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stopdoopy Jul 2018
(In a vacant church Little Girl and Big Man sit on a parish
a few feet apart, in between them lies a book titled"My Feelings".)

(The curtain opens. Little Girl sits staring at Big Man. Big Man gets up and goes to the statue of himself in front of them for a closer look.)

Big Man: Will talking in person really make a difference?

Little Girl: I like to think it does.

Big Man:  (turns to look at her incredulously.) What wishful thinking, you're so naïve.

(Little Girl opens her book and starts to read aloud.)

(Big Man cuts her off with a noise every time she starts to say something until she falls silent.)

Big Man: Just as I thought, it doesn't change anything.

Little Girl: But you don't-

Big Man: (cuts her off again.) You just can't let things go, that's your problem. I told you I didn't want to do this, yet you dragged me out here. It didn't accomplish anything!

Little Girl: That's because you don't even want to listen or try to talk, you just want to yell and blame me!

Big Man: That's enough, this conversation is over. (Walks off stage right.)

(Little Girl screams in anger and throws "My Feelings" at the Big Man Statue.)

(The Curtain closes.)
I wanted to try something a little different! I've never written stage directions or a play before but I thought this would be a nice change. I didn't really convey the raw anger or passion, nor was it the scene what I originally wanted but maybe it's a step in the right direction. Trying out different styles is neat. Not happy with this piece though but... oh well.
aiya Jun 2017
We took our broken hearts
And safety-pinned them together.
Maybe we were meant for each other.

But how did it come to this?
Is it possible that we were only
Filling up each other's vacant spaces?
a.e.
(06122017)



"Do we really just fill up each other's vacant spaces until you find it in your heart to just stop?" she asked him. But he never answered. He never will. Because he'll never know of this.

- an excerpt from one of the countless books i wrote for you
That was a star in millions,
Which I wanted to touch from core of my heart.
Just to touch from warmth but not to touch so harsh.
Yeah! That was vacant from any bothered shine,
He made me do sins, his lips were like vine.
I saw him on the full moon,
He was shining brighter then the moon.
He doesn't believe on sun anymore,
Just a thing that gives light for sure.
His disbelieve made me believe,
In love and destiny.
I tried to touch him cause I got sparkled in his shine,
And then when I touched him he lost his shine,
He drowned in darkness,
And never appear again.
Again I destroyed a star in million!
Being satanic and dark I stay now low
Spreading the curse wherever I go.
-Being in love and don't let them know just because the sake of it.
dadens Mar 2019
as spring awakens
so does my heart

it's been packed away for
the cold of winter

but now my heart is thawing
the soil is softening
and i need someone to plant
their flowers here

because my heart is ready
to be nurtured
to feel nourished

and to flourish into the
beautiful blossoms
that deserve to grow
in my vacant heart
© d.a.dens
Em MacKenzie Apr 2019
She prays, she stays perched on her knees,
but she can’t admit she never receives replies.
All these days, it’s no phase but she never sees,
essentially she’s only talking to vacant skies.

She pleads with her beads, her trusted rosary
but every word falls on deaf ears.
Every night, routine tight, does she include me
or does she only prioritize her deepest fears?

I’ve only prayed once in my life
for something so meaningless most people would forget.
I should’ve saved my “one” for times of true strife,
but I’m a lucky gambler, I had never lost a bet.
Are you there God? It’s me, Emily,
not the one in the past or the future self,
I could ask for a million things but they wouldn’t hold much meaning
but I’ll neglect begging for my fleeting health.

Up, down, left and right,
I personally prefer the Contra Code.
It aids one better in a fight
regardless of the settings or the mode.
They say Sunday’s a time for worship and rest
but I’ve been working all night and my left brain won’t stop flowing.
I guess there’s a lot of things sitting on my chest,
and a certain type of comfort in uncertainty and not knowing.

I dig six feet deep to find the dedication,
and I put my hands together; connecting my fingers.
I can’t help it, I can’t find it, it seems my hesitation
has a will of it’s own, and it always lingers.
I mean no offence to any religious people on this site with this piece, we all believe what we believe, and sometimes things write themselves even when it’s tongue in cheek.
s y k Mar 2014
Tossing and turning
in this lonely bed of mine,
my heart is heavy
with the ache of missing you.

I crave your delicate words
like I crave coffee in the morning.

My soul feels vacant
without your lingering presence.

Time is ticking my life away
as my thoughts echo your name.

My eyes bleed out the bitterness
I've latterly felt towards you.

