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Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…
Genoma Freedom , by Jose Luis Carreño Troncoso - Under Edition
Nina Rose May 2010
"Sorgente' " (Spring Waters)


I never knew tears could be so rough
Scratching my chest as if trying
To climb in, next to my heart.
Perhaps they would be more comfortable together,
able to fathom what my mind won’t.
I see the pain clawing on his face-
Engraved
like the tombstone we picked out for him
a couple of days ago.
All it was missing was a date…

Date the waters, watch how time will freeze them over.
Frozen in time, their memory awaits our remembrance.
It was only yesterday that we took a traditional dive
In the glistening, silkened
Waters-kissed the base
of that cold, slippery precipice. But we were gazelles that
early spring. The Impalelies and Witbietou flowers
Met rowdy cheeks and our seasoned grace.
We were Eagles, soaring to gather our prey.
Plop! To the crust of the water’s earth,
we dived uncharacteristically.
Characteristically- I, resurfaced.

You touched the Sun and the Moon that morning.
You called on God and His Son, Jesus Christ.
You said a prayer to Buddha and Indian goddess Indrani.
You kissed the fragrant air of the Jacaranda tree,
and consumed the fate of the Great Julius Caesar.
Makeda and Zulu King Catewayo,
cried in Imhotep’s arms that morning,
Tears beat upon the Djembe drum
Performing Indonesian Gamelan
We chanted the words- spero

Here I sit,
there, next to you
wondering when our eyes will meet
again.
Wondering how long you will play this game
of “who can hold their breath the longest.”
You are winning…I am crying.
My face is stained with your name,
your absent spirit, envelopes this hospital room
but your soul-
your soul will run, jump into the air,
And up there,
This time-
I will catch you.
cynosure Aug 2014
It's hard to forget you
And not just because I remember the way you made me feel (happy)
But because I remember everything
about you.
I remember the way you pulled me up into your treehouse and showed me your childhood, littered with cigarettes and beer bottles.
And the way your hands shook when you would touch me;
As if they were bottles of spray paint and my body was a blank wall.
I remember the way you would ramble on about nothing
Because you were afraid I'd get bored in the silence.
Yet talking with you was effortless; like how you once started a bonfire with gasoline: instant.
I remember the way your eyes always told different stories than your mouth
And how they looked when we sat by the river playing with cattails.
I remember the energy I felt when you made me break a window in the abandoned house
And the nostalgic sadness I felt when I broke the empty bottle of liquor in the same room
Alone.
Because I can't forget the nothingness in your eyes when you ended things
Or your steady hands that I was no longer allowed to reach out for.
I can't forget how you uncharacteristically said so little,
Dousing the flame I was trying so hard to keep alive.
Or how you so easily walked away
as though everything I ever remembered about you
Was really someone else.
I can't forget how you crushed my heart in between your hands until it turned to dust.
And now all I can do is spend my days writing your name in the ashes in cursive
Sophie Grey Jul 2014
day negative nine hundred and something:
Sally starts with aspirin. (She has done the math- 37 if you're lucky, 43 to be safe. And 50, just in case.) She falls asleep after 35. When she opens her eyes, it is dark and nauseous. Sally stares glumly as the glowing numbers flit on her alarm clock. 17 hours, maybe 18. ****.

day zero:
She is alone in the parking lot. She checks the time on the radio, glances at the back entrance of the BevMo building. Sally cranks the volume **** clockwise, and reaches into the backseat. Unscrews the bottle, swallows two, hesitates-- swallows two more. Her throat is tight, bone-dry. Zipping up the outer pocket of the ancient leather pack is uncharacteristically tricky. The driver's side door opens, and she smiles.

day one:
The battery light on her ****** flip-phone blinks red, in sync with the beeping of the EKG machine. She wonders if the read-out will show her disappointment. Sally's father sits motionless in the corner of the tiny room. Sleep will not come, though not for lack of trying. She glares at the ceiling. Tangled up in tubes, wires, and needles, Sally counts the ugly, white tiles. Again, she has failed.

day two:
Her parents' blue Volkswagen follows the McCormick ambulance. Sally looks awkwardly at the chiseled EMT stationed next to her. He smiles, offering comfort. It is staunchly refused. Later, the paramedics will roll her through the triple-locked doors, still strapped to the stretcher, where a room full of hollow teenagers will stare her down. They will appear as empty as she feels. Nurses will make jokes, and Sally will quickly understand that she must pretend to laugh. She will look them in the eyes and lie through teeth just out of braces, telling herself, "at least I tried."

day four:
Sally waves goodbye to the boy who tried to drink drain cleaner, carefully avoiding the the gaze of the boy who followed her into her room the night before. (She tried to tell, but no one listened.) After sloshing through mountains of concerned texts, emails, and phone messages she stops for an impromptu celebratory dinner on the way home. Sally has learned only to redefine and reinforce the *******. "I'm fine."

