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When the Mind Plays Tricks
The wind was music enough while stars that would someday die, stood still in dark skies as an audience sitting in the black and blue. A few lights stood out...a kitchen light left on with the blinds open, a doorbell, the car alarm lights that flickered red just under the windshields, and the automatic street lamps that would open and close their eyes as if they had always been awake and were at last drifting off like recovering insomniacs.
A man sat upon an uncomfortable porch during a gusty summers night, just after the birth of morning by nearly two hours. The trees would sing their parts in unison with the lazy gusts from south to north and north to south. Another light was near to him, just inside of his hands, while he typed. A phone, with a warped screen...its face beheld a bubble that was to it like a transparent blemish.
Off in the distance drummed the rubber of spinning tires over late night roads beneath more yellow street lights. Whether they were drunks, cheaters, teens avo
Actors in the Flesh
I'm rather good at playing the role of a man in pain. God gave me some noticeable baggage beneath my eyes, and bleak look that would have had victims of some great disaster asking me of the burdens on my shoulders. Funny thing was, that I had always been a little angry about that...never really got me anywhere but in a world of unwanted pity.
"Time was a mean old bastard to this face," I thought, "or was it choice?"
It didn't matter so much half the time. A walking, talking corpse seems like a good line up for a good punchline to some twisted joke. And that's the thing, is it not? No one likes a frown in that world of pity, they just want smiles, even if only for themselves. If they're just shy of the right size or temperature of heart, they take a swing at that joke, just for kicks...even if those kicks were really sucker punches below the belt. Took me years to realize that it couldn't be helped, but when it came to me, it came. I don't really remember when or where, and I don't thin
Things to Take on an Acid Trip
Several matches for each plot of land in a phase of suicidal tendency, and perhaps gasoline for the sake of a better show.Glasses can be for the brightest lights on the older towers before implode and fade into dust, leaving themselves in clocks to in & around time, disintegrate. A topless thinking cap, for the open mind required by a chore of listening to raving schizophrenics that may have a point or two, depending on the voice whose behalf they speak on.
A vacation round the world in matters of time and variety, in store for our future, so I encourage all to pack accordingly. It is only a vacation in that you will deviant from what you think you know.
An old paper fan for the heated debates of distractions and attractions. Different eyes for every sight to behold so as to spice the convolution. Grenades to open letters from loved ones and old friends. Magnets to toss deep into clouds for purposes of entertainment. Gargoyles for the nightmares outside every wall you've built up. Sand
Please Wake Up
Trapped in a fantasy whom harbors the
echoes of the voices that love, the false smiles
spread wide to blockade the hell forming within heart.
Yours are the eyes that will see what the senses
adapted will force them to see.
The rain buries every drop of liquid salt
from the swollen wells of brunette,
who blink bloodshot from the nightmares still
continued beyond the place of bliss, that woefully
small world of ignorance that only sorrow can create.
Small quakes come and go from the outer reaches
where mountains dwell, and they creep over your
shoulders as you run across reality,
trying your damnest to maintain that smile.
And the plants, how they wither and die as hope
becomes a fleeting miracle, and the flowers
discolor and become ash as faith becomes
tested day by day by year.
The world is collapsing, and I pray that you
just take my hand to bring up the words
we should say in heart and aloud so that this
dying world lives as some reality within reality.
For the love of our own love a
The hands press, filthy and shaking as the knees
have lately greeted the cold earth for a beggars perspective.
Silence has become the loudest reply from the
Heavens and the visions have left the ears ringing for the call to arms.
A war is traveling to a place in the times to come,
where man will hold the greatest sum of casualties and
beyond physical endings. Subliminal messages within
visions see to it to remind those see of prophecies foretold.
Seven serpents of false colors move with scales
made of all seeing eyes, weighed unevenly in ever
corrupt judgement, keeping warm beneath tarnished flags
dropped over the corpses of the contemporary river Styx.
How the river is grown from its many clots in
its veins spread out from the depths of Hell,
where the devil blushes in admiration of his work in progress.
Here there are no numbers flr the sins committed and to be committed.
I cannot run, even if my desire were in the places of cowardice.
I beseech the Host to tear down the gates of Hel
Setting Fire to The Sword.
A mystery for dinner, to be spoon fed and ensure a scalded mouth to curl up the tongue. That scent that comes forth to greet the black sunset in the middle of a predicted eclipse.
Death to come and to leave, leaving behind the bread crumbs towards a better day, like a Message from God in the times when Gabriel was given other tasks for that process of fate.
A blade left in a stone beneath the open hole of the ashen skies through which a little light remains piercing through and throughout space and time shining bright off the metal.
