help but his God wasn't there
Voices saying that homie's worthless and he deserves his despair
Telling him that if he died now the world wouldn't care
But homie felt that there was truth in every word they had said
So when they said his parents were scheming and wanted him dead
He grew paranoid and every thought he had crept with dread
You see the voices came from his brain and reflected back
Homie's rampant paranoia and his addiction to smack
If he was due for a fix, they got more persuasive and louder
And he'd feel like he was dying 'til he shot up his powder
Now he's posted up, 3AM, but his mind's lost it's time
He's lost the sense to differentiate a good deed and a crime
Back in the past, they didn't realize, but lord knows he showed the signs
And now its too late, our homie's stars have all come in line
On the doorstep, he lurks, priority's to quench this thirst
Between his fam and his fix, heroine to **** the voices comes first

He knocks three times, hides the gun in the back of his pants
If he could stop himself, he would, but he's stuck in a trance
His heart fights back but the voices take control of his hands
So when his father opened up, homie knocked him off of his stance
He had no chance, now there's a glock in the back of his throat
And he would scream for help but his windpipe's being choked
Homie cries out, "I'm sorry!" as the life left his dad's eyes
Mother ran in, paralyzed in a state of surprise
He lifted the gun and lined it up with the center of her forehead
She looked in shock at her son, her husband on the floor dead
Homie couldn't believe what the voices and his body'd just done
A loving father, now dead, killed by his ****** up son
And his mother, innocent, facing the barrel of a gun
The only gat that could do more than make that widow's blood run
So when the gunshot peeled and repainted the room
It was more than just a body that went into that tomb
A mother's love betrayed, lied dead in the same casket
And homie's realization of all this just came so fast it
Made him wanna redeem sins with punishment just as drastic
So he went through his parents house putting valuables in a basket

With his newfound cash, homie could finally **** the pain
Whispers in his ear told him that he should be ashamed
They reminded him of how his parents work was all down the drain
But he wasn't angry at the voices cause he took all the blame
He went as fast as he could, to try and get some more ****
And by the end of the night, homie had fifteen bags
Found a quite place to go where he could be all alone
Sat himself down in an alley and put his back to the stone
Pulled out his rusty syringe and an old spoon he had found
Cooked him up a couple shots and went round after round
Feeling like his life was an ocean and it was high time to drown
Visions of taunting demons encircled him and he couldn't find ground
The voices fed off of his pain and they ignored pleas to stop
So homie raised the dope amount to too much from a lot
His last shot, he cooked it all until there was none left
Pulled out a picture of his family that he always had kept
Looked at his parents holding him as an infant and wept
Pushed down the hammer, O.D.ed and took homie's last breath
He died in that alleyway and no one really knew
The story of what had happened to him, what homie'd gone through
Then the Devil approached his victim and collect his spirit
And there's a lesson to this story, I'm just hoping you hear it
So if the Devil wants to dance with you, you better say never
Because a dance with the Devil might last you forever...
Over the beat for "Dance with the Devil" by Immortal Technique.

******=North American Man/Boy Love Association
Jack Savage Apr 2013
Hello there, excuse me
Can you help me lose
A little of my mind
Or the rest of what's left of me
The losses won't get cut or cost us
Until we're tipsy from the *****
Gain the vibe,
**** feeling loose

***** deep in a bottle of Goose
The silence got more violently silent
After I tossed Dumbo his noose
But I doubt these next five minutes
Will tell me some new news
So I guess it's safe to say
I'm safe in my own room
For now..

I hate celebrity status village idiots,
Not quip or quick enough to resolve
They're useless
Abandon them,
Like Kardashians,
They milk the useless gift they're used to
Middle class man Stan
He doesn't know what this world is
Doesn't even have the vocabulary
To specifically support the image
Meantime the whirly money's leavin,
What happens when that card's dead

This earth's caught up in it's own smoke,
Toking on the pandemic called man's hubris
No one has the courage to catch eyes in the mirror
They all take sides with Ustes
But I'm used to it
Enough already,
Let me sift switch-like for the verse before this

I keep all the bodies in the walls
So my neighbors won't hear me whisper
Plus I like the company,
At home ******, cold and lonely,
I hear the dead make great listeners
As I, myself, contently intend to directly suppress
The nostalgia deep under my the bed skirt
Lost in the esther's fine print, I'm weaker,
Steeping on this substance

ET can't call me
Caulkin's finger's on the beeper
But I'm not trying to kick it,
I'm home alone for a reason
Hopin dark thoughts don't surface
But if they do,
Hold hope that they're worth it
Creativity's no enemy of mine,
But that ****'s not good all the time
Waterfalls of tortured souls reek of paranoia

I won't deny real eyes,
That seek to see my life
Frankly, the story's kind of boring
They'd finally realize
It's all just lies and groaning
Now please,
Puff puff pass
That battle scar baggage back
To the man that wrote this

Kick back, relax,
But know which way the door is
Just slipped both pill's in my bird drink
Watch the ice animorph it
Overworked, shoulder's hurt,
Stomach light, don't deserve it

