• religion

    Religion, re-align with superstition and suppositions; ‘perform this ceremony, or go to hell, certainly’. So you act out a scene and everything’s supposed to be serene. When something good happens, it's a reward for being pious, if something bad happens, you excuse it to, ‘He likes to try us, to see if we have faith or if we’re just gonna break’. So you kneel to a nameless wraith in hopes our souls will take. Indivisible under God, it's clearly visible we’re not. Bibles liable for libel; ‘if you believe in another’s, you’re maniacal, and in hell you’ll stifle’. Why follow fickle fiction? They rearrange their rhetoric according to the times, what was once heretic, is now not…a sign of the minds; deceitful so their purpose is fulfilled, inimical to anyone against their will. It’s typical, to get the attention of attenuated people, blind them with a security blanket and misdirect the rationale...the lack of it. Hence, holy wars, holy shit. They sold us their lores when we were kids and said, ‘stick with this and you won’t go amiss, listlessness lies within deadly sins’. In a myopic perspective, it may seem organized, but why opt it, when in the long run, it’s our demise? ..’for the betterment of the people, oh yeah, we’re better than you’. The settlement?.. A dismal dismissal of your point of view… with a missile or two. In-cognizantly contributing to the chaos theory, we go along with our cultures, cultivating a mindless, cult-like, mindset; put a wafer in your mouth, you’re safer for 7 more rounds. Kneel 5 times to the promise land… But I thought he is an omnipresent man? Crack a coconut to bless a new beginning... I guess they all lack a nut in their believing.
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  • conscious state

     Conscious minds, consensus, you won’t find. If everyone looks out for themselves, who’s gonna look at societal problems and delve? The “invisible hand” isn’t an admissible plan when greed seeps deep, seeks and steals to be more grand. Demos kratos, the hope’s lost ghosts, are the innocents, left in a fall, the victimless, safe in a vault. Seems to denote, fiefdom, isn’t over. Still with the right to vote, freedom, is a misnomer. We’re presented with representatives unprecedentedly superlative.. Super! Let’s give them the power to speak on our behalf. We have, faith. Let’s elect policies of persons, as if there aren’t agendas behind the curtains. They work for votes in the guise of inclinations, then win and delegate the task to the next administration. Resounding un-accounting, mounting to debts, crediting our eventual threats. As they hold us in liability, we lie in instability. Currency’s on the decline, and our hands are supine, awaiting the feed of the next line.
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  • sadie

    Laid awake, faced away from the sunrays, sheet covered face as she waves... one more daydream to delay the day. Used to be the alarm screamed and he’d be on his way, now, he waits for an empty house, then, from the sheets, he’s out. Although, still not out of danger, there is the confrontation of the mirror; ﷯ introspection commences compunction, still too shaken to realize it was never within his function. Just an organism in a disorganization, which was band aided even passed being bled dead, mandated by a class seeing bread fed. The innocent left in the fall, the victimless at fault, to a fault. Mid-afternoon, after two interviews, to view interred truths, 'that you work hard and be good and you’d have from the world to choose', he knew all expressions of hope to be platitudes, felt feckless, left lassitude. A feeling worse, wife brings home the purse. Just old fashioned, fashioned to hold his own… never imagined he’d speak so low. Dreads the thought of the dinner table, unable, to meet eyes, the thought of his kids’ sights of their father’s timid side implodes his insides. The thought of his wife’s compassion, leaves his ego even more compromised… Oh how he dies just hoping he could say, “Honey, I’m at the office, I’ll be home at five”.
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  • 1 brain

    Remain, mind and i? Traded days for hours, upon which, everything is changing, thereupon, yielding are thoughts, un-welcomed, sentenced are crazy and hastily spewed decisions, unwarranted. Deterioration set in, all about termination. Figure, I obviously change, will outcomes remain? Will i?I will remain. outcomes will change, obviously. I figure, termination about all in set deterioration; unwarranted decisions spewed hastily and crazy, are sentenced. Un-welcomed thoughts are yielding, thereupon, changing is everything. Which upon, hours for days traded, i and mind, remain.
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  • dragging circles

    dragging my life around, going in circles. drag. rings. back to questions ignored, suggestions implored, nothing ensured. ash. drag. blown up ideas in your mind, towed up when left behind.. pay the fuckin fine. rings. drag. place it down on the tray, outstretch your arms and look away… let the dissipating burn excuse your delay… drag..rings..ash… put away.
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  • desparate

    you drew my figure in death because you didn't want to be the only one there. you wanted someone to look back at you and notice you once had a breath... a presence of some sort ..of a cell...
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    i painted your face because i died. tried to live in your colors, but you were all white... absence of meaning, of feeling.. ..thought you were prettier than that.
  • everything can be divided by 2

