"wagers" poems - Hello Poetry

"wagers" poems

i am a hopeless romantic with suicidal antics that cant seem to love herself she cant seem to nudge herself out of depressive episodes but she has expressive goals to fall in love to call on love for several favors and she has several wagers that "this one will be 'the one'" that what ever is done can be undone and that she will be okay because one day love will fix it all she is a pathetic romantic with an optimistic aesthetic and a manic personality

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Sep 8, 2019

Sep 8, 2019 at 10:17 PM UTC

the suicidal romantic

i am a hopeless romantic with suicidal antics that cant seem to love herself she cant seem to nudge herself out of depressive episodes but she has expressive goals to fall in love to call on love for several favors and she has several wagers that "this one will be 'the one'" that what ever is done can be undone and that she will be okay because one day love will fix it all she is a pathetic romantic with an optimistic aesthetic and a manic personality

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I Is the total black, being spoken From the earth's inside. There are many kinds of open. How a diamond comes into a knot of flame How a sound comes into a word, coloured By who pays what for speaking. Some words are open Like a diamond on glass windows Singing out within the crash of passing sun Then there are words like stapled wagers In a perforated book-buy and sign and tear apart- And come whatever wills all chances The stub remains An ill-pulled tooth with a ragged edge. Some words live in my throat Breeding like adders. Others know sun Seeking like gypsies over my tongue To explode through my lips Like young sparrows bursting from shell. Some words Bedevil me. Love is a word another kind of open- As a diamond comes into a knot of flame I am black because I come from the earth's inside Take my word for jewel in your open light.

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8.6k

I Is the total black, being spoken From the earth's inside. There are many kinds of open. How a diamond comes into a knot of flame How a sound comes into a word, coloured By who pays what for speaking. Some words are open Like a diamond on glass windows Singing out within the crash of passing sun Then there are words like stapled wagers In a perforated book-buy and sign and tear apart- And come whatever wills all chances The stub remains An ill-pulled tooth with a ragged edge. Some words live in my throat Breeding like adders. Others know sun Seeking like gypsies over my tongue To explode through my lips Like young sparrows bursting from shell. Some words Bedevil me. Love is a word another kind of open- As a diamond comes into a knot of flame I am black because I come from the earth's inside Take my word for jewel in your open light.

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We have souls that are plunging off this planet, in hopes they will be swallowed by the cosmos- fearing the hurt is never ending, leads to renovations of existence. To silence the beating of a heart, to end a life. Morality is stuck behind the gates of purgatory & society is too scared of what will happen if we use our mouths for meaningful conversation. Indeed. A tourniquet can stop the bleeding, but can’t do justice for spread of infection, or the scar serving as a reminder. People are dying from depression- faulty chemistry in the brain. As well as suicide. It is the crying of phantoms, never to be heard- wanting change, a re-birth, of the contorted humanity we proudly call ”life” Ache that’s carried lifelong, but never resolved. Truthfully, those vague questions don’t save lives. Death knows this, of course. He is an omniscient force lingering in the scenery. Possessing the inability to tolerate the teasing and the wagers. Coming to collect early because, we’ve begun to shatter every fragment of light life reflected. Now, Darkness makes him feel welcome and entitled. KRM

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Jun 10, 2018

Jun 10, 2018 at 2:41 AM UTC

Death Is Gluttonous For Silence & Stigma Feeds The Demons

We have souls that are plunging off this planet, in hopes they will be swallowed by the cosmos- fearing the hurt is never ending, leads to renovations of existence. To silence the beating of a heart, to end a life. Morality is stuck behind the gates of purgatory & society is too scared of what will happen if we use our mouths for meaningful conversation. Indeed. A tourniquet can stop the bleeding, but can’t do justice for spread of infection, or the scar serving as a reminder. People are dying from depression- faulty chemistry in the brain. As well as suicide. It is the crying of phantoms, never to be heard- wanting change, a re-birth, of the contorted humanity we proudly call ”life” Ache that’s carried lifelong, but never resolved. Truthfully, those vague questions don’t save lives. Death knows this, of course. He is an omniscient force lingering in the scenery. Possessing the inability to tolerate the teasing and the wagers. Coming to collect early because, we’ve begun to shatter every fragment of light life reflected. Now, Darkness makes him feel welcome and entitled. KRM

