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Initiative.
Breathing.
Sniffling.
In love - yet whimpering,
in terror.
A fear of possible loss
sparkling upon the horizon.
I can taste pain upon my
tongue, though the blood
has long since evaporated.
Scared.
Shaking.
Content.
The swolen joy within
outcompetes the terror,
the morbid possibility of
slipping, tripping, inevitably falling
from a bridge built from
loneliness, the connecting path
between the mainland,
and our island.
Disassociated from misery
masked with pre-packaged apathy.
Bottles of liquid
happiness, poison
to the skeptics
and all of the disbelievers.
I have found amazement, in
the shape of an angel,
who answers to
the name of
Andrea.

A.
 
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We
are born
as we die.

As profound
as (we are)
meaning–
less,
we boast
“less is more”
and “more is less.”

Forever
hopeful
and
incurably
hopeless.

We, the
explosion,
expand (as)
we disint-
egrate.
 
Killing Time

God is bored
so he/she creates life
from his/herself.
i’m going to skip
the graphic details
out of fear/respect.
the universe was born Earth-first,
according to his/her autobiography.
labor, says the Bible, was long and painless.
for seven days and seven nights, life formed on our planet.
followed, presumably, at some point, by the rest of existence.

God was bored
so he/she created the first man
in his/her own divine image.
then, the first woman was
created from the first man.

Adam and Eve,
along with Jesus Christ
and other biblical figures,
are predominantly depicted as caucasian.

this, however seemingly innocent,
is actually part of an unspoken global conspiracy
orchestrated sub-consciously by white-collar racists
who are, more often than not, unaware of what they’re doing.

man is flawed. man is disposable. we are figments of a daydream.
memories, lost to tedium. forgotten, as creation collapsess upon itself.

when
there
is nothing,
God is bored
 
Just posted this but then saw yours and figured I`d put it in here too.

Our lives living adjacent,
Crossing paths like in the matrix,
Just to get to where we`re stationed,

Hearts harder than the pavement,
Seemingly fallen to far to save it,
They working on the day shift,
but at night they creeping faceless,
She`s too fake,

walking plastic wit a face-lift.
Now I`m staring at the ceiling,
just wondering where the days went.

Bleak obliteration,
It`s sweeping across the nation,
I tried drugs to escape it,
But now losing my patience,

With racy thoughts a racin`
Can quickly go from free to freebasing,
Is that a dragon that you`re chasing?

I don`t do that no more,
But I still seek accommodation.

So bored with everything,
Music`s just copy and paste and,
They say it`s run by freemasons,
With capitol dreams,
But souls stay vacant,

I`m not apart of that crowd,
You must have me mistaken,

Never wanna go back to shakin,
and simultaneously burning at the stake and,
The devil always calling,
And he`s asking you to shake hands,

That`s the same Satan that made these clowns with fake fans,
Endorsing all these great brands,
Sipping lean while sporting gucci and some ray bans.

So what is my conclusion?
Enlightened to the illusion,
I see my inferiority,
and i compensate by choosing,
to live a better life,
and live it until I die,
to turn the other cheek,
and leave my fiending dreams behind.
 
The Titans March on the Pearly Arch

Each of them a beast of terror, each of them a monster lost to time. Born from the very event that destroyed all that was nothing and created everything. The embodiment of ending, the incarnations of finality.

Scornful Cries of Hate and War, Under they Trample Noble and Whore.

We raise our maws to the sky, we raise our eyes to the light. It burns us beasts born of nothing yet born of the ending of everything. We reach out with our claws, our tentacles, our abysmal vestiges to snuff out that light.

The Promised Kingdom Razed, The Titan God is Crazed, and all Creation Stares on Dazed.

On blackest wings of alien hate, they spread the suffering only they know. A sorrow beyond loss, a loneliness beyond isolation. Hate of life and light, hate of death and darkness. Love only for the nothingness.

The Highlords Blot out More than the Sky, They Block all Light from every Eye.

Cast down we writhe in agony, not because of pain, not because of death, but because of loss. The loss of everything holy and unholy.

The Wrath of Beasts Beyond Time, The Universe in Shock at a Warping Crime.

Those of us who wish for nothing, now our voices call to thee, forget us not who have seen your eyes, raise us up and place us in the skies. Never let us fall again, for while they march we pretend.

