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"unbreathable" poems
From depth to height, from height to loftier height, The climber sets his foot and sets his face, Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place, And counts the last pulsations of the light. Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night He runs a race with Time, and wins the race, Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace, Will, Love,--a threefold panoply of might. Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek; He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head, Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air, Made freeman of the living and the dead,-- He wots not he has topped the topmost peak, But the returning sun will find him there.
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3.7k
Resurgam
Suffocation,its just a feeling. Not the type when you're deep under the ocean, with water filling your lungs, Not the type when you're in a galaxy of burning stars surrounded by a void of unbreathable air. Suffocation, the type where you sit in the corner of your room, wrapping your spine between your delicate hands. Your knees, taking shelter in your chest. Your head held up so high, Not because of pride, But because the tears won't stop drowning every inch of you. Because your mouth is trying to take in every last bit of breath. Because your hair is a silk veil that covers what is now left in ruins. This kind of suffocation. The one where you can't take breaths to stay alive. The one where your lungs are so empty for you to scream, to shout so they can notice your pain. This is the kind of suffocation where you're amongst people yet feeling everything so deeply. They ask you to laugh, but they don't know that once you try to move your lips, you will suffocate.
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Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
SUFFOCATION
I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you. Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream. That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future. Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.
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May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 5:29 AM UTC
Tightrope
windy and a long way down the people pulsing through the streets unrestrained there's traffic and cars honking and all i can see is life movement there's people below these skyscrapers that are alive and have things to hope for and i am not one of them windy and it's getting dark now and i'm almost out of whiskey so it's now or never before i loose my nerve before the reckless abandon stops coursing through my veins before i forget why the hell it is that i'm up here in the first place the bottle clunks on the ground hollow completely empty and i knew i should have brought another with me or maybe picked a taller building but as it is there is nothing above me all else is below skyscrapers all else is tiny and insignificant and selfish and **** it why not just jump windy fast unbreathable cold sharp below skyscrapers
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Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
Below Skyscrapers
when the unbreathable dark hole I lose myself in turns out to be a pocket on iridescent disco pants
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Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
gratitude
it’s not nearly as romantic as you’d thought; watching the world burn having it crumble under the weight of your gaze           but here we are, the lucky ones beneath the gallows,                                 and we’ve got front row seats to the end of     the earth itself. this acrid, unbreathable smoke is in my         eyes and         ears and         lungs and  slowly pumping through my         blood                      can you taste this desperation when we kiss?     am i the only one who feels this            sitting on cinders like it’s the hood of my car   and wishing we could see through the haze? i’ll miss the noise, the feel of     cities rushing     two-lane highways brushing along my                  well-worn and weary tires and you’ll miss none of it, none at all                                                  because you’re dead                                and you’re difficult and he’s wearing your face but it doesn’t matter. none of it does.   kiss me again to drown out the screams. i want another           shot at life, but it won’t happen now:     another car, another motel, another rushed fumble out of our borrowed ties and IDs and lives                   but all i’ve got is you and your coffee’s getting cold.                           you’re not him but i can pretend with my                       eyes shut -                                          just don’t leave me with the wreckage. you are my morningstar                                  and i’m haunting you with life.
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Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
let's do some living after we die
it’s not nearly as romantic as you’d thought; watching the world burn having it crumble under the weight of your gaze           but here we are, the lucky ones beneath the gallows,                                 and we’ve got front row seats to the end of     the earth itself. this acrid, unbreathable smoke is in my         eyes and         ears and         lungs and  slowly pumping through my         blood                      can you taste this desperation when we kiss?     am i the only one who feels this            sitting on cinders like it’s the hood of my car   and wishing we could see through the haze? i’ll miss the noise, the feel of     cities rushing     two-lane highways brushing along my                  well-worn and weary tires and you’ll miss none of it, none at all                                                  because you’re dead                                and you’re difficult and he’s wearing your face but it doesn’t matter. none of it does.   kiss me again to drown out the screams. i want another           shot at life, but it won’t happen now:     another car, another motel, another rushed fumble out of our borrowed ties and IDs and lives                   but all i’ve got is you and your coffee’s getting cold.                           you’re not him but i can pretend with my                       eyes shut -                                          just don’t leave me with the wreckage. you are my morningstar                                  and i’m haunting you with life.
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High- Smoke in the air, All you do is blow smoke. Lies linger in the heavy air- Intoxicatingly heavy air. Unbreathable lies- Unbreakable ties. Mind so light, floating above a head weighted with lead. At some point we all believe we’re better off dead. Might just be the smoke, but my life is one big joke. Coming and going everyone coming once and Always Leaving. Always breaking- Promises. Lies Pies and then—everyone dies. High- Smoke in the air, That's all they do- blow smoke in the air It fills the room to capacity— only for a moment and it is empty once more. Empty promises made ‘ lies created to pacify a situation. Its all just empty smoke.