I wonder what's in the kitchen

Cupboard, give me Anagrams
Spit synonym toast crunch
Just found toys
Memories that left me
But cereal's for breakfast
ShamusDeyo Jan 2015
Standing by the road side
Thumbing a ride
Sleeping Bag, Backpack
And...Guitar on my back
Heat rolls off the Highway
Like Hallucinogenic Waves
Found a Roach in my pocket
Got me through the Day
Nothing but 70s Buick's...
And Cadillac's Roll By
On the on ramp to  I-80
Rolling on to  West Skies
A wish for a fast ride's best
Been up for 36 Hours
Popping Little White Crosses
Nothing Passing by but...
Military bosses.........
A VW Micro-bus pulls up
With a Band of Tie Died, Dead
Heads, cranking Jerry Garcia
The smoke the bowl, Kept on Toking
Greatful Dead played "Keep on Truckin' "
I Rolled off some Riffs, along with the Band
Flyin' 300 miles in that beat up old Van
My head got mellow, with these fine Fellows
They Dropped me off in the cool of the Night
And all I saw of them was their Red Tail Lights...1/27/15
If you Like this Pass it on, and Please repost
Taken Straight from the Good old Days, Carlisle Pa Has the Generals School for the Military thought i would never get out of there

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Thomas EG May 2015
Two burns, left wrist
Two more burns, left hand
Two fading slits, left ankle
Easier to deal with, to understand
These six scars...
They are the only ones that I have
Well, the only ones in your eyes
The only ones that were deliberate
Deliberate necessities
There is one on the right side
Of my nose too
But it was accidental
Nothing more than a childish
Slip of the foot
"Sorry, it was just a slip of the tongue"
I need you
I need more
Two more, in precision
(a double incision)
One on the right
And one on the left
"No cesarean for me, thanks"
No life coming out of this body
No matter how beautiful
I could have made you
I would have kept you safe
I promise
I won't let them hurt you
They'll understand
They have to
They have to
They have to

But that's what I thought before
And yet they still don't
Not today, not quite yet
But they have to
And I've been thinking
And drinking
And smoking
And toking
And I do not know
How far I will go
So cut me open
Take what I don't want
Because I do not want this
Remove my heart
You may as well
While you're in there
It's been aching so badly lately
And this is all that I want right now
They will let me do it
They have to
They have to
They have to

They will...
Won't they?
You can not see teardrops
Amongst raindrops
Can not distinguish between
The peaceful and the pained
And I fall, I fall hard
I crash and you feel me, you do
But rain is a friend
Rain is something that I can trust
Something that I can relate to, rely on
Too quiet to be seen as thunder
Too dull to be seen as lightning
Too transparent to be seen at all
From a distance...

You get used to rain after a while
We are known for our weather
(Rain rain go away)
Let the sun shine
So that I can become a rainbow
Cut me open and pull out my heart
Offer it to that planet's glorious rays
Look up at me
Not down on me
And tell me that I am beautiful
Tell me that I mean something
To you
That I mean anything
Because I am not mean
I mean
I love you
I love you
I love you

I try far too hard
You think that I don't try at all
But it's ******* hard
It's SO ******* hard
And I am trying my best
And I am transgender
I am the she / he / whatever
The it
I do not deserve you
But do I really deserve this?
I know that these are not raindrops
I can taste the salt, slowly rolling
And rolling down
And down my face
My tear-stained face
Please tell me that I am worthy
Please let me do this
Please, please, let me do this...
You have to
I'm not alright
I'm not okay
I'm not alright
I'm not okay

Save me
Fish me out of the ditch
Ditch me halfway through
My transition
You have to
You have to
You have to

It hurts
It hurts so bad, oh God
And I'm not getting anything in return
So let me pain myself
Until I can breathe again
With a smile on my face
A smile that will not run in the rain
I am running through the rain
Running away from myself
I am falling, as rain falls on me
And I am crying
I'm not alright
I'm not okay

So let me do this
You have to.. You have.. You..
You will...
Won't you..?
Because I'm not alright
And I'm not okay
I am transparent, I am transitioning
I am transgender
Whether you like it
Or not.
This poem is purely to express what I'm feeling right now in some way other than crying and pushing myself too hard... Life ain't too good right now. Writing this definitely helped though.
Criss Jami May 2014
I read it all the way through
My cybernetic code is a mine set to implode until my heart bursts through to you and
Although I know I learn in reverse in
My mind with words never heard it's
Best to let it go boom
Like I have no clue what else to do for you, so it's zoom
Or whatever, but bet it's even much better than an anti-bloom so

Click-clack, I'll be back
Yeah back to the past and right on track be-
Cause "off" is not for you and me
But when given an opportunity amidst all the scrutiny
I found it shocking to see nada blocking the tune of our unity
Now automatically, baby it's nothing and that is why I'll truly be

A liquid metal
The one on another level
The one that'll never settle 'til our love isn't under pressure and
And with a punch to my chest it reforms for another us
But better
So let us re-wire me in dire need of
Of love's red letter ink from
The depths of my Red Sea

Oh and that's neither a low glow nor a slow growth
But a high blow
Reaping what we sow
Only absorbing their bow and arrow