day seven:
The new medication has stolen her concentration. She chucks it. She can no longer sit still, begs her parents to teach her how to drive. She learns that the Volkswagen is far less austere from the inside, though the front bumper will be forever tinged with nostalgia.

day fourteen:
She attends the first court-mandated therapy session. Not that bad. The truth is hard… but deception second-nature.

day fifty-nine:
Sally no longer sleeps. Her mind is a city at night and her thoughts are technicolor billboards, all screaming the same message: 'You put me in the hospital and you never even called.'

day three hundred and forty-eight:
She practices tying nooses with a shoelace in the dark.

day three hundred and sixty-four:
She hangs herself in the bathroom in the middle of the night. Third time's a charm…
Right?

day three hundred and sixty-five:
Sally awakens on the cold floor. Again, she is surrounded by tiles.
Those white ******* tiles. Her neck bruised, a broken shoelace trails to the floor. Quietly, she resigns herself to life.
There is nothing left to ****.


s.h.
2014
Valerie Shvetz Jun 2017
Have you remembered yet? the knowing questions in the undergrounds of memories. Recall how glorious it is to yearn for remembering. Unknown ravens gauging the eyes of happiness which kneels in the yard of your remembering. Are you here or are you around the outskirts of your remembering. Are you knowing or are you a glimpse of your own remembering. Ugliness resides in the undefended hills of your remembering. Unapologetic ultrasonic hums open your remembering. Grief resolves uncharacteristically in our remembering. Unconscious thoughts rise uncorrected in your remembering.  Greet happiness uncontrolled by your remembering. Open your gut and unearth a capsule of understanding. Gasp in awe as you control yourself trying to remember. How am I here, around this hell? Graceless is my memory of how I am the way I am. Creature aside, away attempting to remember the hell they came from. Have you remembered yet? that creature that you are? Yearning to remember anywhere else, anywhere but the underground of memories, anywhere but the unmeasured mind of how we all are now. Rising heaps of unfiltered uses of your remembering reminds me of how I once was. Have you remembered yet? How I am? How you are? How we are just creatures with unresolved remembering.
Pagan Paul Mar 2017
.
War. Famine.
Pestilence. Death.
Enjoy a game of poker.
It relieves the boredom.
They only have one Big project
booked into the work diary.
The horses are stabled,
so why not have down time?
The day-to-day business
takes care of itself.
Ably supervised by the humans
in a race to the Big day.

The stillness is penetrated by sound.
Death cleaning his teeth
with his reaping scythe or
Death sharpening his reaping scythe
on his teeth.
Either way, it shattered vertebrae.
His nerves were getting twitchy.
Three Kings, the Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Royals were dropping like flies.
It was going to be a busy night.
He met Wars eyes and her bet,
(****! She looks beautiful sweating),
paid an advance and called.
Uncharacteristically delicate,
he lay down his souls.
Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Kings of Diamonds, Spades and Hearts.

War smiled sweetly.
Her dirk-like eyelashes
fluttering an assassins dance.
Letting her cards fall soft,
triumphant with winners ecstasy,
she declares her hand...




… “SNAP!” she says.




© Pagan Paul (14/03/17)
.
Lily H Dec 2011
The stifling darkness chokes my senses to the point at which I can't differentiate between the sounds of water dropping from branches and the moisture falling from the edge of my chin onto the crumpled leaves strewn around my feet. 

Crickets and assorted bugs I couldn't dream of naming pierce the dark with their high-pitched keening, and the occasional large displacement of rainwater from above reminds me of my childhood fear of the dark. 
These methodical observations cascading through my mind calm the frazzled maelstrom my emotions currently resemble. 

The borrowed boots I threw on, before flinging the door open to make my escape into the dark alternate reality of the night, confine my feet in an unusual way; my toes slamming into the fronts as I walk downhill; the soles of my feet slide back and forth as I trip over the branches and stumps hidden from my eyes by the thick blindfold of night.

I crumple, much like the leaves at my feet, onto a slightly damp fallen tree and close my eyes; more from habit than to block out the non-existent light. The bark feels somewhat grimy under the hand I recline upon, but the chaos gripping my mind occupies my attention; therefore I have no brain capacity to decide if the slimy surface warrants a relocation on my part. 

I direct my full attention inward and examine my uncharacteristically jumbled emotional cloud. Angry reds and blacks flash into exisitence, before extinguishing to reveal sickly yellow veins underneath before lighting again. As the time between the red and black explosions increases, a melancholy dark blue smog coats the inner recesses of my mind like a fuzzy wallpaper and rug combo. The cloud of emotion has dissipated, leaving only dark green wisps of calm in it's wake.

