• ✍️ WORDS ✍️

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Post your rhymes, free-form poems, ANYTHING! :)

Yeaaah! I share mine with my ladyfriend, but nothing so humble as in a letter and I doubt that she knows that sometimes they're about her.

Here's another; I don't know if this qualifies as poetry, at least in my book, but twas fun to write. You tell me.

Dirty little hood rat,
caught in your own mouse trap,
heart twisted and ripped into a shade darker than black.
Running on the hamster wheel, soul and body barely intact.
Unaware what you're doing, not more then being self-righteous.
Self-image eclipsed your movement, and now you find that you're flightless.
You're not gonna find wings, with the sharp pain of the puppet strings.
Walking behind yourself, you can't tell what you're thinking.
In a way you can, though you're brainless in one sense.
If you caught up to yourself, you'd be amazed the pace you're at.
Schroedinger's dipshit; while we perceive you as worthless,
Undo the perception, and you're a fuckin brilliant person.
In the eyes of the beholder,
but if we look away,
you've got a chance to stop digging your own fucking grave.
Yet, days chain on, redundant, malice in abundance,
indulgence of the selfish horde, yeah you're what the result is;
always sellin' something, what is it that you're hustlin'?

"Peruvian fluffin', deception on the one hand, served with a psuedo-platter of scattered nothings.
Oh, and a nice warm glass of Fuck You. (actually, I want orange juice)
I want your money, might as well take your dignity too,
Might as well grab at everything that's long past due, to you and you and you,
Might as well turn exuberance into a new method to gather the loot,
A pavement for personal gains,
Yeah you might blather the truth,
But get the fuck out my way.
'Cause you're nothing to me, I'll mangle you black and blue.
Like a smurf fell in an ink cartridge, drowned by abuse.
Might render you into used toiletpaper.
'Hell, you're my savior!'
Then wipe my ass with you too.
I'm not confused, dude, I'm just pure scum residue.
Introducing the one and only.
Now's your opportunity!
See through my facade and win some free disunity!
Here's what you get for your intuitive scrutiny;
I'll bludgeon you, brutally
take your integrity, blend it up, and make myself a smoothie.
Social morality, to me is taboo.
I'd rather drink, cheat, steal, and rip your throat out too.
Genuine people don't need a voice, so read our ploy,
you're bloody extinct, shit rises to the highest sections;
not by your own choice, but by natural selection.
The world doesn't care if you're friendly or inventive.
To make it in life, try being greedy and pretentious.
Corrupt selfism always makes it through; hear the truth.
There's dissolution of common respect and virtues,
So, tell me, do ya think I should get a clue?
Well, bitch, I already did, sold it for these stacks to the roof,
99 percent off of a ruthless attitude,
And a fat discount for the dishonesty I constantly spew."

Man.. you corroded at some point or another.
Take a good hard look at your sisters and your brothers,
Reminiscent of a time where your motives weren't covered,
And you weren't always inclined to make other kids suffer.
Now...
Take your feet off the hamster wheel, and repeat after me;
"As long as I keep moving, I'll always be free."
Diffuse yourself right out of the dirtier seas.
Move with yourself, resist the violence of the breeze.
Don't pounce up on all the dirty opportunities.
Shoot yourself up in the arm with genuity,
Follow none but yourself. It's your gradual flow.
Be cautious that others have their own steep roads to growth.
There's no way to look but down, and no way to go but forward.
So on your blind mission, reach out a hand to your brothers.
your sisters, friends, family, peers, and your mothers.
Or that girl in your class, or that guy on the street.
Offer them piece(peace) to help make their puzzle complete.

Do for others what they exert onto you,
Initial gratuity releases the world from this noose.
But if they decide that you're a worthless nothin'.
Either prove them wrong, or, who cares, fuck em!
If the only time they've got they spend being bratty and cruel,
If they've got no respect for anyone, including you?
Wasting oxygen swearing honestly makes no difference.
Trust me, potassium nitrate's much more efficient ;)
 
Some aussie hip-hop coming at ya, something I wrote a few years ago after a personal tragedy.