So here I go
Now look at me and see how it shows as I grow
My deoxyribose flows like a Rambo on 'roids
Talking and toking a Tolkien prose a
Token story that goes to the hearts of those closed I adore
Because I call for you by your door al-
Though you always make it my shore so
Know that I'll be clothed naked like before
Restored down to the core
Words from my world girl and now
We'll encore the reform, it's

This liquid metal
The one on another level
The one that'll never settle 'til our love isn't under pressure and
And with a punch to my chest it reforms the rest for another us
But better
So let us re-wire me logically like chess pieces it's
Whatever sits in peace in love's red letter ink from
The depths of my Red Sea
The depths of the Red Sea
The deep Red Sea
Brent Kincaid Jul 2015
Dinking too much whiskey,
Behaving sort of risky,
Telling lying stories,
Tall tales of former glories,
Laughing between the tokes,
At outrageously bad jokes;
We thought we were outlaws,
But were tamer than in-laws.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Honking horns at passing cars
Toking doobies under the stars,
Letting no cuties pass us by
Without whistling, my oh my.
We were certain we were cool
Too ****** to know we were fools.
Escapees from the workaday,
We ten-mile perimeter ruanways.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Out at night, no three-piece suits,
Sandals instead of fruit boots
Pegged jeans and rolled up sleeves
No fancy stuff with fancy weaves.
Prepared for whatever comes
Serenaded by engine hum
We told each other that we were hot.
Even though we knew we were not.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
i'm in luck, they're selling it at under 11 quid right now,
stock dry - gone in an instant - laphroaig like -
but not as smoky - but smoked scotch it it
at £10.34 - oh the little joys of having little money to spend -
you end up less picky and less hoarder and
the junk yard.

na głowe sypano mi, tak popiół:
     popiół! a obiecano mi *****!
           popiół! a obiecano mi *****!
                 popiół! a obiecano mi *****!

me, beer, cigarette, outer-suburbia -
police whizz past, silent with flare
or screaming toddler and Odysseus' 20 sirens
with wax in the ears of oaring company
akin to Ajax'ς vitality -
along the way, my neighbour (who's mother
killed my cat.. listen, i know he had
heart problems, he was on aspirin -
but kidneys, even if complicated are not
real problem, felines take longer to ****
than do the no. 2, pigeons don't have kidneys -
they're always of an **** diet of diarrhoea;
write like Aristotle sometimes,
forget the facts, be wrong, get it wrong,
never put a glass cup into the waterfall of
poetic cascades - get it wrong, be wrong -
get to know yourself - it's not that dumb
to be predictable in yourself -
if you allow self-predictability you will
see certain social events as being pointless -
you'll see friends and "friends" -
self-predictability is a verb, compounded -
i already know i'll make references to grammar
and it being missing in philosophy -
no, not coherence and appropriate arrangement -
i mean undoing the box of thing-in-itself
and the subsequent tennis with a brick wall,
to surprise yourself when something is unearthed,
a little piece of the puzzle - simulating awe,
the genesis of all that's to come, even awe from a yawn
and boredom... it's here somewhere... i'll karate
catch it with chop sticks.... (looking around)...
i don't know, might be a moth or a fly...

Antichrist: or a summary of Antisemitism - a variant of,
or at least a concentration - mainly confiscated
by Christianity - prime complaint:
a democracy of Anointed One (Messiahs) -
obviously a manifested justifiable practice of Antisemitism -
the throng of Golgotha intelligence quotient -
Jew v. Jew, and one convert from the delusional
4 x 4 (in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy
                                         spirit... hold on!
                                    i make four gestures... and make a fifth
                 with Romeo and Juliet talking -
St. Matthew-Luke-Mark-and-John... penta penta pent-up
pentagon - evidently there's a pentagrammaton somewhere:
ah! i b l i s.                       Surat no. via Rumi - 7:143 - veils and
the one - reward in heaven - more veils, gardens veils,
grapes in heaven veils - stomach a veil - hunger a veil -
rewards in heaven also veils - the poem?
praise be Jesus - and Jason and the Argonauts - and whoever
wanted a strawberry flavoured pastiche to lick tears off -
love's apocalypse, love's glory -
         well bloodhound eyes say it all - droop drool -
droop & drool... Jack & Jill... went up the hill, and passed
the Grimm Bro. baton to Hanzel und Gretyl in the 100m x4
relay of Disney Limps - then rabbinical literature to sober up -
Albotini's *Sulam HaAliyah
(Ladder of Ascent, formerly Jacob's
ladder - to be: Ladder of Skip-rope; Oxford, hello! yes,
can you please consider un-hyphenating what is desirably
a compound worthy word in the practice of German?          )?
is a bracket necessary anywhere and i missed it?
Antichrist - or a very strange form of antisemitism -
be like a Jew, congregate applauding in the right corner: Jesus -
in the blue corner: Crux Golgothia.
export from Portugal - the said book -
key principle (kefitzah) jumping or skipping (dilug) -
and this being applied to the one practice of mystic Judaism -
the ****** gematria; hishtavut (stoicism) -