I'm still writing about you
and you haven't read a word.
I couldn't sleep because I missed Fahad so much.
jee Oct 2018
the lights are buzzing
and my ears are stuffed with pollen
yet i can still hear the hive of bees in the ceiling.

the lights are buzzing
strobing against walls of alabaster and tiles of ***** white
neon and drunk off of the ticking of the clock.

the lights are buzzing
they carve out slivers of eyelashes
and slide flickering fingers to rest along the chin of despondency.

the lights are buzzing
their uneven beat is perfect melody
to the crying in the hall, outside waiting room 23.
they keep me numb, an empty shell with twitching fingers and vacant eyes.

This coup
A new nation
Loyal dedication
Its classification

‘Species procreation’
Prevents us from facing
A human cessation
selective mutation
Gestation
Creation

It may help explaining
The reasons
Behaving
But not the foundation
Or actions
We’re basing


A simplification
is “continuation”
A checkbox
left vacant
Fulfillment
We’re chasing


We sweat
Eyes are gazing
A slight
palpitation
In need of hydration
Complete excitation
Without
hesitation
Intense stimulation
Deep urges
Heart racing

Driven
By sensations


Unbounded fixation
Pelvic
Undulations
Clothing
Perforations
Time no longer wasting

This capitulation
a Sanctification
****** gyrations
Hint of *******


The bedroom
Safe haven
For what
we are craving
Once out
and displaying

It all had been taken
Before
Feeling vacant
Freed imagination
A resuscitation
Indulged depravation

A rhythm
we’re setting
The giving and getting
Destroying
the bedding

All else I’m forgetting
Entwined
with each other
Like entangled netting
Both
on the same trip
In a unified heading


Now comes
the summation
A true
Revelation
Final
culmination
Smash all expectations
Volcanic
eruption

That lasts the duration
Loud gasp
We unlock

Filled with gratification
Written: July 8, 2018

All rights reserved.
eva-mae Nov 2019
This week I have wandered.
alone, a lost ghost among my regular haunts.
from the coffee shop in the park to the icy edge of the ocean I strayed,
Then returned to the warm yellow windows of my family home.
My hair is a mess, hasn’t been washed and left in a low tuft, at the nape of my neck, twined together with a green satin ribbon.

This week I have wandered.
Alone, a lost ghost among my regular haunts,
from the kitchen I crawled back to the warmth of my solitary sanctuary.
And there I stayed, as normal, in my navy knee length sweatshirt and joggers.

And now, as I sit in my single bed, pale back against the radiator, the tears finally come.
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
On the molded plastic black keys
Tip- tap tipping away  
Smiling wickedly
With self-satisfaction
Words deliberately in a sociopathic array

Crazed Eyes agleam
Thoughts rambling across the planets
In and out of reality
Both far and away

Each letter vibrates with its own life
The deranged wordsmith's release
So the clicking and typing
Systemic vacant sounds
Never seem to cease

To the mad poet
The combinations of descriptive words
Overpowering
Promotes the disease
Hypnotizing
Beguiling
Calling in a sweet voice
To the mad poet
In letters A to Z


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),

Tammy M Darby
Bryan Dahl Jan 2013
Some holding out their hope
Others giving up their dead,
Some believing miracles,
More prefering risk-free will.
Some expecting disappointment
Find regret instead,
Some wait for Luck's return
In broken pieces, still.
Some in line against the wall
Wait with vacant eyes,
Some with kids who won't shut up
Just look down and sigh,
Far too many end their days
The way we first arrive.
Dead hopes and broken miracles,
Our televisions thrive.
L B Apr 2017
Who knows what stops the heart of a song
I take note

of tiny thud—
robin in the wheel well of my car

the limp head
of a cat’s prey

sigh of wings
defrocked by power lines

baby starling’s fledgling flight
falling short of a pond’s edge

The slate morsel unearthed
by the tines of my rake

…and the world is vacant for a moment

Grief ***** a womb of air
but how it lives— I cannot say
Upended creature of us

Stops the throbs that herald life
PC classic Feb 2018
Pretty girl living a nightmare
Pied Piper'd her twisted mind
Einstein'd her nightly sheep
White flagged some past behind

The B-side to rainy songs
are pedalled by callous kicks
They alz-heimed-her faded toys
with a ******'s overkill

Now hard work is wasted time
when cool cars have vacant seats
with the sky sitting like a snapback
on a highway with receding trees.
PoserPersona Jul 2018
In the cusp of closing night, I look into your weary eyes;
once outshining city lights. I see no way to realize
the healing of this blight - I venture to make a phoenix cry.
Remedy of such mythos might, might just prove unjust lies.
Chance restoring your ere vacant sight - fighting soul’s primal guide.
As any chance to restore my bride, binds our fractured lives.