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I couldn’t sleep. I was lying in bed watching the patterns reflected moonlight made on my ceiling when I heard the faint beep of the kitchen microwave. I smelled popcorn. I decided to fill up my water bottle and see who was up. I slipped on a thick, terrycloth robe I’d gotten from Lisa last Christmas. It must weigh 15 pounds and it’s so warm and heavy I seldom wear it. I silently glided into the main room. Leong was standing at one of our two large picture windows staring out at the night. Her left arm cradling a bowl of ultimate-butter popcorn. Anna told me last night that Leong and her long-time boyfriend, who’s back in China, had broken up. They’d been together forever and had been expected to marry. A bright half-moon was hanging high over campus, an electric ornament on a velvet background, its moonlight glint painted the world, like ice on mountaintops. “I heard about your breakup,” I said, “what does it mean?” In Leong’s world, who you dated was of family interest. That person had to be approved, their bona fides proven - they had to fit into some long term plan. “It means I can’t be tamed,” she said, with soft bravado. After a moment, she spoke again, more seriously. “It’s better this way - for now - someday..,” she trailed off. I understood. All of our hopes are resting on someday, like so many wagers at a casino. I imagined some gambler, stepping up to a betting window, in an old black-and-white movie, saying, ”Gimmie 5 bucks on Someday to win.” Something in her voice, a brittleness, precluded further questions. I looked at the clock, it read 3:47. I gave her a hug and yawning, filled up my water bottle from the refrigerator's filtered tap. “See ya.” I whispered and headed off, back to bed. With any luck I could squeeze another hour's sleep out of the morning.

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Feb 3, 2022

Feb 3, 2022 at 5:04 AM UTC

I couldn’t sleep. I was lying in bed watching the patterns reflected moonlight made on my ceiling when I heard the faint beep of the kitchen microwave. I smelled popcorn. I decided to fill up my water bottle and see who was up. I slipped on a thick, terrycloth robe I’d gotten from Lisa last Christmas. It must weigh 15 pounds and it’s so warm and heavy I seldom wear it. I silently glided into the main room. Leong was standing at one of our two large picture windows staring out at the night. Her left arm cradling a bowl of ultimate-butter popcorn. Anna told me last night that Leong and her long-time boyfriend, who’s back in China, had broken up. They’d been together forever and had been expected to marry. A bright half-moon was hanging high over campus, an electric ornament on a velvet background, its moonlight glint painted the world, like ice on mountaintops. “I heard about your breakup,” I said, “what does it mean?” In Leong’s world, who you dated was of family interest. That person had to be approved, their bona fides proven - they had to fit into some long term plan. “It means I can’t be tamed,” she said, with soft bravado. After a moment, she spoke again, more seriously. “It’s better this way - for now - someday..,” she trailed off. I understood. All of our hopes are resting on someday, like so many wagers at a casino. I imagined some gambler, stepping up to a betting window, in an old black-and-white movie, saying, ”Gimmie 5 bucks on Someday to win.” Something in her voice, a brittleness, precluded further questions. I looked at the clock, it read 3:47. I gave her a hug and yawning, filled up my water bottle from the refrigerator's filtered tap. “See ya.” I whispered and headed off, back to bed. With any luck I could squeeze another hour's sleep out of the morning.