    It’s needing 8 fingers interlocked and 4 feet stepping on dry leaves. And after walking 2 miles, we’d come upon 1 promise, such the one the moon has with the tides. But, an emptiness such the distance between them, is what I feel now.. it’s wanting 4 eyes closing as 2 faces close in. Only 1 wish would remain, to never have this come to an end. But the distance between our breaths is my emptiness, and I’m holding mine in.. it’s starving for 2 hearts to feast on 1 love. But there being their beings being antipodal, it’s impossible. It’s me,mpty.. it’s 1 kind of loneliness, my …emptiness…
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  • nothing man

     bedroom eyes in the kitchen, walking the dog on the turnpike.. i can look at my palm and pinpoint the line that went wrong in my life.. solar winds always disrupts a synapse, but happenstance says it’s my conviction that tends to collapse. Speak lines.. they’re never on time... lines of magnetic fields, not on time.. makes me s t r e t c h e d , trying to attach opposite corners of a square, can’t reach the other end. bend back and question, what do you do when you’re passed the stage of suicidal, done with denial?... compunctious convulsing… acknowledgement of the dynamics of life, enhancement of the tyrannic strife. could’ve done something, been somebody… something sad, what a waste. dying near star death… phantasmagoria… and the dog is still on the median.
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  • picnics

    your head against my body, head tilted back and eyes looking at me. how i almost wished you would say…… took the wish away. don’t think im ready, even today….my reflection off your eyes, deep breath taken because now i realize. think if you’d say…………. i wouldn’t go away ………not today.
    my head rested on your lap, giving you a little tap. how i almost was going to say….. couldn’t, because my thoughts were in disarray. maybe someday…
  • unseen

    listless witness to the tic toc, the moon's lit with the sun drop, and in between, all my breaths weren't sought. So I thought, let me go into my soul, into this is where there is somthin' cherished, unshared, to keep its merits. a dimension, where nothing bad is mentioned, and harmony and peace aren’t far from me to reach... all i have to do is, breathe. So please, don’t ask me to open my world, for, your words forwarded won’t move you forward toward my soul. it will remain closed, it’s one place I have complete control… it’s one place, im safe, …from your world.
  • what a day

    what a day wasted away on a shy sunray running on a runway, ready to take off before I get to say, "wait". what a night wasting a sight on a dead light hiding from hindsight, blinding any possibilities that someone, just might.
  • birth to terminate

    A sadness of some sorts, something seeded some seventeen or so years ago. A screaming desolation, as if my presence was eviscerated at conception... somebody see me, somebody speak a sentence and i'll, be. otherwise, i'll call alcohol to keep me company as i cradle with the creek of the couch. i'll creep to a conclusion conducive to contusions from countless clouts. next morning, ill awake laid idle on an island of solipsistic illusions, insisting on the unnecessity of anyone's inclusion.
  • come smoke a cigarette with me

    holding hands with a cigarette, and burning her with a kiss. she claims a piece of her disappears, which scares me, because i need her breath as i arrange my c r i e s in tiers
  • introspect and reject

    ...what's the difference between where we live in our heads?... i moved near the nether-regions, inside the nexus to my neurosis. notice my notion to f this and note it. indifference is insufficient to interpret my interest in intellectualism and institutions. rather have had been incarnated into interstellar iridescence. illuminated as i ruminated, recant the Raconteur? ratiocinate razzing a razor, or reviling a revolver reviling around your rocker? no, i'm just a reckless rake ready to redress, rain on a rainbow and return all colors raided from radiant RNA's. rest my roving and reeling wraith from this rout, reminisce over rudimentary rationale, that i really count. an abnormal accumulation of atoms am i, as if adopted by an afterthought. an a-typical atavism of a being, asymptote to all. accept an apostrophe in place of me. well, i ask if i'm in an anteroom anterior to an august ascension? atrophy of ATP and eventually apoplexy adumbrates the answer will be, an accentuated aspirate. just a jaded jester on a jinxed journey suggesting suicide, yet continuing on conjecture that some juncture will justify; does jupiter have a july? so, what's the distance between where we live in our heads
  • subtly sad

    it's something sad when, to fall asleep, you think of holding a girl you don't have. your life becomes subtly sad. suddenly, every word is claimed by her diction, every movement follows her eyes direction... where do you go when she closes her eyes?... does it matter?
  • sums 3

    he doesn't drink . he doesn't drink. he doesn't drink till the party's done, till he's alone, till he's one. it sums three, and it summons something that can sunder the sun; envy, enmity and exigency that enervates, and he's under and sunk.
     but too much tippling tips his thoughts towards suspending disbelief, and once again suspends him to a being. it's possible, he thinks, he can exist without those things. so he tries to live, but his intentions are received with mis-perception and doubt, if he whispers, they hear a shout... puts him back in pursuit over things he shouldn't be persistent about. he's a peon to his self, a definite dependent. the difference is infinite between anyone and himself, like between a deity and a diffident. ...space , all around that isolates, and he's merely existent.
  • alcohol is my emotional spinach

    alcohol is my emotional spinach, gives me strength to get through this... without it, i'd be finished.smoking cigarettes as a type of incineration, blowing rings as a form of meditation... ...calling you for the sake of salvation. drinking alcohol as a type of irrigation, throwing up as a form of mutilation, calling me a crustacean.
    imagine if i touched you?