...No words to describe affliction already decided.
eF Apr 2017
They say the home is where the heart is,
But all that's left in my chest
Is an ugly mess, a vacant nest.
Another day, another stress.
Feeling like the prize isn't worth the
*Contest.
Quick something.
I wanted to keep it going.
But didn't want it to feel forced.
Last line had me sold.
Bartholomew Oct 2018
She don't live here no mo’
She left me lonely n cold
She took a part of my soul
The only part that I know
I look in the mirror, reflections unknown
Cuz I don't know who I am, hope I don't lose control
Drugs got me addicted
love has been evicted
From my heart that's been afflicted
Got my Chest feelin constricted
Ready to fight
Feelin hella defensive
but really I'm jus defenseless
Livin’ life jus like a misfit
Sinning to live, got wisdom to give
got these jewels that I drop jus listen to this:
Love will get you killed
blood will pour and spill
and thugz will mourn but still
The pain will resonate
the drugs and all these pills
will turn change into hate
And all the love you feel
will die and slowly fade
turn numb from all the crime
Somewhat like doing time
cuz ur trapped behind bars cuz love left, said goodbye
It's just a stranger
closely kept by danger
and this anger will alwayz linger
locked up in cages
unleashed in stages
random; cannot contain it
no one will understand it or feel how the pain is
so loves is gone
packed up, left me alone,
no one home
and I'm asking where did the love go?
and it shows cuz I ain't the same
tryna hide all the strain
Feelin trapped in my brain
smoke these blunts for the pain
it's kinda hard to maintain
cuz I'm supposed to be strong with no one else for the blame
Random thoughts
Terry O'Leary Dec 2016
My chamber teems with tensions, taut, that logic can’t withstand,
fragmenting mental masonry with memories unplanned,
as bitter tears from hazel eyes reduce the stone to sand.

Dim shadows cast by candles flit across the haunted room,
beleaguer apparitions, pale, that stalk me through the gloom,
usurping purloined purple forms forgotten ghosts assume.

The tick-tock clock of time rewinds within the mirrored hall
and pendula suspended, pause, while creatures creep and crawl
on images of effigies, through memories that maul.

The madness of the midnight mass! Perchance it interferes
with spiders spinning spiral threads which bridge the chandeliers
when weaving minds' discarded coils to silken souvenirs.

Reflections graced the vacant gaze of idols as they fled!
Their futile, feigned, far-flung farewells now hammer in my head,
marooned like frozen silhouettes in footprints of the dead.

My lovers smile through marbled masks before they turn their backs
(like furnace flames deserting ash or phantoms fleeing cracks)
with faded, painted, wrinkled faces nightmares carve in wax.

Sometimes a gust disturbs the dust and secrets reappear,
which dance in silver slippers through the dusk of yesteryear -
it's not the screams that drown my dreams, but whispers which I fear.

The hangman posts a letter home, his message indiscreet
about the vestal ****** in the café (where we meet
to savour tea and crumpets) down a one-way dead-end street.

The rapping and the tapping at my tattered, time-worn door
repeat reports of migrant myths, of tales of nevermore,
strung far across a sullen sea, most shipwrecked near the shore.

Forget-me-nots, enwrapped in rain the while a wan wind blows,
recall the faintly fickle fates this drifter undergoes –
alone, unknown with tracks interred in teardrop undertows.

My feet, no longer tied or tethered, traipse within a squall
pursuing profiles long forsaken, buried in the sprawl
of spectres spread amongst the dead, some tattooed to the wall.

At times, the belfry towers toll of anarchy and gin,
of smoke and mirrors, rolling dice and other things akin,
impaled on forks down byway roads, and things that might-have-been.

The skies outside, beyond the night with shutters shut and drawn,
begin to glow on shattered shapes escaping ’fore the dawn
as clouds undone beneath the sun release this captive pawn.
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
Pitter
Patter
Fall the rain
The dwelling
Bedlam of London
Residence of the insane

Behind metal rusted bars
Shall they forever remain
Raving madmen  
With minds chaos they lay

How many poets
Are in the echoing screams
The artists visions
In lifeless eyes
A vacant being

The sculptor
Genius hands
Frozen into stone
Frightened into psychosis
For fear being alone

Pitter Patter
The maniacs clatter
Lightly fall the rain
Upon the dark roof
As the lunatics howl

Pitter Patter



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
L B May 2018
“Pink carnation if mother's alive;  white if she isn't.”

Fidgeting with the hanky in her sleeve

WPA standout
fending off tears
armed wide-eyed with headache
finding her voice orphan-thin-- tethered--
by wire-will
She sings it still...

“Tis the month of our Mother...”