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As the happy hour crowd walks down Redwood Street in its ***** lamp lit haze they pass by dozens of cart pushing men in old bomber jackets fading into the unwashed stone beneath windows newly washed by minimum wagers. These men and their overstuffed suitcases, their ***** fingernails and aging shoes, their cold noses and heavy breath seep into the shadows like long forgotten artifacts on an antique store’s shelf. They droop, collecting dust, begging to be lifted or even touched. Some smile and sing with an overturned hat patiently expecting on the street curb. Some sit, slumped and seem like a misshapen lump of clay in the dark with plastic cup extended. The happy hour crowd coming from UMMC clad in multicolored scrubs and pressed business suits with golf club cluttered ties and black silk button down blouses that block the cool wind passes them by with the same glance they give to lamp posts.

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Mar 31, 2010

Mar 31, 2010 at 12:33 PM UTC

stacy-del-gallo

As the happy hour crowd walks down Redwood Street in its ***** lamp lit haze they pass by dozens of cart pushing men in old bomber jackets fading into the unwashed stone beneath windows newly washed by minimum wagers. These men and their overstuffed suitcases, their ***** fingernails and aging shoes, their cold noses and heavy breath seep into the shadows like long forgotten artifacts on an antique store’s shelf. They droop, collecting dust, begging to be lifted or even touched. Some smile and sing with an overturned hat patiently expecting on the street curb. Some sit, slumped and seem like a misshapen lump of clay in the dark with plastic cup extended. The happy hour crowd coming from UMMC clad in multicolored scrubs and pressed business suits with golf club cluttered ties and black silk button down blouses that block the cool wind passes them by with the same glance they give to lamp posts.

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Wobbly was wondering? "What will we wager" We will wrangle worms "Winner wins whatever" Which Worm? White, Walnut, Wheat We wondered, why wrangle We walked, We waited, We watched Which wacko would wager wrong, Wobbly winked, wondering why, Wanda waited wondering why? Why wink, Why worms, Why, why, why Would worms win wagers Without watching weird worms Wobbly Wished Wedding wishes Which was wonderfully weird, What would Wanda want? Wobbly wandered, waiting Wonderfully wishing. Wanda's wise words whispered, wobbly Whooped, Whooped, Wailed With wonderment,what was whispered?

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Apr 14, 2015

Apr 14, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC

Wobbly was wondering? "What will we wager" We will wrangle worms "Winner wins whatever" Which Worm? White, Walnut, Wheat We wondered, why wrangle We walked, We waited, We watched Which wacko would wager wrong, Wobbly winked, wondering why, Wanda waited wondering why? Why wink, Why worms, Why, why, why Would worms win wagers Without watching weird worms Wobbly Wished Wedding wishes Which was wonderfully weird, What would Wanda want? Wobbly wandered, waiting Wonderfully wishing. Wanda's wise words whispered, wobbly Whooped, Whooped, Wailed With wonderment,what was whispered?

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My heart is a squishy stone I toss out across this green-gray gloss mosquitoes skim but the odds were always slim it would skip with any vim given its mix of bulges and irregular beats Let’s not mention that surprising lack of heft currently keeping it afloat There it lies not quite flat a maroon lily pad I’ll lay piddling wagers some nomadic creature can make a home Maybe the crawdad whose squeak nothing like a fog-horn warns, “Frog dress is on the marsh” I swear I can hear her bull groaning, “The slippery ***** can’t stay clothed” Newly hitched this bogged-down daddy’s got a passel of polliwogs to feed and he needs the lean of her tender slimy legs for support The crickets and I might inwardly snigger but from such small giggles bred is the manly laugh of strife and that’s when my heart slinks slowly back

