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Daniel eason Oct 2018
As technology advances
What are our chances
To live in an apocalyptic place made out of waste
We will scavenge and hunt for our bread and butter
Most of us will try find shelter, whilst others in the gutter
Does it have to be like this?
Tell me if you had one wish
What will you choose when mother nature needs us
As she is the one who's ever going to feed us
A poem a about humanity's  selfishness and unsustainable living, advances in technology
Natalie cetina Oct 2017
Remember when you used to love me ?
Remember when you said
“ te amo “
Remember all our memories ?
You said “ I will never let you go “
You said that you loved me
King Panda Jun 2017
I stay awake—
gas,
ion and
tail.

your ghost strokes
my back, fingers
ski-jumping vertebrae
as my face steams into
powder.

your pith, soft and white:
our star in you—
rove to your low neckline in
fire humming comet.

space is blameless in
this limb of heartbreak.
Viridian Aug 2018
I have only one match left

One gave me a sparks and nearly caught fire, but instead turned out to be too fragile to use, so I set it aside in hopes that it would give me a flame one day when its ready

The one before that was lit too brightly and burnt my fingers, making me drop it on the ground to burn out on its own, scorching the ground below me with licks of orange and red and passion I don't know how to handle

That one match on the counter, I'm far too afraid to ignite, and instead allowed it to grow wet and unusable to even strike against the rough to attempt to set it ablaze

All the others were duds and broke too easily, so I had to throw them all away, unable to be used for the warmth it should have provided

I have only one match left

How will I ever light my way?
will i ever ****** stop?
Spike Harper Aug 2018
I usually begin these rants with a question.
But i find myself lacking in just this instance.
For whom can say.
Anything more
When ash refuses to respond.
No message can be relayed.
Just more things that i silently promise.
As i figuratively toast to a memory that will never do you justice.
Is it disrespectful to take words so literal.
To the point.
That looking down gun barrels and beer bottles.
Turned into a ****** routine that pride would boast.
Only there was no smile in my smile.
Inhaling disappointment.
As the years of missed visits and substance abuse.
Led me here.
At your deathbed.
wishing my words could reach beyond.
Without worry of a certain spectres blade in my shadow.
Then somehow.
I made my word.
The only thing worth asking about.
Because allowing the past to weave around the last routine we shared.
Would force everything that i have come to embody.  
To null
Et fin.
But no.
Your gift was ever changing.
Trading a jack for skills.
While masking scars that only those with them would know of.
And in the darkest moments did i find a crystal.
Clear.
Resolve.
To struggle onward.
Tears wont spell the revisions we seek.
and i was taught to always look my best, no matter the destination.
Everything that i am.
Came from you.
It didn't come from a book nor a Professor.
I can only hope to pass on your wisdom.
Although cryptic at times.
Will remain in my heart.
So even though I will forever be thinking of a new metaphor.
A penny will sit in my pocket.
Until the day that I can place it in your palm.
Rest easy Pop. We all love you and you will be sorely missed. no matter how many days pass
My father passed at 10:37p.m. August 15 2018 just a couple weeks after his birthday on the third from cancer... He was 58. We barely knew about his condition for less than 3 months before that night.
Bison Feb 2016
He laid emeralds in her eyes
But I'd already tried
A bracelet made of gold
And a scarlet thread around her wrist
And everything was wrong
So we sang sentimental songs
Oh, how seldom we belong
But how elegant our kiss
And we painted crooked lines
But we danced in perfect time
To a love so much refined
We know not what it is
So like the dullen wine
We pour into a grief we'd known before
But never quite like this
Never quite like this
All I know now is regret
She follows like a silhouette
Of a cobblestone behind me
She has nothing left to say
Except to innocently ask
Her voice delicate as glass
"Do you see me when we pass?"
But I
I continue on my way
From Memphis Will be Laid to Waste by the Metalcore band Norma Jean

This is the work that speaks to me. These are the words that beg to be spoken.
Lizzy Apr 2015
This feels like dying
It feels like I'm ******* falling

I'm no good
I'm a monstrous mess
I'm a lifeless ghost
I'm a waste of space

The pounding in my chest has slowed
And I long for it to stop
The voices in my head are quiet
And I beg for them to scream
This pain has brought me to life
And I beg for it to end

My words aren't so pretty anymore
I've run out of beautiful ways
To say I want to die
Alan S Bailey Sep 2018
It doesn't really change anything,
regularly I would despise the work of this poem,
the sight of blank paper is easy to fill,
but it's such a pain when at a pointless window sill.