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Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
Empty Smoke
My generation Is completely ****** Poisoned by radiation ? Or squashed be terrorist trucks ? We have mass shootings At least once a week We've got global warming Over which we "debate" via tweets Some ***** say Lets fix Mars and go live there Open your ******* eyes The big problem is here Some of us preach acceptance Saying to love no matter what I tell you it's deception Now he's going to hell because he loves a man Someone kills them-self Every 40 seconds Wake up for gods sake It's the second leading cause of death We're destroying ourselves Twelve year old kids With anorexia A few thousand wrists were slit This past November A step out of the norm And you'll be excluded Everything screams CONFORM CONFORM IF YOU FAIL TO DO SO YOU WILL BE EXECUTED I could go on forever But I've made my point Deep down we all hurt But we're all in **** up to our necks The society is rotten and perverse The world is wrecked There's nothing for us here We get a dried up earth Unbreathable air We're ******* cursed It's really not surprising We all want to die That we're the most depressed generation (also the gayest tho lol) You high ups had better ******* do something Or we're all gonna die No more future generation The human race is falling to it's doom Get your act together ***** **** mother *******
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Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 7:21 AM UTC
One step aside and yOUr fUNeRal
The night hasn't come yet But the sky has turned dark The air is unbreathable This day was marked The house doors are shut There is no open window I cannot see anyone Not even my own shadow A burnt tree stands tall Where my house once stood All in flames it went that day Now in ashes and burnt wood Most houses got burnt down By the raging inhuman breed For energy, they feed on fire That's how they practice their creed People fled for their lives Never returning to their homes Some killed in the stampede No one ever dares to roam The elders say, the spits from hell Have taken the inhuman form Feeding on blood and fire This is the beginning of hell storm... ©sim
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Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
Hell Storm
great love to me is frightening it's all ache and burn the rearranging of breath & bones justifying anything at all to see that smile in front of me I can't rightfully explain it the way my knees can or my right hand but I like to call it floating I like to feel that & sink at the same time \ it's confusing and beautiful; hours become petals, heartbeats are worthy and it is cold settling after this. it is unbreathable when the warmth gets wasted
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Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
body
“Look at Mother Nature on the run in the 1970s.”      Neil Young The earth battles back, Katrina, Loma Prieta and Sandy destroy our complacency, Hurricanes and earthquake chase us from our homes. Our flood-ravaged farms fail us. The bees go out on strike, Refusing the work that sustains us. Drought destroys germination, Our food at war with our metabolism, Energizing while poisoning our bodies. Dioxin & mercury cross our epidermis, Infect us; **** us in revenge. The air itself in rebellion, Hot, fetid, over-carbonated; Unbreathable. The atmosphere itself, Voting us off the planet. The non-human and the inorganic conspire against us, Plot extinction of our species, Condemn us for crimes against the earth.
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May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
"Vibrant Matter: Episode I
Storms Off The Coast Winds Blow and tumble me around like tumbleweeds. I hear the storm coming close as the clouds roll over me, menacing in all aspects. Thunder crashes all around me, light escaping small gaps through the small cracks in the clouds. I could feel the cool of a hailstorm brewing… So I changed my train of thought. I felt the clouds recede, I felt my mind clear as I frantically searched my brain for things to think of besides. But they came back. Again, I felt the clouds creeping around me as another stress infiltrated my mind. I could feel the cool breath of the wind, but there was something more menacing. Turning my head around, the clouds change their forms. I become surrounded by dark giants, staring at me, fists clenched ready for war. The inevitability of the situation hits hard, I can’t stop thinking about it, stresses fog me, stresses that, regardless of how I deal with them, creep closer and closer to me, an unbreathable fog that won’t lift. I take a breath and succumb to inevitability, arms spread as if to greet it with the warmth of a hug, my mind at peace at last. It never arrives. Opening my eyes, I realize that I am alone in a paradise near water. Clear air with a warm sunset and a red sky- this is peace. Maybe one day I shall know it, maybe one day I shall attain it, but as of now I am fully aware that there is a series of storms brewing, storms I can call mine, storms forming off the coast.
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Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Storms Off The coast
I dare you drive your car. I'll walk between the crosswalk lines and bare the weight of all the lights and corners of the street. The road is ground, ash and dust and still the dead can beat, there heavy hearts on souls of steel and never see what barrels down, but look to left and right. So can you see the signs stamped go? and stop, and find they mop you up. From the road, they pack you up and weigh the load, with measure of your weight, with violence free. So I doubt you ever will, allow your blood to spill. But never will you know the cold. Fruition at it's pace. That in each turn see a door without a mark, to warn you halt. Behind the the truth is stark. It might be, that you have heart and fear not cowards dread. If of trial or not of trial, no courage and be dead. So inturn be ground to black the burnt and paved and lost. Those with station ever grave, and cross your heart intact. For all is only constant, Yet all the roads repeat. With, of this the nothing. Though we have the shapes. Squares for stores, Circles round, That of destined loss. Hope suspended, reprimand, light house roundabouts. That heavy air unbreathable, And acts on ground conceivable, Until the light you bend. But yet we strive to different shines. Those of different lamps. Cramps of youth Yearning now to smile at us, back . For it was us in tiny rooms destined to the sky. The guile lost, with hope to find your foolishness intact. If not of them and only you Trails for them you make. A road of trials, tribulations , so don't retract one act. For such is shame. The needling. To never chance, the why. That the hope might Be there still For daily do we lie. That it is to the woods, And oceans reasonings. This our dusk with glimmer, gleam. Our making's of a dream.