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Sep 14, 2010

Sep 14, 2010 at 8:38 AM UTC

francis-scudellari

Conversation with a pesky subconscious

My heart is a squishy stone I toss out across this green-gray gloss mosquitoes skim but the odds were always slim it would skip with any vim given its mix of bulges and irregular beats Let’s not mention that surprising lack of heft currently keeping it afloat There it lies not quite flat a maroon lily pad I’ll lay piddling wagers some nomadic creature can make a home Maybe the crawdad whose squeak nothing like a fog-horn warns, “Frog dress is on the marsh” I swear I can hear her bull groaning, “The slippery ***** can’t stay clothed” Newly hitched this bogged-down daddy’s got a passel of polliwogs to feed and he needs the lean of her tender slimy legs for support The crickets and I might inwardly snigger but from such small giggles bred is the manly laugh of strife and that’s when my heart slinks slowly back

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The years make you place an elegant portrait in the empty chair where the colossus announced to faint Legislatures The years make wagers out of cold space sounding the hunt

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Jan 4, 2012

Jan 4, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC

The years make you place an elegant portrait in the empty chair where the colossus announced to faint Legislatures The years make wagers out of cold space sounding the hunt

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Hard, as it gets inscrutable and scallywag unfinished statuettes untamed as any wild stag un-hegded wagers, bets Unraveled layer hearts hardened and inured unrefined, as better parts but none the less, are pure They live among us all pretending to be tough heeding the hero's call as diamonds, in the rough

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Apr 3, 2017

Apr 3, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC

Hard, as it gets inscrutable and scallywag unfinished statuettes untamed as any wild stag un-hegded wagers, bets Unraveled layer hearts hardened and inured unrefined, as better parts but none the less, are pure They live among us all pretending to be tough heeding the hero's call as diamonds, in the rough

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1- Totes inaprope dope smoker swisher toker blunt wrap roper you be like my ole aunt groper 2- She be grabbin ***** on all ya’ll in the Fall by the ball court short shorts and written reports 3- ******* dorks and eatin pork like nanu nanu Mork with a stork baby drop on the porch 4- Carry the torch to the couch jump up ta bounce see a fool to trounce and slap in the head 5- Make him brain dead said I see red in bedrooms full a ***** mothers slack jaw brothers 6- Druther act like one another than smother muthafuckers with rubber maid garbage cans 7- Hand feeding planned partenthood in the hood acting no good wit mad wood ya shoulda 8- Put those down came round and found a pound for slingin, bringing back the Ringling elephants 9- And cellophane wrapper sandwiches ******* snitching on rich kids for gambling small wagers 10- Drunken rage-ers deranged rangers feeding bears strangers and rearranging body parts 11- Carded farters impart special gasses on mass media fascists allowing brash

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Feb 8, 2016

Feb 8, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC

unfinished --11 of 16 bars (MCDJpj's)

1- Totes inaprope dope smoker swisher toker blunt wrap roper you be like my ole aunt groper 2- She be grabbin ***** on all ya’ll in the Fall by the ball court short shorts and written reports 3- ******* dorks and eatin pork like nanu nanu Mork with a stork baby drop on the porch 4- Carry the torch to the couch jump up ta bounce see a fool to trounce and slap in the head 5- Make him brain dead said I see red in bedrooms full a ***** mothers slack jaw brothers 6- Druther act like one another than smother muthafuckers with rubber maid garbage cans 7- Hand feeding planned partenthood in the hood acting no good wit mad wood ya shoulda 8- Put those down came round and found a pound for slingin, bringing back the Ringling elephants 9- And cellophane wrapper sandwiches ******* snitching on rich kids for gambling small wagers 10- Drunken rage-ers deranged rangers feeding bears strangers and rearranging body parts 11- Carded farters impart special gasses on mass media fascists allowing brash