me - is it still 20 quid for an eighth?
Sim (my neighbour) - yeah, but these days
                                       they sort of cheat,
                                       you'd get an eighth nibbled on,
                                       twenty for a tenth?!
me - ******, well, we can't expect it to not happen,
         we had coin debasement - clippings of silver
         keratin with Siliqua, third stage and
         all encoded authority is gone: Thomas and Anne
         till death and nail clippings be fraud unison in
         the depart (or when narration extinguishes
         a character, the character is worth nothing -
         the narrator wakes up - all the characters run
         like phantom-hares into nonexistence -
         phantom! thin air!
politeness said: only one **** at the wacky wee ö wee
(umlaut O / double oh, 007 - 00'7 - double u... oh!
                                 i get it!                             Jamie Oliver!)
   "   (-tia) (-ina)(-ei)(-ensor) -
all that would have been clipped - authority of visage -
the courtesan only knew the mint in silver
and the mint in the flesh - hence clipping of coin
to erase the authority from the holy authority of words -
in the beginning - but once dei.gra.reg.fid.def.jpeg /

that ****** moth is here somewhere! there it is! catch it!
                                                             ­   catch it!
SLAM!          and the job is done )                                      ).
i really waiting a bus stop pretending to wait for a bus
toking on a joint - joint is mix tobacco and wee wee
and spliff is pure? i forgot the slang - haven't been
addicted to it in years.
Sim - yeah, that's how it is. work in central london -
         have to get up early in the morning.
         corporate finance - no that's a commercial firm,
         corporate finance - McDonald's, etc.
me - oh cool waiting for  ghost bus - never get paranoid
(police cars whizz by)
Sim - n'ah, a perfectly decent area, got stopped once,
          three years ago.
and the price goes to the laziest narrator in history - absolutely
no engagement with characters - it's too real, everyone's
lying - this is the second time i spoke to my neighbour properly
in the past.. ooh 2002... 14 YEARS - it's not even funny -
no amount of marijuana will make you feel comfortable -
you can mate and make Kingston handshakes and what not -
this is purity of absurdity and western isolation,
we went against the maxim: no man is an island on purpose,
not by chance like Robinson Crusoe -
at least Crusoe had a talking Friday - we have a ghost
of Michael Faraday on Friday - ******* disco blink blink -
poet... or alt.: the narrator complex - inhibitions toward
character craft and pseudo-schizoid symptom -
believing in ghosts is easy, fiction writers and their ghosts
and abortions, hardly a way to escape from that -
poetry: rebellious narration - just anything with narration,
modern fiction is read like a chess match between deep blue
and Kasparov - or Pavlov v. Jezebel playing gynaecologist.

blank.... blank... wait for the atoms trilled R to make
their toady presence felt -
the more pricier the whiskey the more pristine water,
i.e. you get drunk more easily -
anyone that smokes marijuana and thinks
they're clever are stupid; how many people are out there that are
- resounding hearsay-hooray!
drugs, ******, crack, blow, marijuana, ****, ***,
  cannabis, dope, ******, mary-jane, 13, M - herb shake -
Humphrey saying to Bogart - that joint.
as said in Saudi
Arabic - a Ferrari G.T.I. and MeKubalim HaMitbodedim
                                  -chism - schism - sky - ski -
                                  cha cha, cha cha - kilo or 100th -
                                  1000 thd. - hundredth a thousandth -
                                  - where then the acute,
                                  timber from Czechs -
                                  kebab from Mesopotamia -
                                  and the Trojan horse to boot -
                                 chatter - chopper whopper -
                                 astoikism - not chew off
                                 curve into cherish but
                                 cravat chew in -
                                 Slavic mining zed - czarna
                                 ciasność - blackened claustrophobia.
a Buddhist clap
                   immersion -
left handed the right hand claps against air
                  )             )              )               )            ) ) )            )
a night at the Opera, right handed the left hand claps against air
(                       (        (            (               (          ( ( (            (
scimitar Luna - so they said, would like an audience with the
further unmentioned mention -
you're mates with neighbours who over 14 years you only
spoke to the count of thumb and index on occasion -
and thus necessarily high -
i was going to write something really important before
i finalised this draft... but i forgot what it was...
got almighty this whiskey is good...
i'm smoking salmon and pickling reindeer hooves and antennas;
a bit like practising Chinese miracle medicine with
whale blubber and Mongolian nostril hairs.

it's not about loving your enemies -
this love sinister must be invoked as: making your
enemies bearable.