Two Betrayals

I thought you were supposed to be my best mate
all we were was two kids with all love and no hate

and you there bitch with the glossy brown eyes
you're not beautiful just a filthy slut in disguise

You two were the two that meant the most
but you both fucked me over so here is my toast

to the fucking dog that was there since I was nine
and went behind my back with no fucking spine

I can't believe you can treat a mate like that
what was going through your head you cowardly rat

I don't know how you could betray another
like im some random cunt and not your brother from another mother

You treat everyone with no respect
like you think your perfect

stuffing your fiend face full of gear
every day of the whole fuckin year

And this bitch who held my heart
ripped it up and tore it apart

Can't believe you went from me to him
throw you in with a shark for a swim

it might hurt less than what you did to me
now your torn apart and I'm watchin with glee
I'm sitting here in the sand
polaroid, coke and smoke in hand

Holy shit look at you go
your body sinking below

That's right bitch that's what I thought
Fuck me heavens I know what I should have brought

One of them HD cameras that has the video record
So I can replay this shit and get an academy award!!

I'll fucking cause a scene when I get every cunt back
it's gonna be messy as fuck hearing your bones crack


Fuck you dogs for this pain
promise I won't miss I'm gonna aim
right for your mongrel face
decorate your blood all over this place
it's up the walls and up the ceiling
But fuck me this is such a good feeling
Your before me now cunt get down kneeling
You took my heart, from me you're stealing
but I'll let your pain begin, SHUT UP CUNT STOP SQUEALING!!


So begone Satan cus we're hatin
your a demon in disguise an these lies
we aren't takin em so stop blamin em
we were family and not a mistress

Do you remember us
cus you never missed us
I was your bro who came before that hoe but here I go--
FUCK YOU

Ouch, brutal. Must have been an extremely unanticipated breach of trust. And I can assume it was awful as hell.
 
Ouch, brutal. Must have been an extremely unanticipated breach of trust. And I can assume it was awful as hell.

The song literally tells a story of my meth addict of a best friend and the girl who aborted my child around the time of my 18th birthday. Was with her for almost 4 years, fell into a bad year of depression, anger, hate, became a social outcast and we had just all finished the last year of school so I became alone very quickly.

Life is now turning back to being slightly bearable.

I can't wait to fuck off 1000km away from here as planned soon.

Wish me luck? :(
 
Yeah! Nobody should have to deal with that.. it's like the fine print of human interaction. I understand it 100% too.. I'm trying to flee to fuckin Tasmania as soon as possible. I'm perpetually either on probation or in jail though I haven't broken any laws in months. Long, boring story, no use telling it, but yeah get on with your life my friend!
 
You must forgive me but i'm no poet

1..2..3....

A precise omission of the most honest division,

another multiplication,

minus the untruthful additions.


An equation to solve even the most decimal decision.

A geometrical puzzle of numbers, problems,

leaving unsolved mathematical collision.


Merely a Philosophical Astrology,

questions,in visions,

or perhaps myths, just your everyday superstitions
 
Got bored earlier so wrote this. first poem ive ever written

First of all i can neither rap nor usually rhyme
But this sort of stuff pops into my head from time to time
The irony of sociey has always been funny to me
A nation obsessed with material objects and money
The integrity of a nation defined by a concentration of media manipulation
Endless bad news in papers and on every news station
Get arrested in a pub for illegal drugs when alcohol is one of the worst
Fuck up your body, domestic violence, get raped, cry to a nurse
Smoke some DMT, LSD, magic mushroom tea, open your eyes
And realize the lies that demonize people until their own demise
 
Brilliant poem Dan, dyou think you might ever record it and put a beat to it or something? I think it'd work great like that.
 
Studying fossils of homo heidelbergensis with microscopic lenses,
analyzing the species from which we are all descended.

Sitting here in a tweaked out mellow,
whisping the day away
trying to be an outstanding fellow,
even when I'm old and gray
 
I'm rotten
she's forgotten
eye socket
glazed, she remains with me
amazed, I don't kill in such simple ways.
 
Yin and Yang,
frog and fly
Oculars turn above the water
a fisheye lens half the shape of the atmosphere,
reflected a thousand fold among sights unseen within the bowls
Sends a sticky vector grasping
In to the hereafter
 
This is one of my favorites.