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.*who said... that German was, unbefitting to fulfill the concerns for the operatic?! Germans sing the most... nettopern known to man... their baroque reinterpretation... shudders the body to usurp all the ancients' phobias borrowed from the Greeks... goosebumps and... **** like: freude, schöner götterfunken, tochter aus elysium, wir betreten feuertrunken, himmlische, dein heiligtum!* but then again... anemia with the Wagner... come: walhall.. come Chopin... and an... orchestra! you are born, to be lived... and what questions you have, are questions indeed, but they are rudimentary... and asked, even if asked at all... at what could be beat estimated the worthy time... beside the / outside the mortal script... known as... life; how does that feel? when feeling perfects the "art" of the implosion of thought? the, missing moral "ought" of the narrative? the lost, theta?! how does, that, "feel"? all, emotion, yet, seemingly, no, thought? how does that feel... mother? ship, micro-cosmos of quasi-Braille telegraph... how, does, i, "feel", mother? the complexity of human expression, within the confines of the childish beginning, culminates in the banal finality of... that, which, is mortal... that, which, is mortal... will always over complicate the sentence... and make life, almost causeless. we are all but wagers, in a game that consist of nothing more than a win, or a loss... a game, waging... falsely perpetuating a gain... mortality... and a game waging... not falsely perpetuating a loss... again: mortality.... why should i forgive the bass guitar omission in modern music?!

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Nov 13, 2018

Nov 13, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

.*who said... that German was, unbefitting to fulfill the concerns for the operatic?! Germans sing the most... nettopern known to man... their baroque reinterpretation... shudders the body to usurp all the ancients' phobias borrowed from the Greeks... goosebumps and... **** like: freude, schöner götterfunken, tochter aus elysium, wir betreten feuertrunken, himmlische, dein heiligtum!* but then again... anemia with the Wagner... come: walhall.. come Chopin... and an... orchestra! you are born, to be lived... and what questions you have, are questions indeed, but they are rudimentary... and asked, even if asked at all... at what could be beat estimated the worthy time... beside the / outside the mortal script... known as... life; how does that feel? when feeling perfects the "art" of the implosion of thought? the, missing moral "ought" of the narrative? the lost, theta?! how does, that, "feel"? all, emotion, yet, seemingly, no, thought? how does that feel... mother? ship, micro-cosmos of quasi-Braille telegraph... how, does, i, "feel", mother? the complexity of human expression, within the confines of the childish beginning, culminates in the banal finality of... that, which, is mortal... that, which, is mortal... will always over complicate the sentence... and make life, almost causeless. we are all but wagers, in a game that consist of nothing more than a win, or a loss... a game, waging... falsely perpetuating a gain... mortality... and a game waging... not falsely perpetuating a loss... again: mortality.... why should i forgive the bass guitar omission in modern music?!

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Simply seeking solace in bouncing thoughts Feeling warmth in that cold rock Characterizing an uncharacteristic dribble Watching it flow with no discourse Or even disguising a movement to share A leaf finds its mark now one wagers thought Dogs bark rattles empty can in alleyway Moonlight disects that churning in passerbys charts While blowing winds shift around reason Heavy hearts languish at the next whistle stop Many will board to simply stare back At others who dare when not to park

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Jan 3, 2016

Jan 3, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC

Simply seeking solace in bouncing thoughts Feeling warmth in that cold rock Characterizing an uncharacteristic dribble Watching it flow with no discourse Or even disguising a movement to share A leaf finds its mark now one wagers thought Dogs bark rattles empty can in alleyway Moonlight disects that churning in passerbys charts While blowing winds shift around reason Heavy hearts languish at the next whistle stop Many will board to simply stare back At others who dare when not to park

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My devils make good impressions, Scoring me high-ranking relations with those of hereditary positions. The fuel that sustains my First Class livin' is their series of sinning like the wagers I'm winnin', and eluding from arrest for the felony of larceny, and disporting Molly's spellbinding potency. My lovin' is expensive and luckily not at all pensive Play, though cards are folded Love, though fingers are crossed Dance, though eyes are closed

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Aug 19, 2014

Aug 19, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC

mckinley-christina

My devils make good impressions, Scoring me high-ranking relations with those of hereditary positions. The fuel that sustains my First Class livin' is their series of sinning like the wagers I'm winnin', and eluding from arrest for the felony of larceny, and disporting Molly's spellbinding potency. My lovin' is expensive and luckily not at all pensive Play, though cards are folded Love, though fingers are crossed Dance, though eyes are closed

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Love battles on The wagers of love wreak havock Senseless emotions bend us to break Only to Catch eachother before the fall Hope fades as fast as it lights the way Fumbling through love scapes as if some great adventure will call forth in climbing to the pinnacle of the mountain of love only to jump off like lemmings holding heartshaped balloons as if its enough...