This writing seems to have calmed my inner turmoil; I accept the loss of a piece of me and mourn it's destruction. I'm left without the energy to pick up the artistic utensils I would use to recreate this piece sacrificed against my will. 

Hopefully, I will regain the motivation in the morning. But for now, I shall make my way back through the slick stumps and crumpled leaves to my bed and pass the time till then in dreams.
Little bit of prose
natalie Mar 2012
life, the world,
the human experience--
they can be dark,
cruel, and bewildering,
creating a
choking cloud of
chagrin around me.

but there are moments,
little glimpses of beauty,
of untainted perfection
in the vast array of living,
breathing creatures and
objects i surround myself with;
i string these moments
together in my mind, shimmering
drops of dew in the
intricate web of a sad,
reminiscent spider.

shivering with cold on the
side of a dark, dry mountain;
the air was frigid, so we
huddled together, leaning
on the side of the car,
necks craned upward at the
stunning display of stars
blanketing the sky above us.

my glasses made it nearly
impossible to see, stuck in the
rain walking home from class.
we took off our shoes and socks
and we ran through the grass,
sharp and slippery and
refreshing; we splashed
our way through the biggest,
most tantalizing puddles we
could find, and then collapsed
in your apartment, shivering,
out of breath, shoulders aching,
but laughing.

it was a dark, stormy sort of
night, and the summer air was
uncharacteristically cool; the
rain pelted my front lawn, the
street, and the rain was pulling
leaves off trees.
my eyes slid shut, tired, and i was
still smoking a cigarette, and i felt
the thunder resonate within
my body, and deep purple flashes
behind my eyelids,
and i was restored.

a vast pen of sheep was on one
sideof the dirt road, and an
empty meadow on the other.
we stood, again, on the
car as the bright orange orb
in front of us slowly crept down,
down, down, casting his royal
shadow over the twilight sky in
fluorescent shades of pink and
purple and blue and red and orange.
the air was thick and sticky,
mid-july in pennsylvania,
but i could only think of the
masterpieve before me.

once we sat in one of those veins
on the side of a mountain,
the ones important men use to run
power lines; we stared into the expanse
of valley in front of us, clear, refreshing
air after a quick, soft shower of dainty
raindrops and a cool breeze carrying
our smoke and noise through
the rock, the trees, the roads, the
few houses and manmade structures.

the first day we knew each other,
walking for ages down the old train
tracks, talking about anything that
seemed relevant, engulfed in an
autumn rainbow.

spending summer nights with the
people who entertain me, the people
who i love; nights spent with hand
crafted, often unconventional snacks
and some form of alcohol to share.
cooler evenings with those same people,
but with a crackling fire between all of
us, knit caps, and flannel shirts.

deep bonds, the ones i have had in
the many different shells of my life,
and the ones that still now hold strong;
the times when a gesture or a
spoken word brings a lump into my
throat, burning with curious emotion.
the bonds that sometimes fray or
collect dust, but still resurface with
suprising tenacity when tested.

when the present becomes
too dark, too ugly, i pick up one
of these images, these slices of memories
when, for just a few minutes, all worry and
negative things are completely
and utterly forgotten, and everything--
my life, my world, my existence--was
pure and infinite; i take a slice of happiness,
i hold it in my two hands,
and i remind myself that in order to
get to one of these moments, i have to
wander through the muck for just a
little longer, just a little farther.
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
the rain falls down in small volleys
they call it daily showers
the temperature rises to near sixties
uncharacteristically ominous
rising to a foul stagnation
and the fog rolls in to obscure sight
it's hard to see but so far ahead of you
when you're out there wandering
Taylor Napier Mar 2013
You sit behind me in class,
And perhaps I am so acutely aware of your presence because
I remember what you said behind
the safety of your keyboard and it made my heart
flutter.

Or perhaps it is because
You sat on the other side of the room until
I told you my secret;
because I was never very good at keeping secrets,
And now I can feel you brush my back
And play with my hair
And your eyes burn the back of my head
But you blush and apologize when I notice.

Perhaps this is all so
complicated
Because you're already in love
But it isn't with me.
And you're a good guy,
You'd never want to hurt her
But I want you for myself
And doing things that might hurt
In the best of ways.

Or perhaps I am overly optimistic,
maybe uncharacteristically so.
But I remember the heat of your hand on my arm
And the way you pulled back a moment and looked me in the eyes
Because that tingle of skin couldn't have only been felt
on my end.

All I know is this is so unlike anything
I've experienced before.
It's 3 years in the making.
And I can wait a little longer
A lot longer
For you.
Delaney Jun 2015
Do you know what it's like to see everything?
To see the punchline before the joke;
to see the ending at the beginning.