Look through the eyes of a teenage drug addict.
It comes as a surprise when it's engraved as a habit.
Stop breeding the lies, you know it ain't oh so tragic,
When you paint the magic, you hear the faint thrashing
of your mind wrestling with the fake joy of plastic,
fighting a war in your poisoned paradise.
waging a struggle to glimpse all the way behind
the smokescreen, composing of rainbows and bliss.
But on the other side, beyond the thick summer mist
lies a monster, eating its' way deep within.
Might as well bask in the pleasant flames until then.

You're older now, he's got his hold on your shoulders now.
You can't allow him to wrap his finger around,
your throat, you know he'll make your soul collapse.
Look in your eyes, he's trying to get out.
It's okay. Burning yourself takes time.
It's been a nice ride learning to bask in the fire.
truth is, you're now a tortured slave for hire,
But remember, your chains are still made of wire.
Why not burn just a little bit more...

Years later, looking at your eyes again.
It might come as a surprise when you see an old friend.
Your chains are steel, but it won't matter in the end.
You feel a part of you really start to blend.
The monster, he's looking at you in the mirror.
His eyes are now engraved in your spirit.
Who is this demon, and when did it go wrong?
Face it; he's been you all along.
 
It's been a rough day, your neurons mangled in a knot,
fighting a war with your thoughts, whether it's boredom or sorrow, you're lost
The tide might have brought you down,
but there's another kind of wave, that we recognize as sound,
and it'll,
inevitably murder your frown, help you be found, the best thing in town, the world renowned.
whether it's rock, jazz, hip-hop, edm, underground?
a piece of culture that could hit you like a pound of bricks,
it's profoundly astounding, all the brilliance warped into this,
can make such a plethora of emotion take prevalence,
You and the tune are united, in a harmonious twist,
The music seems to solve the ultimate question of why we exist.
Take a note of it, me, I'd take B sharp.
To motivate you when you're climbing up the arc of the harp.
Surfing the curve of the bow, rappelling down the guitar strings,
nothing's more infatuating than the soft voice that you hear when she sings,
nothing's set in stone more than hymn of the xylophone,
inebriating your senses from the complexity of the tone.
The world's most natural drug, warping the mind of the entity,
dissolving problems just like a ear-bound houdini,
mounting a vicious attack against pain and anxiety.
Making you dance and smile with just the vaguest sound of it.
It's right in front of you, and whenever you lose it,
blast out the speakers, you'll notice an instant improvement,
guiding you straight to it, and everything, you'll see through it,
I'm tellin ya, nothin hits you with beauty quite like music.
 
Is it the devil in disguise?

Too many devils inside

Through every sentence I write

Ill send an image to mind

All I know is it could be trouble,

should feel nothing, but I'm falling out a plane in a 6ft coffin

Coming to 4 months later and I'm seeing it all

What I initially thought, and wanted to happen

Has happend, but mistreated me wrong
 
idolators, gluttons & addicts
chanting "Merry Christmas"
i'll tell Jesus you said
"Happy Birthday"

prisoners of justice, sacrificial lambs
silent heroes lingering beyond good and evil
returning yesterdays gifts with your withered receipts

sighing volumes

disappearing
...
re-appearing

you
masked figures
below pretense & above humility
reluctant hypocrites, as equal as opposites

rest easy
I will play the messenger
I'll tell him you said
"Happy Birthday"
 
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fuck my oily pores
fuck my snotty nostrils
fuck my sunken eye sockets
fuck my protruding cheekbones
fuck my swollen throbbing anus
fuck my dead tired brain
fuck my sailor mouth
fuck my saggy tits
fuck my kung-fu grip

fuck salad dressing
fuck digital television
fuck retro wallpaper
fuck nintendo

fuck my poor sense of direction
fuck my lack of punctuality
fuck my twisted spine
fuck my yellow teeth
fuck my failing liver
fuck my filthy lungs
fuck my constant anxiety

fuck this overwhelming depression
fuck my psychotic meltdowns
fuck addiction

fuck this shitty rental property
fuck my asshole brother
fuck the debt collectors

fuck fate,
fuck karma,
fuck almighty God
& fuck the decisions that lead me here
 
Redundant
Part One: The Accidental Seven​

Giles leant back on his chair, flicking the red biro around his long bony fingers with seemingly effortless grace. His eyes wandering from me, to his computer, to a spot on the ceiling, and back again. Never maintaining his gaze for more than three seconds at a time.