Behind that white carnation
Behind walls of flesh and ribs

HUGE WATERS
WANT--

...the church vacant of mothers

NEED--

the church
vacant
as clear blood
BURSTS
into faint blue concert

Whirling   Burning   Blurring--

The PURE

--distance--

of audience
of Saints
of God

OF HER MOTHER

“...O blessed and beautiful day.....”
___
"Tis The Month of Our Mother/O blessed and beautiful day..." is from a Catholic hymn sung in honor of the ****** Mary by Catholic school children during May.

May Crowning is an oddly idolatrous ritual and veneration of the statue of Mary that very much associates her with "The Queen of Heaven" and pagan rituals.  

Why my mother was required to perform in this ceremony only weeks after the death of her own mother has always escaped me.  She was thirteen and certainly grieving.  Her father had died less than a year before.  

As an  older woman,  she cried as she told me about it in such detail.  

Certainly part of the reason we ended up in public school.  Not sorry.  Not sorry.

WPA was the Works Progress Administration, which during the 1930s made jobs for the needy during The Great Depression.  Best known for huge development projects, WPA workers also filled jobs in clothing factory lines.
GulRukh Dec 2017
See You There In Crowd Of Apaths
My Soul Breaks Down From Your Wrath
That Smile On Your Face
A Mischive In Your Ways
You Were In Light Blue Jeans
Your Eyes Are My Heaven, By All Means
Your Voice Like a Cool Violin Beat
That My Metal Armor Heart Can't Cheat
I Start Liking You Secretly In My Heart
You Left Me Thinking About My Vacant Part
God Knowns And I, What I was Wondering?
Like Mystery Of Universe You Left me Poundering
Are You Too Thinking about Me?
Or Are You a Hovering Bee?
You Are in My Head Spining From That Moment
So Falling For You Is Imminent
My Heart Pounding Crazy Like a Little Child
These Feeling Aren't For First Time
But I Want It To Be The Last Crime
I Want to Be Yours
If It Takes Gravity and All It's Force
Isn't It Too Soon To Say All That?
Cause I Know That it's Delicate
All The Drought Will End With This Rain
One Glance Would Be Enough To Keep Me Sane
When I saw him first time, I can't say anything but this piece says it all
Archeangel, cindering pheonix
impartial to idols, diguises
want burning want

point at difference,
crisis proxy
of accumulation

swim out to sea,
swim out to sea

fractured, vacant
shooting ghosts in the dark
Matt Jursin Jan 2010
Lets stop n slam on somethin' shameful like war and anguish...
'Cause im pretty sure that tremendous termoil and suffering and starvation is the same in all languages...
But something that most of us will never know...
'Cause in this country you tend to grow a fat *** as you grow old.
Give this countries cold dark history a warm embrace, look it in the face!
All this killing, death, distruction, and disease...more war than peace!
Something most of us will never see, much less feel...Because ignoring it is so much easier.
We'd rather be pleasing ourselves than siezing the keys to this country!

Jump in.
Take a sunday drive for freedom.
Sunday football keeps you occupied...
Kicked back in the recliner, while others freeze in the name of the flag.
And your constitution.
And the human condition.
Patriotism is not pretty to the petty.
To...those getting rich, hand over fist...
On your...vacant homes, vacant jobs, and vacant votes.
While they vacate our education with more lousy legislation.

We get lazier and sleezier and sloppier.
We pass judgement on our fellow man...
While we let politicians pass bills that destroy this great land.
Hand over fist, hand over hand...one hand washes the other politicians ****.
These dinosaurs with their special interest agendas make me sick.

Stand up strait.
Look at me when I talk to you.

Dont turn a blind eye to all the bodies that once hung from loops...
Remember where we came from.
Re-write history like the bible.
Re-write war and peace.

We call soldiers "property of uncle sam".
Brainwashed to believe in 'the man' and his plans.
Slavery doesn't segregate anymore.
We're all in on this together.
This time.
We stand in unison.
All in on this together.
Revolution is freedom.
"I love this country...but f this government!"
Matt Shaw Feb 2019
There's a fire in the factory on fifth street,
It started in my dream and I knew
Then I woke and went to find it
And the world was ablaze when I got there.

A devil appeared on my shoulder
And said it was my fault, for dreaming
An angel appeared at my other
Who calmed me from crying and screaming
Protruding alone with nowhere to hide,
I noted that both were on my side.

All of our jobs are connected
Whether you know it or not
To this factory down on fifth street
That set the world on fire

And they can't find how it started
But the fatal flame has spread
The injured nurse their wounds, and
The living mourn their dead

And I saw your name in the fire
Hallucinating, hallucinating.
5th dimension idk
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