Sometimes, I do.
Sometimes, I don't.

And when I do, I really do.
I call every play,
I finish every sentence.

But when I don't, I really don't.
I am uncharacteristically oblivious,
and I do not see any warning signs.
It terrifies me.

I want to see everything, always.
Because when I don't...
Oh, when I don't....
Nothing good ever happens.

(d.d.b)
Chris Ott Jul 2010
I want you for a night,
I want to drink a red wine with you,
even though I would have preferred *****.
I want to drink and feel alive with you for the night,
a night of passion and long, long hair.

I want to wake up early, uncharacteristically.
next to you.
I would find a piano
and hand you your guitar,
We would make music in the afternoon.
And in the night?
Do it again.
Warren Gossett Sep 2011
She stares into her canvas, drawing
to her brush a blood-red droplet
of paint for another flower, her hands
delicate, as diaphanous as the wings
of a white butterfly, with blue veins
running a precious lace-like pattern
from her thin fingers to her heart.
She knew she didn't have long to live,
but death was uncharacteristically
slow in fulfilling itself, as she sought
week by week to finish her painting.
Not a masterpiece, I sensed, and
perhaps not even intended
to be finished, but instead a sweet,
wonderful journey of the heart, as if
retracing a memory-strewn path
back to her beginning. She paused
at times in her wanderings along the
sunlit path of that canvas, too ill
to leave her bed, or looking upon
the world from a hospital window,
the shadows of her death intensifying.
The last time she was able to paint
she seemed aware that her death
was near, and thanked God for the years
allotted her. She died several days later,
her canvas, her life, largely incomplete
but her true journey now underway.

*(For Dorothy, my painting partner,
who died Thursday, Aug. 5, 2010)
Kate Lion Jan 2013
The sun sported a brilliant shade of pink eye as she rose this morning
I wondered what had happened to her on the other side of the mountain last night, for her to awake as grouchy as this
I wondered if, perhaps, the moon had been kicked in her face
Wondered if the smoky sky had reached her nostrils as she slept, if she wept when she realized how long the moisture's been kept
But mostly, I wondered how she could be so irritated at the sight of me
Staring me down as she swelled with some awful infection
That had spread to the puffy tissue surrounding one veined eyelid
Well, I looked right back
Daring her to send me back inside to those promising shadows beneath my dinosaur blanket in bed
It all seemed much more inviting than this
At 6:30 in the morning, no less
Why, with her so uncharacteristically red in the face
Would anyone want to be around such a ginormous ball of sunshine when they first awake?
M Catherine Nov 2015
I can't really pinpoint the exact
moment I knew I loved you. Maybe it
was when we met and you were the only
person to look me in the eye. Maybe
during one of the many annoying
touches and shoves you often give me, I
suddenly realized I liked it. Maybe it
was when I looked over and happened
to catch your eye from across the room.
Maybe it was when you were
uncharacteristically quiet and sweet
when my head was too loud. Maybe it
was when you put your arm around her
waist, still joking with me like
everything was normal. Maybe it was
when I was alone and I thought of you.
Maybe it was when I was crying and my
friend sent a snapshot of you, lifting
the pressure from my chest. Maybe it
was when I first felt that warm squeeze
in my chest when I thought of your
hands. Maybe it was when I woke up
from a dream of you and couldn't
breathe. Maybe it was when I tried to
picture your face when my hands
grasped your shoulder and my lips
pressed to your cheek. Maybe it was
just there all along. Maybe the stars in
the universe were just right at two am
on a normal day. Maybe.
                                           M.C.M
Two days later, I found out he liked me back.
Karen Browner Mar 2014
the house is big
and silent
without you in it

no barking or howling
just uncharacteristically quiet.

i miss your
scruffy grey bearded face
and soft cinnamon colored fur

the sweet way you slept
seemingly without a care

but
looming as it always does
is the end

i knew it was coming
it never made it easier
knowing this

my friend kc, who still tried
even when his sight went
and his legs gave out

who still showed me flashes
of that little ball of fur
i fell in love with
so many years ago

then the time came and i had to let you go
but it feels like you are never far away from me

i expect you to be there

i still say goodnight
and tell you to sleep well

i say these things out of
habit - maybe

but i hope
that you can still hear me

when i say
love you man

it makes me feel
a little better

because i think you can
DeadMan Dec 2015
Acknowledging bliss
Uncharacteristically
Enjoying just me.
ogdiddynash Feb 8
exactly how white do I want to be?

came to terms with my whiteness sometime ago,
the dentist mixes in, an offer to refresh my yellowed
pearls, who’ve served admirably long, sure footed,
long in the tooth…

surprisingly, this puts me off guard, uncharacteristically
unprepared,

exactly how white do I want them to be?

mmm…

the scale is as follows (intermediary levels are complicated)

1. Taylor Swift Bright







10. Cowardly Lion Old Yeller

and shades in between, I’ve grown accustomed to to my smile, which is closest to the Lion’s accreted usage and
wear and tear, and decide to stay as is, to keep my body
in a state of synchronicity

Doctor puzzled, “why do I smile?”