He made me nervous. He was a stresser. One of those ultra-anxious types. I suspected there was something he was keeping from me. A secret. He was always shifting around. Moving in short sudden spastic jolts, as if his seat cushion was electrified. He would flinch all the time, too. Startled, somehow, by the soft tick and tock of his wall-mounted clock.

I followed the pen, hypnotized, as it moved from thumb to pinky to thumb. My focus gradually shifting from his hands to his eyes. His fingers, now just a blur in my periphery. Facial muscles, contracting chaotically. Every movement, every expression, pained.

This party trick of his - finger-juggling pencils or whatever you want to call it - was the only thing I ever saw him do with any confidence or calm. His fingers moved fluidly, at a constant speed, and the pen never wobbled or missed a knuckle. Not once, in eighteen years. His technique was flawless.

"So," he said, as if leading into a sentence. But nothing followed. Despite hesitating repeatedly, Giles remained silent. His knee, rattling like an old washing machine. His eye, twitching involuntarily. The clock, tick-tocking.

"So," he repeated, wiping a thin line of drool from his chin.

I took a sip from my cup of complimentary office coffee.

Meanwhile, Mackenzie - a co-worker who I'd never heard utter a complete sentence - got up from his desk and casually navigated his way through the maze of cubicle walls towards the east side of the building. Giles took absolutely no notice as his long term co-worker - Mackenzie - opened one of the lower windows, propping himself up on the ledge like a gargoyle.

He began to rock back and forth between the interior and exterior of the office. Whimpering, as he did so. Below him, lines of ant-sized pedestrians and little toy cars criss-crossing each other. I watched - idly - as he leapt out, plumetting sixty-two stories towards the pavement.

"Good for him," I said. Adding - somewhat bitterly - "The lucky bastard."

Drumming an elaborate beat on the surface of his steel desk, Giles half nodded and half shook his head in response. Clearly not ready to commit to anything, one way or the other. He had no opinion, which came as no surprise. Life, for him, wasn't worthless. Nor was it worthwhile.

A never ending void. Nothingness. This is the world according to Giles.

"So," he said, trailling off into gibberish and muttered half-words.

I was still thinking about the suicide and how I wanted to follow Mackenzie into early retirement. Dive out the window. Escape this hell. But I knew that was never going to happen. Not anytime soon anyway. My kids needed a roof over their heads and they were too young to look after themselves. Death was out of reach for now, but at least it was something to look forward to.

His eyes vacant and lifeless, Giles said, "So."

I wandered over to the still-open window, hanging my head far enough out to see Mackenzie below. His arms and legs were bent into unnatural positions. One minute earlier, he'd been a fellow employeee. Now, he was a human pretzel marinating in a pool of his own blood.

A small crowd of people were gathered around the body. Police cars and fire trucks, were already arriving. The cops created a perimeter around the body, cordoning it off from the public. I watched as a team of forensic specialists scoured the scene, analyzing the surrounding debris.

It dawns on me, watching Mackenzie's little circus: life and death are simple.

"So."

I sit back down at my computer. The little white cursor, blinking. My keyboard, still a little sticky from Tuesday's lunch. A half-naked girl printed on my mousepad. Piles and piles of paperwork to fill out. Stacks of folders to sort. My personal belongings also, including a bobble-head Snoopy and a prescription for extra-strength laxatives that'd passed it's expiry date. A stress ball with multiple puncture holes, a Far Side calendar, and a photo of my kids - Daisy May and Alexander - leaning against my decade-old printer. I hate them, my children, because they are keeping me alive.

Focusing all my energy, I attempted to summon some kind of apocalyptic tragedy. A flood, an earthquake. Anything that might take me away from the monotony of my life. An accidental death. Assuming that its covered by my life insurance policy. Terrorism, maybe. The next September 11th.

Closing my eyes. Clenching my fists. Grinding my teeth. Arching my spine. And, digging my toenails into the insides of my shoes. I imagined passenger jets flying into my building. Ceilings collapsing. Fire spreading from cubicle to cubicle, via paperwork. Then, finally, the sweet embrace of death.