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Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC

sylkie-smoothie

Love battles on The wagers of love wreak havock Senseless emotions bend us to break Only to Catch eachother before the fall Hope fades as fast as it lights the way Fumbling through love scapes as if some great adventure will call forth in climbing to the pinnacle of the mountain of love only to jump off like lemmings holding heartshaped balloons as if its enough...

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awkward girls delivering their spoken thoughts like hand written love notes perfumed hopes cherished brightly one of a hundred that stand at the edge of reality and in the near perfect unison of dropping lovely invitations to the magazine advertisements man who is supposed to sweep them off their feet the manly man who has button down eyes and a wrinkle-free shirt to him sex's butter is romance her temperature dog haunts her lonely steps with a eager wag of his ratty tail his pleasant eye wagers that she will return him for the deposit someday its for the girl who has everything and a box of candy too its not in what you have but its measured by how much you reject sex's butter tastes salty sweet she has a sidewinder viper gently cradled in her arms calls it the child of her destiny sex's butter is her bed and breakfast an empty conversation like a small hole in my mind spilling its useless phrases to be swallowed whole in the tepid sea of her eye her hollow laughter two tables away suddenly as it comes it limply dies away alarmist by nature she crafts a tale of woe to suit her mind but that tale is an empty eyed charter boat fish that lay barren and objectified on her dinner plate basted in sex's butter with a twelve inch whip...

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Nov 25, 2014

Nov 25, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC

mark-john-junor-1

awkward girls delivering their spoken thoughts like hand written love notes perfumed hopes cherished brightly one of a hundred that stand at the edge of reality and in the near perfect unison of dropping lovely invitations to the magazine advertisements man who is supposed to sweep them off their feet the manly man who has button down eyes and a wrinkle-free shirt to him sex's butter is romance her temperature dog haunts her lonely steps with a eager wag of his ratty tail his pleasant eye wagers that she will return him for the deposit someday its for the girl who has everything and a box of candy too its not in what you have but its measured by how much you reject sex's butter tastes salty sweet she has a sidewinder viper gently cradled in her arms calls it the child of her destiny sex's butter is her bed and breakfast an empty conversation like a small hole in my mind spilling its useless phrases to be swallowed whole in the tepid sea of her eye her hollow laughter two tables away suddenly as it comes it limply dies away alarmist by nature she crafts a tale of woe to suit her mind but that tale is an empty eyed charter boat fish that lay barren and objectified on her dinner plate basted in sex's butter with a twelve inch whip...

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every time I write vividly can’t end days yearn for epiphany malice their succession I don’t learn more of p o l i t i c s m e n in shoes w a r f a m i l y m a n n e r s r o t t e n y o u t h afraid of being water water that decomposes every day printed with i-service entropy if craic makes my soul modern I’ll wait for apocalypse wild devours my ashes each of my tea motes fight heave my tongue like embers humpty already fallen all the king’s economists still drafting recovery plans— asks to go to Nyos for silent rain on a government grant. all the king’s economists can’t put him together again. enlightening activist futility writing in a singed library at my diluted right edge I fear those who tower over me what if my decade has passed making a schedule each day to be better or to matter I suffer from anemia my tea is too sour gambling them to pay for meaning— who taught me to write and forgot to proofread when they ask my destiny I say: transcendence of arcana would restless lurching take me to God or Satan I need to ask someone modern