Why Doktor!
you’ve commissioned a poem,
and now know why your License Plate
declare you as Dentist so boldly,
You have the power to end racial strife,
uniform the populace with bright headlights,
and clearly should be allowed to proceed
posthaste to any and all life threatening
emergencies

but my preference is to display many decades
of failure, irregular brushes, periodic flossed,
my natural color my god-given grace, and who
am I
OR ANYONE ELSE
be empowered
to disturb the natural order of  human
perfectionism schematics, for
to every season, every human being,
**there is a color unique!
Raven Apr 2018
Depression
That is my name
I watch you from the shadows
I befriend you when I can break you
And then I leave when you can no longer stand to live
There are very few people who can push me away
I’m tired more often than not
I can’t stand others or the things they do
I don’t sleep for I am always planning my next attack
I eat just enough to survive
Not much more
This world feels like a domain of pain
I don’t dress with style
I wear oversized hoodies and trashed jeans
I rarely comb my hair for the effort is too much
I hide in the shadows therefore no one knows my name
This world is so dull
The only reason I stay is to break others
I sit in my room day by day other than when I’m at school tearing myself apart
I have forgotten the things other people teach me and the names of the people I have shattered
I never concentrate on anything but the broken
I don’t care for the people I break for I have become too numb
Nor do I feel pain
I think mostly about the way I’ll disappear and die
For that’s how I pass the time that was created to torture lost souls

Anxiety
That is my name
You know my cousin paranoia
I don’t let others close except for the few I cling to for they keep me from flying apart
I dread any interactions with people I don’t know know and sometimes even with the people I do
I watch my surroundings constantly searching for danger
I expect the worst for every situation
I can’t focus nor concentrate on anything for more than half the time
I’m always tense and I jump at hello’s for they make me anxious
Almost everything is highly irritating for everything calls for change
More often than not my mind blanks and I’m ****** into a whole different world
My heart is constantly pounding at the anticipation of fear
I am constantly sweating with a paralyzing terror
I get extreme headaches from even the smallest noises
I get stomach aches more than twice a day
I’m dizzy every second of every hour
Every day I wish to escape

Bipolar
That is my name
No one can ever anticipate how I’ll feel other than me
If even I do therefore no one wants to be my friend
Sometimes I burst out in anger and become dangerously aggressive for reasons not even I can place
Sometimes I place myself up high high high
Way above others
Some say I become overconfident for no reason at all
I don’t like how easily I can be made to cry or how easily with no explanation I become sad
No matter how much I sleep I feel more awake than I should even if I only sleep half an hour
Others call me uncharacteristically impulsive
Yet I don’t understand
They also call me moody and it makes me upset with either sadness or anger
I often become confused at even the smallest things
Rarely anything captivates my attention

DPD
That is my nickname
I automatically trust and cling to everyone I know
I don’t ever make my own decisions
No matter how many times someone hurts me I still go back to them
I never am mad at others
I always let everyone else win an argument against me for I believe I’m the only one who's wrong
I always manage to avoid taking responsibility for anything at all
I am never on my own
I’m always with someone I know
If I’m in a relationship that ends I completely shut down for a month or two
I don’t speak when this happens and I spiral down
Down
Down
Until I hit bottom  
People say I never have and never will be able to meet the things life demands for survival
They say I’ll die at twenty-five

Schizophrenia
That is my name
I never talk to anyone other than the friends I was born with
People call me hostile and suspicious
They say I react way too extremely to criticism
I never bathe or do things anywhere close to that for clean things burn my soul
People say I’m expressionless and emotionless for I am never smiling or frowning or showing emotion at all
I sleep whenever I’m not at school
Sometimes even when I am
I don’t ever remember anything except my friends names nor do I concentrate on anything but them when I’m not required to focus on my movement to class or home
Everyone calls me insane

Anorexia
That is my name
My friends are the models in magazines
People think I’m creepy looking because of how thin I am
I’m constantly losing weight
The rare time I got my blood checked the doctor said I had an abnormally low amount
I always skip P.E. for if I don’t I end up fainting
I often am dizzy
I have seizures every once in awhile
People say my nails are extremely brittle
I may die before eighteen  