I vaguely recall when I lived in joy,
Now people see me I'm lost in my thoughts,
Everyone thinks that I don't want to listen,
But the truth is that money has always been my problem.
I know this is not a fun poem, but I may one day find reason to express  my happy time feelings sometime soon
XyL0S Dec 2018
It was so much easier
When I just
wanted it all.
It doesn't seem worth it anymore
faith Sep 2017
waste of time,
i hear my phone chime,
my time is gone,
working until dawn,
time to say hi,
when I really want to say bye,
it's now bedtime,
but for me that doesn't mean downtime,
yea, it's a waste of time.
I hate school sometimes *cough cough* like all the time
Zoe Mae Jan 2018
In idle hours of the night
Chains of worry wrap me tight
Only in sleep is there relief
But like all moments it is brief
Dawn unveils to reveal
What wasted hours never heal
Leo Dec 2018
No more screaming, no more voices
In the empty land of wasted stories.
A place of madness and lost faith
But look at it the right way
And it’s astonishingly great.

A null tricky game, planned, well played,
You’d better keep watching before it vanishes anyway.
But perhaps it’s too late, in this blurry night
Maybe too early to see the bright light.

Just a second of hope, a last broken prayer
To remind you in this game, you were a good player.
Cause there are no winners
No losers, no glory
In the not too far land of wasted stories.
when
the
curtains
fall down
upon
the stage
time waste no time
because
deep down inside
is
where
the
hurt and pain resides
then
we
cry out
all
the
hurt and pain
until
the
clouds have no more rain
smoke.

the smell of nicotine
rests on my black
graphic t-shirt.

the dwell of misery
rests on my back,
while music reverbs.

my black vans are
filthy with the weight
of pain.

a wallet,
filled with little notes.
writings from her
in my back pocket.

a very lonely bench awaits
my place as i sit and
try to out smoke
this familiar mental state.

i look out into the
water ahead, the creek’s
liquid mirror reflecting
her aura.

“oh god, not again.”

a sudden and sharp spike
of sadness runs through
me, a longing tear trails
my frozen cheeks.

then i remember him,
and how much i miss him.

i remember him calling out
for me along with mom,
and how harmoniously my
heart would pump gallons
upon gallons of hot burning
blood.

hot burning love.

i take another drag to mask
the molecules of reality
that i wish i wouldn’t have
to inhale.

i look up
at the aligning stars,
and by the grace
of the god i do not
believe in
do i tell you
that i let out a cry
so loud, that he himself must’ve
felt heaven shake.

with water flooding
my brown eyes, i
yelled and pleaded
whatever being
that could hear me
to end me, because

i tell you that
all this pain,

of missing certain people,
of longing for lost love,
of experiencing incompleteness,
of feeling so ******* unable to stand up,
of combatting the poison guilt is,

drags.

at my soul,
harder
than cigarette

smoke.

-melancholicreator
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach...
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                  You would burn it all.

To do a dance, to wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
                                                  To look in a mirror...
             To tell an image that it’s anything but you.

But it's in that moment, that you'll find
                                you tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed your own obliterated youth...

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
                          you’d find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
                                                          A­lone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
               For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
                 Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

And maybe, one day, one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

To feel the flame within its breath consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
                And die a death,
                Whose dance you six-times misstep


                              And on the seventh, betrays you.

nish Sep 2018
if time went into storage
wouldn’t that be great

all those moments that went adrift
just waiting to be claimed

like a ‘lost and found’ for time
sounds quite bizarre

it must be at its brim by now
bending out the walls

i must admit most of that time
is all because of me

those 10 minutes that I fell asleep
just because of bordem
queues I had endured
loitering through the streets
tangled between the sheets
lying down watching the fan
making patterns on my hand
doodling the armegoden
simple things, useless things  

but most in vain
the time I spent
waiting for true love
pursuing those who’d disregard
someone like me
someone not worth their time

i suppose I wish
there was a way
to get back all that time

all that time I could’ve used
to waste another way.
time goes so fast, I like this poem it’s one of my quirkier writes :)
Hope you enjoyed
Rose Nov 2017
***
Lull me to sleep,
Sudden soft rapping on tin
I can't say I never think of you herein
Of Tahoe nights 'round mudded hills
By the train's winds
Which have since, blown still
Each time I wish
I wish I'd been alone like this
Marrika Oct 2018
doing everything to keep you
why.
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