i'm sure i had something concerning poetry and narration -
ah! it was... poetic compensation -
a.d.h.d. narration - attention deficit hyperactive disorder -
true - all psychiatric terms are metaphors -
at least outside the psychiatric realm -
poetry as a.d.h.d. meaning: shrapnel narration -
a custard pie of missing characters -
poetry: i.e.: the inability to believe in ghosts
or write characters - claustrophobic or agoraphobic narration?
a mix of both - poetry - the inability to conjure
Ouija fancies - poetry, the over-specialised gift for
narration, but an inability to invent characters -
poetry, the truth of the narrative, and the truth of un-invented
characters, poetry: the ability to narrate, coupled
with the inability to create characters -
fiction and the dumb narrator - poetry and the exquisite
narrator - fiction and the exciting characters -
poetry and the God - our focus is based on that vector,
or bias to that vector - fiction and the Oscars -
narrator and director - when to change from first person
to third person - again Burroughs was right -
images 50 years ahead of writing - a bit obvious,
nothing spectacular with that phrase -
lightning and the sons of thunder: 12 of them -
made the tetragrammaton less spoken and swear words
fucken-uppen censored so the crucifix and **** could
collide - a fine fine excuse - the Boeing 747 first
and later the quasi-sonic broom shoo' 'mm -
poetry as fiction disguised when fiction was given
a seance with pure narratives - splinter group:
philosophy's juggling with pronouns esp. the plural deviation
from first person as if to proper punctuation -
psychiatry and the theory of pronoun usage -
poetry and the pronoun rōnin (macron = umlaut -
count to two, or prolong - reasonable man / **** sapiens, pre-noun pro-adjective / adjective attache-noun, noun counter-noun es duo-adjective, Kellogg's sunrise cockle-doodle-dip-in-tartan-chess) -
only poetry mediates the parallel vectors of prose-fiction and philosophy - it consolidates the use of pronouns, art of poetry alone -
pure narration we're talking about,
the narrator and characters of its fancy,
philosopher and dialectical placebos (character equivalence)
with self-conscious moments, mono-pro-noun - alone i name -
the sacred squash wall of lecturing an invisible audience -
rummaging epitaphs in a graveyard along with birth dates
and live by dates - yes, that sacred we philosophers use -
an entire theatre was summoned to continue in appearing
sensible when writing without fictive apparitions -
enabling a fluidity in pronoun use, without sensible letter
writing, as in dear sir,
                                       me in reverse, thank you.
Autumn Oct 2014
Tricks, treats, taffy, tutus, timber, and trees.
Night time arrives, and the children come out.
Ghosts, ghouls, witches, and even bumblebees.
Readily running round, rugged, rough route.
Mandy and Randy get lots of candy.
Meanwhile, mom and dad are at a party.
Playing charades and sipping on brandy.
By the way, whatever happened to Marty?
Mandy says she lost her in the graveyard.
Scared, spooked, shivering, she slowly saunters.
Marty makes her way to the boulevard.
With red bite marks on her neck, she falters.
If Marty’s parents had not been toking,
They could see it was Jared just joking.
Lua Mar 2014
Please don't try and correct me.
I'm not broken. I'm maybe free-spirited and a little out-spoken but I've got methods that water would even soak in and when you confuse me with that ****** J.R.R. Tolkien just because I'm burning herbs that Gandalf would be smokin', I'm going to brush it off like you're just joking and I'll get back to the life that i'm continuously toking, kick it back like it's all easy stroking, become at one with nature like an invisible cloak and be that dream but still get awoken by the ground as if something is choking me by the hands of some celestial bloke and hence why i feel like evoking some people with words like they are subliminal pokes and hopefully I'll please whatever it is that had me initially provoked then.
I don't know about this one..
Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
I’m wondering and worrying
Am I blundering or wallowing
Do I swallow all my fears
And forget about the years
That came before today
And hope they go away
And never bother me again?
When does that start, when?

Grumbling and mumbling
Stumbling and bumbling
I learn to stifle my tears
And through catatonic years
I forgot how to play
And locked myself away
From the fellowship of friends.
I hope to survive until it ends.

Itching and *******, I switch
To calling people a sunsabitch
Because they don’t guess
Why I’m a big freaking mess
And help me to recover
Maybe come be my lover
Because I don’t know how.
Let that part start right now.

Smoking and toking every day
Won’t make the blues go away.
Huffing and binge drinking
Means I’m not really thinking
And too often these days
That is what I have prayed;
To be blissfully unaware
That I am going nowhere.
The illustration is Outlived II by Pat Perry.
spysgrandson Nov 2016
we took turns toking,
holding the tent pole up
while the rain battered
the canvas

dawn crawled
over the great rocks;
a synovial silence
after the storm

still ******
we finally succumbed  
to sleep, for an eternal

until awakened by Huns
on horses, hoof beats ricocheting  
off the hard stones, echoing
in the canyons

worse than that thunder,
the eerie emanations riding
the backs of the staccato waves
from the beasts’ shod feet    

words flung from the riders’ tongues
slapping our ears, bedeviling our weary wits,
these time traveling tricksters, transporting    
us to a world at war

Hueco Tanks, Texas, July, 1969
under the influence of cannabis
Hueco Tanks, Texas, July, 1969, a true tale
Tina Pavlova Apr 2014
I'm as lucky as a needle in hay.
You're as lucky as a man dying to play
In piles of straw, instead coming out  
needle stuck in his heel,
With every step, you feel.
And at the odds, I reel.
Guilt, I feel;
Wonder, I seal
You in.
Recalling no rules
for how to play,
You break through
and we run
Faster and further until we are
Toking away.
SummertimeLace Feb 2015
My heart is embedded
In your head
Thumping soundly
Beating red
Full of passion
And desire
Starting a smolder
Starting a fire
Like a migraine
Thumping ,Thumping
In time with time
Ticking ,Toking
as time stops
Stopping ,slowing
In your head
Thumping softly
as you die in your bed
Soundly ,softly
Beating red
#love #death #life
smoking and drinking
anything but thinking
to this world, I am dumb
hoping is shrinking
my armor is chinking
my mind is now numb

toking and syncing
my mind has no inkling
empty out my head
the eyes of no blinking
they are set on linking
this life with the dead
Samuel Adell Oct 2014
I spit catastrophes rapidly
Leave you a fatality
Innocent by reason of insanity
Clearing my head on this balcony
Disgusted by society
Where you gain respect by committing acts, of notoriety
My mind does nothing but fight me
Everyoneelse thinks I’m off the deep end, crazy