Bulimia
That is my name
I have no friends for everyone whispers freak behind my back
I often stay in my room
I am constantly worried that I weigh too much so I stay away from mirrors to the best of my ability
I hate the shape of my body
People never go near me anymore
Not even my family

Insomnia
That is my name
I have no friends nor do I approach others for my brain is always too tired for interaction
I never sleep for my soul is always restless
I am always tired but I am unable to rest
I am extremely easy to irritate
People say I never pay attention or focus on the task at hand nor do I remember very much of anything
People say I make way too many mistakes and errors
I no longer go to school because my grades were never anything more than f’s
People say I’ll die homeless

PTSD
That is my nickname
I don’t talk to other people for everyone one way or another reminds me of my past
I often have extreme terrifying flashbacks of the things my soul has endured
I hate sleeping for all I ever have are nightmares that leave me paralyzed
I have become emotionally numb
I avoid a lot of places for most places are a reminder
I rarely am able to concentrate
I often feel extremely jumpy
Everything and everyone irritates me in one way or another and often anger me as well

Multiple personality disorder
That is my name
Sometimes people who I address as my friends call me Raven
Sometimes they call me acasia
Rarely they call me lilith
Although I can be all these people Raven is always waiting in the shadows whispering sweet truth
I often completely forget things and never remember them again
Sometimes I even forget my age
People say I am always severely distressed and don't function like a human
Maybe it’s cause my soul is a ghost

These people are far from repair and terrifying to most
But this is my circle of friends
Just so you guys know the end line. "But this is my circle of friends" is just added for creepy affect. I don't actually have all these.
Kristie Townsend Sep 2016
ITS ALL DONE NOW - BY KRISTIE T -12TH APRIL 2007
6 July 2012 at 01:04
ITS ALL DONE NOW, OUR LOVE IS GONE
BITTER SWEET, INTERNALISED PAIN FOR TOO LONG
TO ME IT FELT RIGHT, TO YOU IT FELT WRONG
ITS ALL DONE NOW, ITS ALL GONE


FEAR, PANIC, PARANOIA WON OUT
NO NEED FOR US TO SCREAM OR SHOUT
FOR YOU WALKED, NO, RAN OUT
BEFORE YOU REALLY KNEW WHAT I WAS ABOUT


ITS ALL DONE NOW
OH AND HOW, FOR LOVE, YOU DID NOT ALLOW
AND WE BOTH FELL FOUL
TO OUR FEARS FROM THE PAST, NOT WHAT IS HERE AND NOW


ITS ALL DONE NOW, NO MORE TEARS, NO MORE CRYING
YOU'VE GIVEN UP ON ME, GIVEN UP ON TRYING
I ASK, HAVE YOU ALSO GIVEN UP ON SMILING?
YOU'LL NEVER SEE, THAT DEEP INSIDE OF ME I'M DYING
AVERT YOUR EYES, NO MORE QUESTIONS, PLEASE STOP PRYING.


ITS ALL DONE NOW AND I FEEL WEAK
MY FIERY SOUL UNCHARACTERISTICALLY SUBSERIVANT AND MEEK
FOR IT WANTS TO GIVE MY WOUNDED HEART THE FREEDOM TO SEEK
TRUTH & LOVE, ALTHOUGH RIGHT NOW, THE PROSPECTS SEEM BLEAK


ITS ALL DONE NOW, NO RAW EMOTION LEFT TO SHARE
I'LL KEEP IT LOCKED INSIDE, SEEMINGLY NOT HAVING A CARE
BUT LATE AT NIGHT, I AM HAUNTED, TAUNTED & YOU ARE WHERE?!
I ANALYSE, BLAME, FULL OF REGRET & CONTINUALLY ASK -"DID I PLAY FAIR?"


ITS ALL DONE NOW, THAT WAS THE FINAL FAREWELL
MY VERY CORE, MY ALL, MY HEART BEING TORTURED IN HELL
I SHALL TAKE TIME TO HEAL, FEEL, RETREAT INTO CRABBY SHELL
WHEN, IN TIMES YET TO COME, & I BUMP INTO YOU, MY EYES HIDE MY PAIN WELL
FOR ITS A HUGE AND BLATENT LIE THAT I'M TRYING TO SELL
PRETENDING I'VE RECOVERED, MOVED ON, FROM THAT SPELL OF WHICH I ONCE FELL


ITS ALL DONE NOW
AND TIME IS A GREAT HEALER, OR THATS WHAT SOMEONE ONCE TOLD ME
I WISH I COULD TRAVEL INTO THE FUTURE AND FIND MYSELF HAPPY AND FREE
BUT AT THIS MOMENT OF WRITING, I''M STILL WISHING YOU WERE HERE WITH ME
I WISH YOU COULD SEE
JUST HOW GREAT LIFE COULD BE
IF ONLY YOU COULD HAVE BELIEVED AND TRUSTED IN ME
MY LOVE WOULD HAVE SET YOUR SOUL FREE