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Sep 28, 2025

Sep 28, 2025 at 6:21 AM UTC

I'M IN LOVE WITH MY ECONOMY

every time I write vividly can’t end days yearn for epiphany malice their succession I don’t learn more of p o l i t i c s m e n in shoes w a r f a m i l y m a n n e r s r o t t e n y o u t h afraid of being water water that decomposes every day printed with i-service entropy if craic makes my soul modern I’ll wait for apocalypse wild devours my ashes each of my tea motes fight heave my tongue like embers humpty already fallen all the king’s economists still drafting recovery plans— asks to go to Nyos for silent rain on a government grant. all the king’s economists can’t put him together again. enlightening activist futility writing in a singed library at my diluted right edge I fear those who tower over me what if my decade has passed making a schedule each day to be better or to matter I suffer from anemia my tea is too sour gambling them to pay for meaning— who taught me to write and forgot to proofread when they ask my destiny I say: transcendence of arcana would restless lurching take me to God or Satan I need to ask someone modern

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I switched locations but my heart still aches. Minimum wagers my being. Once I was freer. Now I just lie on roadsides with a placard that reads, 'free.'

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Aug 17, 2013

Aug 17, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC

majority report

I switched locations but my heart still aches. Minimum wagers my being. Once I was freer. Now I just lie on roadsides with a placard that reads, 'free.'

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and the long season of pure luck faded they didn't foresee the jackpots end by date the fortune was so ominously shaded bravo's time period did quickly abate how a quirky wheel of providence can change rarely does it track in the one pathway card turns are so bewilderingly strange when placing wagers there'll be a loss day expecting the winning streak to endure tis of they who know nothing of betting there's always a chance in being insecure sure things do morph to an adverse setting gambling pundits are the odd taker's guide they've a good ken which assess flow of tide

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Mar 5, 2018

Mar 5, 2018 at 4:59 PM UTC

ElizabethSquires

Flow of Tide (Sonnet)

and the long season of pure luck faded they didn't foresee the jackpots end by date the fortune was so ominously shaded bravo's time period did quickly abate how a quirky wheel of providence can change rarely does it track in the one pathway card turns are so bewilderingly strange when placing wagers there'll be a loss day expecting the winning streak to endure tis of they who know nothing of betting there's always a chance in being insecure sure things do morph to an adverse setting gambling pundits are the odd taker's guide they've a good ken which assess flow of tide

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Press the pen down to the page, let the blank ink spill its rage. Filling endless nothingness with tales from untold age. Lose yourself, and lose again. Let destruction of your soul begin. Wagers from the devil ringing softly in your ear, While snow flakes fall from heaven all around the silver sphere. Remainders of your heart left in public disarray, reminders from all evil that nothing gold can stay.

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Jun 26, 2013

Jun 26, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Press the pen down to the page, let the blank ink spill its rage. Filling endless nothingness with tales from untold age. Lose yourself, and lose again. Let destruction of your soul begin. Wagers from the devil ringing softly in your ear, While snow flakes fall from heaven all around the silver sphere. Remainders of your heart left in public disarray, reminders from all evil that nothing gold can stay.

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Can we fit the universe inside our head? The vastness of everything Overwhelming We figure out life How tempting to know it all Such life to devote every inch of breath I feel the soul was meant to thrive infinite I feel the soul was meant to find its other half In love, the wagers are on We sometimes win We sometimes lose In the end, Love has conquered us Keeping us in awe of how we smile of how we weep of how we try to find it What dedication we put into All the efforts Transcending the suffering of reality in this world A consciousness We are one We are love We are the children of the universe Ergo, We never die Aren't these enough to keep us all in awe?

