"trippiest" poems - Hello Poetry

The all seeing iris imperial city The swiftest of stylus this side of the ‘sippi The trippiest spittin’ Promethean hippy Conspiracy theorist of eeriest verse The despotic hypnotic black flag bearin’ Hearst Still immersing myself in a poverty trap As I grapple with lack of fact check cashing crap Cryogenically frozen emotion vibes flowin’ From out my funk bunker boombox Overthrowin’ Your global dominion opinion with ease Shootin’ breezes with Tirailleurs Senegalese I’m the kid wicked picket sign paintin’ Tom Sawyer The ill eagle Taino privilege enjoyer Still swoopin’ in mean on each **** I make clean Pick the bones dry of serpentine oil green dreams Then I bury what’s left of your money machines With the pharaohs of old’s latest pyramid schemes

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Jul 15, 2018

Jul 15, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC

michael-marchese

Horus the Youth

The all seeing iris imperial city The swiftest of stylus this side of the ‘sippi The trippiest spittin’ Promethean hippy Conspiracy theorist of eeriest verse The despotic hypnotic black flag bearin’ Hearst Still immersing myself in a poverty trap As I grapple with lack of fact check cashing crap Cryogenically frozen emotion vibes flowin’ From out my funk bunker boombox Overthrowin’ Your global dominion opinion with ease Shootin’ breezes with Tirailleurs Senegalese I’m the kid wicked picket sign paintin’ Tom Sawyer The ill eagle Taino privilege enjoyer Still swoopin’ in mean on each **** I make clean Pick the bones dry of serpentine oil green dreams Then I bury what’s left of your money machines With the pharaohs of old’s latest pyramid schemes

18

Shimmy wild Shake down - This is some Railroading Existential Trolling **** I’m plugging in- A glaring glitch In your singular Reality. You’re completely Right If you think I’m Taking advantage of the fact That you Think We’re all just Programmed players In your Sacred Existence. My iridescent snicker Isn’t what’s up for debate Buddy - I know there’s a coyote Lurking about Somewhere And I’m gonna let that Son of a ***** Chuckle & buckle Up Until I lose it In the Trippiest corners Of your mind; Whistling like Whispers Where words Sound like Wonders Bathed in Confusion At its best. I’m gonna make you Wonder If you’ve ever Waken up At all. -- Gear hopping Daily From your Native system To “What the hell’s Even Going on anymore?” Don’t worry Though Darling. I only switched The blues And the greens. You’re only sleeping If you believe You are.

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Nov 9, 2011

Nov 9, 2011 at 12:26 AM UTC

elephants-and-coyotes

Playtime

Shimmy wild Shake down - This is some Railroading Existential Trolling **** I’m plugging in- A glaring glitch In your singular Reality. You’re completely Right If you think I’m Taking advantage of the fact That you Think We’re all just Programmed players In your Sacred Existence. My iridescent snicker Isn’t what’s up for debate Buddy - I know there’s a coyote Lurking about Somewhere And I’m gonna let that Son of a ***** Chuckle & buckle Up Until I lose it In the Trippiest corners Of your mind; Whistling like Whispers Where words Sound like Wonders Bathed in Confusion At its best. I’m gonna make you Wonder If you’ve ever Waken up At all. -- Gear hopping Daily From your Native system To “What the hell’s Even Going on anymore?” Don’t worry Though Darling. I only switched The blues And the greens. You’re only sleeping If you believe You are.