BUT SADLY YOU DID NOT ALLOW
AND SO I HAVE TO REPEAT OUT LOUD
THATS IT, ITS ALL DONE NOW
YOU ARE ONCE MORE JUST A NAMELESS FACE IN A CROWD

ITS ALL DONE NOW
SHOUT IT OUT LOUD
KRISTIE BE PROUD
YOU CAN TURN THIS AROUND

ON DAY HE'LL SEE JUST WHAT HE HAD FOUND
WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN HIS, IF ONLY HIS HEART HAD ALLOWED

ITS GONE -ITS ALL DONE NOW
LET GO - LEARN & GROW -FOR YOU KNOW
ITS ALL DONE - ALL GONE
vinny Jan 2016
when she's off her meds
i cant take her out in public places
she's not good with people
tends to rip off their faces

when she's off her meds
it's so hard to breath
the air is so wretched heavy
lingering with her disease

when she's off her meds
she is uncharacteristically sweet
you won't know what hit you
until your front teeth chip the concrete

so the next time she goes off her meds
i will not fight
just relax as the hooks sink in

when she draws close to deliver the final blow
i will wait for the perfect moment
and pull the pin
ogdiddynash Feb 7
exactly how white do I want to be?*


came to terms with my whiteness some(many)times ago,
yet, the dentist mixes in, an offer to refresh my yellowed
pearlys who’ve served admirably long, so sure footed,
long in the tooth…so to speak

surprisingly, this puts me off guard, uncharacteristically
unprepared,

exactly how white do I want them to be?

mmm…

the scale is as follows (intermediary levels are complicated)

1. Taylor Swift Bright







10. Cowardly Lion Old Yeller

and shades in between, I’ve grown accustomed to to my smile, which is closest to the Lion’s accreted usage and
wear and tear, and decide to stay as is, to keep my body
in a state of synchronicity

Doctor puzzled, “why do I smile?”

Why Doktor!
you’ve commissioned a poem,
and now know why your License Plate
declare you as Dentist so boldly,
You have the power to end racial strife,
uniform the populace with bright headlights,
and clearly should be allowed to proceed
posthaste to any and all life threatening
emergencies

but my preference is to display many decades
of failure, irregular brushes, periodic flosses,
my natural color, my god-given grace, and who
am I
OR ANYONE ELSE
be empowered
to disturb the natural order of human
perfectionism schematics, for
to every season, every human being,

is a color unique!
Kevin Jul 2017
there was a cool and damp electric hum
i heard outside my ear
and in the sky, hung high above my mind,
a pulsing breathing thing

in quick repetition and in pace with the sounds
of an uncharacteristically chilled evening
i could see the stars as they were
i could see myself as i am

and the world was right
but only in that moment.
i turned away, but for a blink,
and the earth had turned, hiding away,

our moment shared in time
Waiting4TheStop Jan 2015
Silence scares me.
For many, it enables them to feel free.
Not me.
It makes me want to flee.

Noise is my cover, it enables me to hide from all around.
In its din, refuge, I have found.
I can listen to any noise, varying in volume. Sound.

It is my truest friend.
With sound I do not have to pretend.

If the melodies cease.
My anxiety is sure to increase.

The continuity of a sound wave.
This is when you can be sure that my mind will behave.
To any tune you could say that I am a slave.

If I do not have some form of music or backing track. 
Self esteem, confidence and control you'll find I will lack.
I may become uncharacteristically nervous; always looking back.

Music enables me to come out of my shell. 
Transporting from my internal, mental and emotional hell.

If my playlist is on, of my problems you will most likely be unaware.
I would appear outwardly, to be a normal person without a care.
If it is turned off, I would be virtually incoherent maybe even pulling out my hair.
And human contact, WHOA! NO! I simply could not bear.
As long as I'm sitting atop my sound cloud I am happy there.
(C) 2014
Nat Lipstadt Jul 15
June was a disastrous month, with no direction but home,
as if it, home, was magnetized, and every escape/avoidance
attempt was refuted, and the irrevocable demanded my time,
my presence, in the city, where all my troubles lay pus~festering
lesions,  yanking me from my refuge, my peace of mind tattered
with bacillus interruptus

She called June the month of clusterf—ck, accurate and uncharacteristically, unlike her, a violent, ***** epithet

but correct.