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Mar 30, 2016

Mar 30, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC

Can we fit the universe inside our head? The vastness of everything Overwhelming We figure out life How tempting to know it all Such life to devote every inch of breath I feel the soul was meant to thrive infinite I feel the soul was meant to find its other half In love, the wagers are on We sometimes win We sometimes lose In the end, Love has conquered us Keeping us in awe of how we smile of how we weep of how we try to find it What dedication we put into All the efforts Transcending the suffering of reality in this world A consciousness We are one We are love We are the children of the universe Ergo, We never die Aren't these enough to keep us all in awe?

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Nascent thought provoking threads flit to and fro unseen solitary pinball wizard cavalierly fiddles indiscriminately leveraging outcome silently holistic thought fragments strewn staccoto scattershot attenuated blitzkrieg brain storm saturates, par for course sandtrap engulfs, chaos reverberates within besieged cerebral corridor, quotidian mental onslaught spurns refugee exodus, psychological ploy asper viable coping function forgoes figurative foothold toe tully forfeited tenuous grasp slips forcing migration, Sans psychotic shrapnel clefts emotional well being, without rhyme or reason sense and sensibility rent asunder rational, overall logical modus operandi quashed dealt fatal savage ****** soundless insanity relentlessly pounds fifty plus shades gray matter noiselessly bombarding lofty craft cognitive faculty atelier strafed emotional rescue relegated to twilight zone outer limits house barbed bereft ken dolled, hallowed, and lobotomized mined kempf desecrated sacred reliquary orbits like a neurological asteroid belt Self healing fragments repelled despite fervent application grounded evincing proof of positive thinking courtesy Norman Vincent Peale fore gone conclusion crowning accursed albatross gussied as SPD (schizoid personality disorder) undefeated champ decamping forever within noggin of this mortal male til death do me part!

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May 23, 2018

May 23, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Tommy Wagers Who Ever Dares!

Nascent thought provoking threads flit to and fro unseen solitary pinball wizard cavalierly fiddles indiscriminately leveraging outcome silently holistic thought fragments strewn staccoto scattershot attenuated blitzkrieg brain storm saturates, par for course sandtrap engulfs, chaos reverberates within besieged cerebral corridor, quotidian mental onslaught spurns refugee exodus, psychological ploy asper viable coping function forgoes figurative foothold toe tully forfeited tenuous grasp slips forcing migration, Sans psychotic shrapnel clefts emotional well being, without rhyme or reason sense and sensibility rent asunder rational, overall logical modus operandi quashed dealt fatal savage ****** soundless insanity relentlessly pounds fifty plus shades gray matter noiselessly bombarding lofty craft cognitive faculty atelier strafed emotional rescue relegated to twilight zone outer limits house barbed bereft ken dolled, hallowed, and lobotomized mined kempf desecrated sacred reliquary orbits like a neurological asteroid belt Self healing fragments repelled despite fervent application grounded evincing proof of positive thinking courtesy Norman Vincent Peale fore gone conclusion crowning accursed albatross gussied as SPD (schizoid personality disorder) undefeated champ decamping forever within noggin of this mortal male til death do me part!

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Behind locked doors the Gamblers dare to cast our fates without a care. Like puppeteers they pull our strings and use us as a child’s playthings. Upon the tables of the gods, with wagers cast at any odds, they stand us up in serried rows, then knock us down like dominoes.

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Feb 15, 2019

Feb 15, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC

Behind locked doors the Gamblers dare to cast our fates without a care. Like puppeteers they pull our strings and use us as a child’s playthings. Upon the tables of the gods, with wagers cast at any odds, they stand us up in serried rows, then knock us down like dominoes.

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4:09 am and I'm not sleeping. Wide awake, wrists open but not quite bleeding. Mind ****** by man vs nature. A young child battles against wits & wagers. I fall in between, because neither of us are sleeping.

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Feb 27, 2016

Feb 27, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC

madison-moskowitz

Fall down, never get back up again

4:09 am and I'm not sleeping. Wide awake, wrists open but not quite bleeding. Mind ****** by man vs nature. A young child battles against wits & wagers. I fall in between, because neither of us are sleeping.

Continue reading...