Predictably, when I opened my eyes nothing had changed. Still alive, I returned - disappointed - to the task at hand. Copying measurements from paperwork into the database. Digitizing handwriting. I did this practically all day, every day, for almost twenty years. Needless to say, it is dull work. Almost as interesting as doing nothing, but not quite.

The sound the keys make as I pressed them made me feel physically sick. I hated everything about my job. It was a fucking nightmare. Worse than any agonizingly painful death. Only a matter of time, before I have a meltdown. This endless, mindless data-entry. It's torture.

My co-worker, Giles, twitched with the tick-tock of the office clock. "So," he said, pausing dramatically for twenty or thirty seconds before finally finishing the sentence. "We'd better get last weeks reports upstairs, before Hammerman rips us a new asshole."

I continue to type while responding, cynically, "Fuck Hammerman."

Giles makes a snorting sound with the back of his throat. It doesn't sound human. More like a wild pig or something. Although I'd be surprised if he had an animalistic bone in his body. He was a machine. A robot. The noise - probably a laugh, or a scoff, that misfired - it was a mistake on his part. Which was strange, because he didn't usually make mistakes.

His voice jumped two or three octaves as he exlaimed, "What?!?"

"I said: Fuck Hammerman."

"So," Giles said. "So, what? You want to get us fired? Is that it?" His knee was rattling so violently now, his desk was moving across the room. I could feel it. His anxiety. The nervous vibrations in the floor matched the rhythym of the clock. My co-worker twitching and flinching. Trembling with fear. "I need this job."

He was right, unfortunately. The fantasies I regularly indulge, in which I lose my job or my life, will forever remain fantasies. I will be working for Mantis until I can't work anymore. I can't do a Mackenzie. Lucky fucker. Never got married. Never had any kids. There was nothing keeping him here. Nothing holding him back.

Accidentally I struck 7 instead of 4 while inputting data.

I stopped working, staring at it - the 7 - as if in some sort of trance. My mind wandered through the walls of the office, continuing past home, past family, past everything I know to be safe and familiar. It settled - my mind - in an abstract realm somewhere outside of the known universe. For a minute or two, the accidental seven liberated me from my cage.

As soon as I heard his voice, I reconnected with the real world. My pathetic little holiday was over.

"So, are you going to take them upstairs, or do I have to do it?"

I wanted to smash my ergonomic keyboard over his head and knock down his cubicle walls. I wanted to grab him by the pubes and feed him, dick-first, into my multi-function shredder. I wanted to set him on fire and watch him bounce hopelessly from off the walls, spreading flame everywhere, until the entire building erupts.

I sigh, fishing around in a desk drawer for the documents in question. "I'll do it," I mutter, defeated. The engineering report is loose, so I put a staple in the top left corner and slip it into an off-white presentation folder. "I always fucking do it, don't I?"

My fellow data-entry specialist makes the pig noise again. "So," he says, "you have to go upstairs every now and then. Big deal. I mean, it is your job, isn't it?" He rolls his eyes so dramatically they almost fall out of their sockets. The expression on his face is disgustingly smug and self-righteous. He has, once again, assumed the misplaced arrogance of a private school girl.

Best not to say anything, I decide, as I slide off my faux-leather swivel chair.

"Well?" Giles insisted, waiting for a response - the only possible response - to his rhetorical question. He repeats it, patronizing, over-pronouncing every syllable. "It is your job, isn't it?"

I push the elevator call button and wait, silently.

Giles snorts again, before returning focus to the PC on his desk. He types surprisingly fast, considering he only uses his right index finger.

As the electronic doors close behind me, the sound of chattering keys and the ticking-tocking of the office clock fade into the distance. Replaced, by the hum of machinery and the hardly audible whisper of elevator music.
 
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This thread is badass... I was just about to make it.

Freestyle one take
I just type




How do these people think they can even come close?
I'm God's perfection, walking ego, the very definition of boast


dual consciousness, two minds, both criminal
why rush you? I attack the subliminal

this reality thing, Ive got it mastered
Like God Im a fatherless bastard

beyond your comprehension, over existence, soul suspension
are you even still with me? or have I lost you?
That low IQ
is the result of public education
I demand myself into existence, self created reputation
 
Foreverafter after reading some of your stories it makes me very glad to see you are alive =D
 
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