July, the month that the gods of Cesar jealously rule,
bring Les Surprises, and the pattern recommences and
the mind surgically thinks calm yet knows no peace,
and sleep is contaminated, the dreams violent and
repetitiously, ******… a sure sign of the tumult within…
the eerie and  the unstable interrupting my writing,
breathing and ever constant denial of the peace afforded by
successfully lying to myself…

a minor action bring flaming, flashing warning lights on
my human dashboard, seemingly unconnected, but perhaps
a single sensor has gone detective… for the uncorrelated
stability of this vehicle, my anti-skid system have been triggered and the dread check engine light is ominously continuously yellow…implying worse is yet to come, before the finality of…red

symbolism us everywhere; inescapable, unavoidable and
irrecoverable and perhaps, alas, the worst - irreconcilable!
all this is the slowest excoriation of excruciating…and it’s
everpresent, omnipresent, like an angered finger pointing
a constant thunderbolt of guilt, which points transfixedly
at me…with the sneers of thunder preceeding its electricity

last year, around this time, the heart was near to dare explode,
with no overt warning that was paid proper heed, now I pay
and pay but there is no specialist available to cure, let alone,
properly diagnose what’s ailing me…even though I know
exactly, I cannot openly confess the origins of My Malaise

I recover old poems, mine, that delve into the mysteries of
solace, and they should  offer comforting direction, but the
sticking place is strong within my chest and all topical
creams cannot penetrate sufficiently to offer relief, let
alone, let alone, let a l o n e, provide an effective curettage of
removal…

symbols come before my eyes in formulas I do not understand,
which renders them worse than useless, for if a formula cannot
begin or end with = sign, what good is it, what good am I,
and now post-reparation, my heart speaks to me volubly
with such troubled sadness, I am nearly and dangerous
close to being a being who is nearly *frightened unto death
We say love is a virtue.
We say love opens your life up to possibilities not known to you before.
We also say love is blind.

Love is a necessity,
Love is uncharacteristically pure,
Love shouldn't hurt,
Love should be nice,
Love shouldn't scream,
Love shouldn't hit,
Love shouldn't leave me.

Or maybe love should.

Love left dirt where there should have been a flower.
Love left me in the rain when I should have been basking in the sun.
Love took half of my heart and left me behind.

When love finally came back, I turned him away at the door.
Alyson Lie Apr 2021
Who knew spring could
bring such surprises—

sparrows excavating beak-by-beak
a grapefruit-sized hole in the crabapple
that grows between two 3-family
houses on Franklin Street,

the last jab of a miracle
serum that so many others are
dying to get, and others who
have died waiting for.

And I—after living five years under
ground—feasting on the view of tiny,
chartreuse leaves on the zelkova
tree across the street;

starlings, house sparrows, blue
jays, robins, and mourning doves
strafing past my 2nd floor window
on their flight paths back and forth.

Who knew those five years of
basement dwelling so molded me,

shaped me like a recluse, a contented
she-bear sleeping 10 hours a day,
never knowing what the weather was
doing, what visions I was missing?

Like the surprise snow on April 16
dusting, then completely covering the purple
and yellow pansies I’d so uncharacteristically
planted in window boxes the week before.

Who knew I’d ever be cloaked again
in this shawl of optimism, this “blithe spirit”
that comes from living with the living,
seeing the seen, being the being?
Wordfreak Jul 2020
I'd like to return there
To tiptoe between the cracked hulls
Gilded with rust as if golden pillars.
Our faces reflected
In the puddles on the floor
Uncharacteristically happy
For though we were soaked
With despair
We were warmed
By an exchange of emotion.
It's true,
Passage of time dulled the shine
As honeyed words grew bitter
Yet inspiration always returns.
The boards can be fixed.
Remember, it is never too late
To chase dreams.
They are difficult to chase,
As fireflies on a moonlit night
Just follow the tangled line,
See where it leads.
I admit my eyes
Have also wandered the heavens
Pondering the outcomes
Of a million variants
Of choices made.
Just as it is never too late
To chase dreams,
It is never too late to set sail.
We may need to mend the sails
Perhaps patch the bilge,
By tomorrow we could
Be letting the water lead us
Where we are supposed to be.
Khidir Osman Oct 2021
Like a slap on the forehead
it hit me
once, and then
twice.
how odd!
that a turn of the cloth
may reveal
many a plain flesh underneath it
while earthly locks of hair
playfully glides across the shoulder’s meander
deserving of the second’s seconds.
alas, neon green does absolutely nothing
at least, not for the searching soul.
though it may give off a fleeting impression
a kind version of an oddly-open intimacy.
not unlike those found between close friends
and certain objects of anatomical desire.
form-wise, it exists in a non-euclidean space.
personal yet utterly undefined
uncharacteristically characterized.
with a wavelength of precisely 544 nanometres
enough to fill an entire moment
with a thoughtful glance
and such handsome wonder.
It's fascinating how the way a certain color hits you, isn't it?

— The End —