67

Hi, Come on by, I'm the Sugarman Selling your ephemeral relief to an eternal pain Selling you vivid daydream you could lick like an ice cream Please, Dear come on by, My panel won't disappoint For you I have wildest desires bottled or pressed in a pill Hey boy, Come on by, Chillest of chills will run up your spine Customized for you the fluffiest of clouds to make you feel fine Meet my lucy, Trippiest colours, A scenery most words cannot define Oh Nevermind, Feel free to try if your trust is as rest couldn't care less, if my hair looks like a mess Please, Come on by, for my goods are the best My secret plaster you can use to fill the void Don't you worry, Come on by, Don't be paranoid Altered Perception ©

0

Mar 5, 2018

Mar 5, 2018 at 5:43 AM UTC

alteredperception

Please Come On By

Hi, Come on by, I'm the Sugarman Selling your ephemeral relief to an eternal pain Selling you vivid daydream you could lick like an ice cream Please, Dear come on by, My panel won't disappoint For you I have wildest desires bottled or pressed in a pill Hey boy, Come on by, Chillest of chills will run up your spine Customized for you the fluffiest of clouds to make you feel fine Meet my lucy, Trippiest colours, A scenery most words cannot define Oh Nevermind, Feel free to try if your trust is as rest couldn't care less, if my hair looks like a mess Please, Come on by, for my goods are the best My secret plaster you can use to fill the void Don't you worry, Come on by, Don't be paranoid Altered Perception ©

14

I wrote a poem about the highest of highs and trippiest of lows. I wrote a poem about inhaling the ashes of a burned lover and how all that was left, were the charred remains of a once lit flame. I wrote a poem about your eyes and the wormhole I drowned in. How the walls grew hands and pulled at my shirt, my arms, How my skin is now marked by your fingertips, Your hands, the only ones that fit accordingly to my body. I wrote a poem about how heartbreak has stitched itself into unfamiliar places I wrote a poem about how I am hard to Love, About how my heart beats abnormally, taking a pause between beats- Lub...d-dub- I wrote a poem about how my ex lovers have settled into my body, Their words continue to resonate in my mind. I wrote a poem about how I trip over my appearance and how the world is beautiful, but we're poisoned apples, rotting slowly with worms eating holes out of us. I wrote a poem and no matter the words that poured out of me, I was still full of emotions that continue to abandon me, wake me up in a sweat and in tears Heartbreak and sadness meet me by the end of my bed. They hold hands and smile at me, the scene before them, almost artistic. I have become nothing, but a painting described as innocent and free of any emotion that doesn't resemble one of a woman. I have become something filled with anger, resentment, and hostility. I have become the end of the world, my fires burning my body, your fingerprints finally falling off with my melted skin. I have become an art piece placed in a gallery, waiting to be critic-ed. I have become a lost memory, forgotten like a message in a bottle, thrown away into the middle of the pacific ocean.

0

Jul 2, 2018

Jul 2, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC

Seeking-eternity

High

I wrote a poem about the highest of highs and trippiest of lows. I wrote a poem about inhaling the ashes of a burned lover and how all that was left, were the charred remains of a once lit flame. I wrote a poem about your eyes and the wormhole I drowned in. How the walls grew hands and pulled at my shirt, my arms, How my skin is now marked by your fingertips, Your hands, the only ones that fit accordingly to my body. I wrote a poem about how heartbreak has stitched itself into unfamiliar places I wrote a poem about how I am hard to Love, About how my heart beats abnormally, taking a pause between beats- Lub...d-dub- I wrote a poem about how my ex lovers have settled into my body, Their words continue to resonate in my mind. I wrote a poem about how I trip over my appearance and how the world is beautiful, but we're poisoned apples, rotting slowly with worms eating holes out of us. I wrote a poem and no matter the words that poured out of me, I was still full of emotions that continue to abandon me, wake me up in a sweat and in tears Heartbreak and sadness meet me by the end of my bed. They hold hands and smile at me, the scene before them, almost artistic. I have become nothing, but a painting described as innocent and free of any emotion that doesn't resemble one of a woman. I have become something filled with anger, resentment, and hostility. I have become the end of the world, my fires burning my body, your fingerprints finally falling off with my melted skin. I have become an art piece placed in a gallery, waiting to be critic-ed. I have become a lost memory, forgotten like a message in a bottle, thrown away into the middle of the pacific ocean.

20