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Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 7:25 PM UTC
Urban blight
I dare you drive your car. I'll walk between the crosswalk lines and bare the weight of all the lights and corners of the street. The road is ground, ash and dust and still the dead can beat, there heavy hearts on souls of steel and never see what barrels down, but look to left and right. So can you see the signs stamped go? and stop, and find they mop you up. From the road, they pack you up and weigh the load, with measure of your weight, with violence free. So I doubt you ever will, allow your blood to spill. But never will you know the cold. Fruition at it's pace. That in each turn see a door without a mark, to warn you halt. Behind the the truth is stark. It might be, that you have heart and fear not cowards dread. If of trial or not of trial, no courage and be dead. So inturn be ground to black the burnt and paved and lost. Those with station ever grave, and cross your heart intact. For all is only constant, Yet all the roads repeat. With, of this the nothing. Though we have the shapes. Squares for stores, Circles round, That of destined loss. Hope suspended, reprimand, light house roundabouts. That heavy air unbreathable, And acts on ground conceivable, Until the light you bend. But yet we strive to different shines. Those of different lamps. Cramps of youth Yearning now to smile at us, back . For it was us in tiny rooms destined to the sky. The guile lost, with hope to find your foolishness intact. If not of them and only you Trails for them you make. A road of trials, tribulations , so don't retract one act. For such is shame. The needling. To never chance, the why. That the hope might Be there still For daily do we lie. That it is to the woods, And oceans reasonings. This our dusk with glimmer, gleam. Our making's of a dream.
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Blackguard pontiffs are bonified magicians, The brook of neutrality has faded, Canteen dated apples make caprice the unbreathable air's faulty conditions!!!! Cataract chase will undertake thy crown, Thou art gagged and bound to worldly view of conduct, Non obstruct thy debility of nobilities sublime heritage!!! Thou prison castle dweller, Thou worm stuck in the tanks filter!!!
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
just sliding on through
I'm sinking into the sand that will never let me surface to the sea never let me surface to the top of the waters, where i can breathe in the stuff that makes me, me I'm lost in this smothering scandal that drains my soul of its life i can't get out of this unbreathable stuff, its ******* me down, and its shrill taste is tainting my life I'm stuck in this mess and ill never come out I'm stuck in this mess; will i be stuck here for life?
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Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
Sinking Sand
Your picture comes up while he and I are in the kitchen making salad and he takes one look at you, all strong eyes and tattoos, and of all things to focus on in this world of unbreathable beauty, of you, he picks as his focal point your haircut. Which is made of hair that is all yours but somehow is just six inches short of girl. Well yeah, but not a real girl. What does that even mean She’s not made of plastic, I scream, she’s real. She’s real, I scream. He does not flinch, does not here. I throw the phone on the ground and it shatters like one of his corral plates but I didn’t mean to break any window from me to your face. And with shattered-glass hands and shattered-glass breaths shuddering, I keep chopping. I whisk in some mint and some pepper and salt. I chop up parsley as calmly as my shaking hands can manage. He still does not hear the shaking; compliments my steady hand, praises my knife skills until I have to set the knife aside so I am not tempted to stab at the chill running down my own back and away from this heated kitchen. I mix the dressing. I chop the parsley. And there is chlorophyll left on the cutting board so I wash it off. It swirls down the drain. She’s real, she’s real, I scream. She’s realer than me.
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Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
real girl
The roses bloom around a house Reaching over the roof and into the clouds The thorns pierces the windows And the roots becomes the floor I stand on The living room becomes uninhabitable With glass shattered on the sofa, The TV split into two And the air becoming unbreathable The kitchen is full of insecurities With rotting food in the fridge, The missing knifes found in the tub, And the family table with lost chairs As a family we protect a single room The walls are covered with mirrors Gifted invincibility by our imagination We stare at our reflection in wonder Our shoulders are back Confidence in our eyes Our head is held high And into the clouds We became lost in our protection Unable to see what is below Until the dark and bright clouds part Allowing the star to pierce the sky It's is a fact that when there is more light Our shadows become fed Growing darker than before And whispers into our ears We believed we were giants Taller than our house And one with the roses Wanting to seek the blue sky Instead we trapped ourselves into the clouds Becoming lost children Who ignored the open window And got pricked by a rose We were smaller than our disguise Once there was nothing left to compare to Light shun into the room of mirrors Leaving a broken family in sight But we were all addicted To the beauty of the roses Who petals became clouds And the stems that became ladders
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Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC
A House is a Broken Home
I want to not be my current self. I want to be someone else, someone else. I'm under the mountain, still and again. I'm under the mountain, a mountain of pain. And the mountain is heavy, more than before. I'm unmovable, unbreathable, unhopeable and more. I'm paralysed, just can't seem to break free. From under the mountain of guilt, pain and trees. Trees with leaves of shame and regret. With a bark of melancholy, I'm sleeping to forget. I'm sleeping to forget that I am myself. And in my sleep, I'm someone else, someone else.
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Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
Someone