**** around and you’ll become the topic of discussion
Love and corruption, sin and seduction
Society is the definition of corruption
All people do is make assumptions
Born into a corrupt world, ****** up ****
Always keep the purple lit
Got Alice, Cheshire Cat, and The Caterpillar toking it
If you talk **** you’re bound to get hit

In life will all have a different philosophy
Every other man claiming a prophecy
All politicians speak is *******, dishonesty
No one cares that our children are corrupted by technology
Here’s to another day
Another coffin rots away
Life’s just a game we play
Until God takes us away

A new beginning has been presented
Just looking at me, can you tell I’m demented
Her death I could’ve prevented
Now my legacy is cemented
Life is something we can never rehearse
I’ve seen too many loved ones dead in a hearse
My heart golden, but my blood’s black
She always stole my breath like an asthma attack

So is this where I belong
Cause at this point everything’s going wrong
One day I’ll be bigger than King Kong
Free my mind, get ***** eyed like Cheech & Chong
Tomorrow is not a guarantee
When my mind is my purgatory
No one can control me
Your words do nothing for me

Now you’re saying I’m your salvation
Who the hell are you? What’s your relation
I miss seeing her eyes ablaze with elation
Her death was my inevitable damnation
Since her death I’ve been nothing but diffident
Like a lost dog, I’m timid
I’ve always been seen as different
But to that opinion, I’m indifferent

Living life with a newfound belligerence
Like a high off of ten different barbiturates
Today’s generation is filled with nothing but ignorance
This cypher shall be thy deliverance
Life is all about mind over matter
Look at the wall covered with your brain splatter
All because these rhymes blew your mind
I’m a rapper of a different kind
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I know I shouldn't smoke
a pack a day
I know how bad it is
and how much money
the whole shebang

and I know I shouldn't drink
more days of the week
than not
I know that I do stupid things
like loosing in a drinking game
and being forced to sprint
up and down 6 flights of stairs
I know that I get all sappy
and promise girls
things I can't give
I know it's bad
that at the end of a day
I crave a drink
but sometimes
you just need to
get good and drunk

I know that I shouldn't smoke ***
spending most of my day high
up in the clouds
taking a nap
but it relaxes me
and it makes everything
seem so **** nice
and I know it's bad
to not be able to sleep
without toking up
I know it shouldn't be okay
to be bored
but hey
it makes ****** movies
a whole lot better
which is huge service
to people everywhere

I know the lifestyle's not too hot
and trust me
I know you know
and that you only want
what's best for me
but sometimes
you just have to make
some really bad decisions
Jamie F Nugent Jun 2016
The trumpet on the kitchen table
Catches the sunlight and returns it;
Into the eyes, onto the skin,
Sweet and soundless.

There is cheap linoleum wallpaper
Trying its best to be fine stone,
It doesn't really look that bad;
When you're far enough away.

On the wall hangs a massive clock,
Ticking and toking as it does,
A few minutes too fast.

All along the counter,
There are sweet things half eaten,
And half-drank cups of tea (still warm).

In the press, the glasses are never used,
They taste too strong of dust and
The flavor will not wash away soon,
Although vain, the glasses still look nice.