Bloody Black Feet March, Sick Smiles look upon the Pearly Arch, The Wrought Iron Gates to Hell, into mud have already fell, the end of all, the end of time, slowly everything and we desist, into the blackest pits of Abyss.
 
No one gives a fuck about your poetry

No one gives a fuck about your poetry
They just read it, and smile at the end.

No one gives a fuck about your poetry
When you realise it's true you feel blue

No one gives a fuck about your poetry
It's to heartfelt, or abstract, or "gay"

I say don't give a fuck about your poetry - do it for YOU if it brightens your day.
 
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
 
I listen to The Smiths
While mowing the lawn
I wonder if Marxists
See this as man
Dominating nature
The sky is stupid-blue
Early Summer

Where going home with someone
From the club presents additional problems
I'll go home alone tonight
& take a few valium
& dream that I'm fucking the bar girl

I never really left my bed today.
at all.
 
I made mistakes'
I wanted to know everything
To fix everything
But I found I couldn't
Experience is different from theory
I'm sorry.
Fuck.
 
The Queues are Long Enough

Time takes different form
In the city.
Speed seems to be the secret.

Efficiency, sweet efficiency.
The Olympics need a new sport:
The businessman 1200m marathon,

Clothes and all.
Give a gold medal to the slowest,
Or the one who vomits from the heat first.

LD50 of drug mortality
Only informs on
Rat death doses.

I Want rolling death
Without waking with catheters
& hospital fees.

Christian pamphlets speak
Of God's protective powers,
Unaware of free-will.

Half-asleep as it is,
My small contribution
To society ---

Eating & shitting.
& a little paper work;
While the world

Fills mental wards
& makes profit
From the less profitable.

Posers in boat shoes
Critique the “classics”
The “hot new releases”

The Vampire book-section.
Everyone writes prose
Luke-warm Liberal sentiments.

Nothing is depressing any more
Lexapro & Valium help that.
Like chopped wood and fire

To the modern world.
Is there a place I can send this
Without the need for counselling?

Positivism has a limit
& I think we went past that
Miles ago, decades ago.

You'll do well here (if conservative)
There is no new Left,
It's a lie.

Like world peace
& all that other bullshit
The 70's were meant to change.

Hopeless; technology separates us
The further away we are
From each other

The better.
We can't get along
So we create boundaries.

I was at university
Two months ago
Until I realised

I couldn't
Save the world
There is a New Right

& a “New Left”
The “Third Way” -
The Middle Way.

It's like some form
Of a rational Jesus.
The tolerant

Need the intolerant
& vice-versa.
Always stuck between

Poles, which never
Appease
The present moment.

There is too much bacteria
& the agar plate
Is running out of nutrients.

Stop Fucking.
 
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Amphetamine, accelerated,
LSD, life accentuated,
DMT, the mind revealed,
Ketamine, reality repealed,

Ecstasy, an empathy,
2C-B, aesthetic entropy,
Psilocybin, worlds of colour,
Psychotropics: Access to wonder.
 
Killing more brain cells than a construction crew excavating a cold concrete mental prison
Flinging flaming fireballs far to freak-out your family facing a fractured nuclear fission
Ready to explode like a master monk meditating mental energy making moves on a mission
Regressing to a pent up past of perdition perceived as a long lost soul vice contrition

Attacking ancient aristocracies all-costing decent into amorous amorality and awful post-rationality
Indulging intellect inevitably in investigating life's insurmountable injustices
Slaving seriously on the mission to serve society sensibly with servility and sincerity so much so it's insane
When really it's not all insane.
Waxing lyrical about political, justice truth and life - these are preoccupations of the sane.
 
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if there is such a thing as beautiful pain, it's name is yours.
dragging through relentless days..
full of nothing but shadowing uncertainty, constant; unforgiving.
each morning, another battle lost: opened eyes.
added insult - last night's heavenly dream is fucking gone -
but unforgettable.
another soul-destroying good-bye.
each day spent unfaithfully praying to any bullshit divinity that tonight,
you'll be there, precisely where we left us,
warm, in bed, smiling in the glow of love made.
crawling, I join you, finally recovering my breath,
where your beautiful eyes had stolen it effortlessly, so long ago.
I destroyed my only possibility of home:
my head on your chest..
the nails of my wanting fingers gently mapping
where my lips needed to be..
where they should have been..
each minute of this and every other god-forsaken miserable day.
instead, homeless, alone and bathed in tears,
mourning hour after hour not spent by your side.
grieving countless seconds I tragically wasted..
the loss of every minute not spent proving my love
carries only my aching regret.
each morning, daylight brings the agonizing death of us...
and another empty wish for a miraculous resurrection
of what should have always been.
 
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Days of magic

Days of magic
cloud fantastic
'can borrow
your time for now.

Days of thunder
and great yonder
in the red snow
blood and sorrow.

Days of mean plight
within a fight
will see us fall
days of turmoil.

Time is in vain
it should remain
but days go by
-and here I lie.
 
No one knew her name. She was older, but no one knew how old. Japanese, old enough to have been interned but no one had ever asked her about that. Attempts at neighborly friendliness were met with polite nods,a painful twitch at the corner of her lips, as if she were trying very hard to affect the mouth shape called a smile. No one could remember ever actually hearing her speak.

She could be seen in the early mornings working in her strange garden that fronted the street . It was hard to call it a garden but in fact it was a style that had been popular in California in the sixties: gravel in place of grass and a few low growing junipers brutally pruned year after year into low flat shapes that resembled large nests. Other than seeing her with her gardening gloves and shears in the mornings, she was occasionally seen, in her white cotton driving gloves, carefully backing her car from the garage, idling in the driveway long enough to make sure the automatic garage door was fully closed; she always returned shortly with one small bag of groceries, the garage door opening to receive her and closing again with a series of creaks and one final thud.

Some of the children in the neighborhood sad that when they rang the doorbell at Halloween, or selling magazines for their school, they could hear her move to the door and knew she was watching them through the tiny spyhole of glass high above their heads. Their parents told them to leave her alone. And that is what they all did. They left her alone.

On the Saturday morning that a police car was seen in the front of the house, the neighbors gathered in small knots, hoping for information. Soon enough the coroner's van pulled up and that was answer enough. People sheepishly went back to their Saturday chores, trying not to stare. When she was wheeled out under a gray sheet, people were relieved that she had that final privacy. It was important to her they felt. One man wondered what her house would go for? Another said, "I wonder if that young man that I saw a few years ago was her son?"
 
A hypochondriac, Asthmatic with panic attacks/
Couldn't see my thoughts recorded on wax/
So I started killin' em in tracks/
I smoked wack cats out w/ lights off like cataracts/
People said M, you can't rap, cuz you're not black/
To stay on track, Rhyme what I feel, all that I know/
The system that rejected, got me at my most vehement/
Tried to medicate me to normalcy/
Ended up paranoid schizophrenic, and straight up demented/
Not speaking to be holier than though, simply airing resentment,
Abolish faulty knowledge, but can't stand to see it corrected.
 
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Open Season

Hardly declared, but once stated its forever. Life turns into a hunt; the chase that never ends. Always yearning and searching for that void, that can only be filled by its catalyst.
 
Indifference.
The pain of swaying
stagnant like in the
breeze.
Winter, complete with
it's chill. Scorching
my bones with its fire
ice.
I left everything behind.
Stepped over that line.
It was not the finish line.
Demented mind,
Thoughts that appear with
spontaneity so rich it
smells like the taste of
random.
Tears that I never shed.
Wounds that never bled.
So weary, yet so sharp.
A knife.
A knife.
 
In An Instance


When I close my eyes I see your face.
Anger,
It makes my heart race.
I can barley concentrate.
Teenage love affair,
friends
unconditionally,
Hurting each other
never intentionally.
I watch the smoke rise,
all the while
staring into your eyes.
Engraved into my brain,
Mental .
I'll never see you again.
Words so many,
but too few.
I'm even livid with you.
You always thought you had nine lives.
Super hero, invincible .
Wished you would have been careful
now your invisible.
Takes me hours to put my thoughts in verse.
Even than my writings the worst.
I stopped looking up at the sky.
Not because your up there somewhere.
I won't pretend
Religions not something I share.
Starry nights.
Winter Snowfalls.
Beautiful sunsets
Fuck. Joey it makes me so upset.
No one could understand,
No one could comprehend.
The place my minds in.
When I think back
Understandings what I lack.
Realizing all that's left is past.
It will never pass me though.
Not something I'll outgrow.
I'm going to love you.
It's the only thing I can do.
Remember your essence.
Express it when I feel your presence.
Let you live on
While I learn my lessons.



Wrote this about my ex who was murdered, not the best but its how I felt.
 
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