-Jamie F. Nugent
vic Apr 2016
I have never smoked **** in my lifetime.
Mainly because my anxiety makes me afraid of committing even the smallest of crimes.
But I know so many people that like to light up their mind.
And my sister happened to be one of that kind
She used to always smell like ****
She treated it like something of a need
I'm pretty sure if you cut her open then she began to bleed
It'd be a swirl of red, yellow, and green.
When I was ten and she’d drive me to school
Not telling our grandma that she toked while she drove was the ultimate rule
Sometimes she wouldn't roll the windows down cause she was a bit of a fool
And I had no choice but to **** in her fuel
The smell of **** makes me happy
And it's not because I'm a stoner or because I'm ******
My reason is sappy
And it's because when she took her last breath I’m pretty sure it was smoking a fatty
Her new favorite necklace became a colorful rope
And it was a symbol of her lost hope.
And the entire time she went down that slippery *****
Right by her side was a bag of dope.
Her dangling body was the only image in my eyes
Everything she ever told me started to turn into disoriented lies
And I began to despise the very meaning of getting high
Because my favorite stoner flew into the sky
Now I know that toking wasn’t the problem
The matter at hand was a bit more quantum
But it hurts because she was the Batman to my Robin
And now I’m here by myself trying to protect the streets of Gotham.
From a super villain pair called Anxiety and Depression
Rachel’s noose was their sick little invention
I keep trying to figure out what's the deal with their obsession
With the mangled corpses that give them their erections
I ask her everyday when I curl up to her hoodie
“Was it because you were bullied?
Was it because you spent too many days playing hookie?
Was it because you didn’t smoke enough of your goodies?”
The **** seemed to make my sister seem stable.
It was like her way of getting her emotions out without it seeming too painful
She never really thought of it as shameful
But it didn’t seem to help that April
I ponder on if the **** would help on me
If it would relieve stress better than tea
If it would help calm my anxious seas
If it could possible set me free.
Now I’ve never danced with Mary Jane
But some people say that she can drive you insane
You only have to let her in your brain
And she’ll take away some of that pain
The smell of **** comforts me and you might not understand
But don’t you dare try to command
Or try to demand
That I am too young to know about that greenland
When my sister committed suicide
A part of me also died.
But now I have identified
That’s it’s the smell of **** that makes that part alive
And I guess you won’t understand until you’ve cried
While you stood there discovering that your pothead sister had died
And began screaming as your two greatest fears would finally collide
And your world is overtaken by Grief’s high tide.
You know the surfer boy told her to hang ten
And I didn’t think she would let those words that far in her skin
But when the clock struck ten she had committed her deadliest sin
And I swear to God that a joint was the last place she had been.
Toking at the dam around twelve
Listening for rod tip bells
Muds slapping topwater , the hollow ring
of paddle striking boat , a bowed rod , a midnight
fight on a starlit warm Rico night
Connecting the heavens with wondering eyes
Tobacco smoke rising high into the sky
A jigger of peach brandy warmth
A chicken sandwich from the One Stop* ..
The One Stop was the only store in Palmetto other than a supermarket when I was a teenager ..They had the best chicken sandwiches ..Spent many a night cat fishing Cedar Grove Lake as well as the Chattahoochee River ... Muds are slang for Flathead Catfish ..

Copyright February 10 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Karisa Brown Dec 2016
Engorged breast
Supple thighs

Scent toking
Under neon lights

Leather strap
Near my neck

Tie loose
Around your ****** neck

You are mine tonight
Don't forget to
Sketcher Dec 2018
I would rather have a panic attack in the dark room than be alone at home in my own zone depressed on my phone. Then staying up an insomniac, at the park, rising gloom, falling rain, feeling pain, like it's all I ever known.
Attempted suicide, but then revived, choking phlegm, thought I died, I was there, in the hospital, bare naked riddled with needles, poked and prodded, dead skin rotted, almost cried, but I fought it.
Now I knew, I had to go home, and to school, to ******* and moaning and drama, and talking, and floating back to normal society, choking on tears in sobriety, kind of wish I stayed dead cause she gives me glee, ignore what I just said and don't pitty me, as I escape again to a place you flee, when the lit fuse of my bomb rapidly, rushes towards the end, she's gone and done it again, she's wrong and loving other men, I'm right here and paying amends, for **** that I never did, all I ever wanted was to please a kid, with a rotten heart, that was full of sin, I hope the goal was never to win, in this game of life, strife ridden knife stuck on skin.
What doesn't make sense is how she makes me so happy, cause I'm dense headed every time she calls me pappy, or *** or says, "I Love You", it was two months of a misconstrued, confusing relationship thing, now two months without it and it ******* stings and aches when I'm not around her, I want to love her, I want to ground her, ram her, straight into the floor or wall so maybe she can feel my pain, bash her head in a door and make her choke on a wedding ring, while I smoke **** out her mouth like toking while she's bleeding from the throat down to the feet and... in this verse I just finished a talk and I understand that I've been gawking nonsense all along and she isn't with me because she doesn't want to hurt me, but sticks by me because she really likes me.
I feel fine now because I've put the puzzle pieces together and I've calmed down now cause I think I understand Heather.
That's what I'll tell myself as life goes on, living in the prison cell of pain and beyond.
Did I figure it all out?
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
eh, you wake up in the morning,
you hear the work-bell ring,
n' i march you to the table!
to see the same ol' thing.

ain' no food upon the table,
n' no... something something...
cos' you better not complain boy,
you'll get in trouble with the man...

let the midnight special,
     shine a light on me...
let the midnight special,
           shine a de Wallen red light on me -

cos Soho turned amber to all things queer,
and with queer turned all the stoppage
lights gearing you up to marriage a full
ahead go -
                              or in alt. castrated pop of
the Vatican **** charts - some sang some
other traffic coordination -

cos Soho sang of the green pristine ironed shirts
and the 9 and 5 daily tortoise and
birds - once it was the bees and the birds -
now it was all about birds and worms -
Soho my man, is all queer to mind you,
extortion on real estate and ****** -
but what if i paid with a diamond clad ****?
or cut my organic one off and used a *****,
half price?
                        i'd vote in solely for de wallen
section of Amsterdam, **** those little hubs
of quasi-hippies toking the cool off a joint...
i didn't go there for the cafes, i went for the brothel
                  ha                         ­     ha.

now, please understand me, i can understand a date
being a walk in a park, a promenade,
i understand the French concept of dating - coordinating,
walking and talk, an Islamic calendar month of binge eating
at sunset without recitation
from the book- but all this cinema,
this restaurant and drinks?
how about just a walk and talk session girl?
because, boy, you're so ******* outdated - i'd prefer
watching horror movies in a thunderstorm with lightning,
at least i'd be part of the Addam's family of Scottish Economy...

promenade! promenade with me! the airy bit of it all,
i'll have your oyster platter if i'm "sulking" an empty
stomach, and your words bouncing off inanimate things
while we seem to be walking parallel tangos,
but end up in the crypt of Caduceus.

i never finished the Soho song about the area being that
of privileged queers, and de Wallen known to the English
being shame alley - well... you should have heard the laugh
of that bubbly Puerto Rican girl... 'you know how
many i have had in me?'
what? tongues, i'm guessing the first.

i still don't know how to vote this out -
if i'd vote out, Soho couldn't compensate me,
if i'd vote in, at least de Wallen would -
well, given the statistics, i rather walk and talk
like some Aristotle tutorial -
rather than sit on my **** in a suburban semi-detached
before a television waiting for dementia.
Vampyre Kato Jun 2016
& I  Know  & I Know  & I Know
Its Hot & Its Cold
I'm High Survive  The Lows
3 Am With The Candles Low
Writing Rituals
Angels Shake  With Window Cove
Tea Kettle Screaming In There On The Kitchen Stove
If You Dont Resonate  With Me
Its Because  We Difent Yo
Im On A Mission
Here To Save Raise Planet Earth
Jet The Human Race
Face Sweating Over Dose The Herb
Psychedelic Star Seed Flowing Bar ****
So Superb
Heart Eyed Green & Peep
Meditating  Breathy. HEAVY  & My Palms Wet
Smokers Claiming To Be Stoners
Toking **** Sweat
Thorat Chackra Gong Trachea Brontasores
I'm Here Projecting  Spheres
I Ain't Gone Yet
Passing Through My Space Ship
On A Long Quest
Battle Ready Conquest
Mother's Earths Roots
Be Boots I'm Strong Yes
So Powerful Limitless
I Make The Shower Glow
I Spit Powdered Snow
I'm Oath Like Owl Toe
I'm Kato I'm Deeper  Than The Sea Floor
Ancient  Alien  Pleadia Here 1000 Times Before
No Need For Debating
Conversating Amazing
Of Courses  I'm So Sure
Love & Compassion
WISDOM Knowing The Planet
Grateful Don't Take Things For Granet
Every Thoughts A Seed
If Its Ya Need Water It With Ya Energy
Ascending Into A Better  Me
Trancend The Remedy
Light House Remember  Me
7 Legion  If You Faced With An Emeny
Kleem Or Kato
I'm Able To Tranmuate The Negative  Energy
I'm Soul Savior  NOT A Slave To Label
Romance & Treasure
Never Brraking Codes Even For Pleasure
Even For The Baddest Chick
I'm A Higher Being
Soul Sings On Galactic Ships
Ottar Mar 2015
the suns rays stray
bent in an array
no diffusing the display

few shy away from ultraviolet play

skin tones grow red,
hair lighter on the head,
start and finish colours bled,

the corpse moves again instead

The distance from point to point,
the distance from oil to anoint
the distance from toking that first joint,
end result was to be broken legs, if the male parent I did disappoint,

Think can become will, with stones of little steps,
A person of another country, is it possible to annex,
Dreamer, truth, no track record of success, the convex

Reflection of the sun, disperses all light
Leaves the fool in the dark
Pound sand,
tasting salty tears
no anger here, for tonight the son ... has faded
Jo Pietersen Dec 2015
on the way
to find something to make me less empty
I passed a street sign
I ended up streets away
lost in the clouds
staring at the beautiful architecture
the art made me feel safe
I was kissing bottles
I was toking plants
but nothing make me more safe
than the architecture
which was you

I've done my fair bit
of ending up in the wrong place
making the wrong choice
but everything felt right,
even the sound of your voice
right there in that very wrong street
the street with the beautiful architecture
with the brown hair and eyes
the beating heart
how is it that
something so beautiful
would end up so brutal

my eyes are grey
my hair is a mess
and my heart barely beats
but I love you
and a stranger who felt like home
an anonymous street
which seemed so identified
why does everything seem so confined
why can't I leave it all behind

the problem is
I aimlessly try and fix things
but I can't untie the strings
the strings that cling
to our empty flings
in the cold and brutal springs
that bring the birds to sing
at the same time as breaking their wings
~ the right person at the wrong time~
Alexis Galagan Dec 2012
There’s a joint.
Here’s a ****.
We’re all together.
Loving this song.

There’s a blunt.
Here’s a bowl.
We’re all together.
Singing along.

There’s a tree.
Here’s a car.
We’re all together.
Burning cruising along.

There’s a cop.
Here’s some ***.
We’re all together.
Getting caught.

There’s a siren.
Here’s the spray.
We’re all together.
Getting arrested today.

There’s the newspaper.
Here’s the article.
We’re all together.
Being publically in trouble.

There’s the parents.
Here’s where I stay.
No one’s together.
Grounded for forever.

There’s our freedom.
Here’s wherever.
We’re all together.
Toking another.

There’s a lesson.
Here’s a favor.
When we’re all together.
Always look in the review mirror.

— The End —