God help them, they only see a sword and its perfect edge. They know not how to wield this glorious tool to even the odds and clear the air, as never was it intended for bloodshed.
I have seen the fields beyond that stone that burn and build the smoke of those skies. I hear the call to put them out for all of time to come and go, just as you intend for this war of ages.
Would not it a tale to tell to eager ears? The flaming blade that consumed those fires,
Signs of the End
Smoke on the rise, where the moth flies low,
Collecting ash where should be dust.
An old structure fades with growing flames,
Until the moth is choked from its bowels.
A tree melts into the wax earth,
Sinking into the heart cracked open ajar
In many an area, round the broken tendons.
Those tendons were of the lush grass of green that somber,
never did get to see the real sun.
Let flow from the basis unto though purging flames,
that smoke on the rise, as the crazed moth
counts the specs of ash and dust amidst its collection.
Its fixed eyes would have not seen the spreading fires,
nor would they ever until the eleventh minute of
so short a life span for the creature that
could have easily been mistaken for the creature
that brings life to flowers...
the room of the model and artificial kingdom go
ablaze from a moment out of nowhere, as the brewing
flames became more from their source and blackened
the model and room and home to just some charred carcass,
as was that first old structure t
What Feels like Damnation
January was a first within which I quickly lost track of time, when the year began in a ninth circle developed out of treacherous fear. A convoluted scheme that wrapped away my freedom for a man of ill wealth that took fancy to my unfortunate name.
I was a gift, and show such love that I did indeed question in that following February. To and from like a breathing Valentine, walking with bare feet, cross country to be presented as god given property to the fiend that I called master against the laws of choice.
Free will was suffocated in the wearing of shackles whose rust gave new color to the skin that they met. Marching in March, the road carried on as I lived as cattle for the monsters whose humanity had been consumed by the circles of the Hell in which I was misplaced.
A fool did I think myself to ever pity a man who had allowed his humanity to be robbed from in front of his own eyes, whilst my humanity was given the treatment of beast worth a fraction to the rest of my fellow man.
Poor PatThere once was a man called Pat,
Who was rather fat.
He had a cat,
And it slept on the mat,
But died because
Pat had not bought GabriaXorp's latest product, "CatSaver" (© 20&&) which resulted in the cat's untimely death. Don't be like Pat. Save your cat. Buy GabriaXorp's latest pet-orientated resurrection machine, "Cat Saver". It is completely safe!*
*The cybernetic supplements used in the ressurection process may malfunction and result in the cat's eventual evolution into a pyramid-headed three eyed god occurring a lot faster than your feeble human mind can cope with.
I call it passion. My mother brings me a soother, incased in a miniscule pearl pink circle.
As she walks into my room she hears a few verses of the spoken poetry titled "My thighs":
Sheepishly she asks me to refrain from watching anything that may cause' disturbance to my character.
Spark me off because for her and for many my body is constantly dripping, buttery with gasoline.
A supposed 'defect' that has caused many to label me as "Bitch" because unlike many ladylike girls I don't zip my lips.
In fact any jagged zipper teeth that may protrude from my plump lips have rusted, the zipper itself is broken.
She doesn't understand why I rage against subjects that shouldn't bother my ideal, pubescent mind.
To stop calling my brother "homophobic" because the word faggot rolls down from the tip of his tongue
with stomach-tightening ease.
(but she doesn't tell him to be quiet).
When I tell her I am a feminist she tells me to do my re
The ResistanceConfined their eyes
To the darkest place
A world where
The justice has died.
Has been declined
And the screams
Are just wind.
Change the history
They won’t have
To lead us
We will burn
Around the world
Smother the law
With your protest
Create a new age.
The stolen freedom
Replaced with fear.
You can pull
Down the fate
Soon the sun
Steal their voices
In this dead
City you rule
With unfair laws.
Living on the floor
Begging for food
We only received
An empty dish.
Smiling you are
In our misery
You bring corruption
To all that you
We need someone
To free us from you
But your evilness
Will hide the sun.
Algorithm - *For GazaThe world ends where the world begins
Infinite loop of insanity
Moment is the hope
And yet go back to one
The pen is mightier...You may have every firearm in the world.
With every bullet carved and flags unfurled.
But It is by words that true fights are made.
It is by the pen that new stones are laid.
You may wield a sword sharpest of blade.
With daggers many and soldiers stayed.
But it is by the words read that worlds are torn
It is by ink and quill that revolutions are born.
You may kill and ravage the land.
Steal from the many to keep in your hand.
But by the writer's craft you shall be forgotten.
With treasures forfeit and powers fallen.
Never doubt the power of the writer's craft.
For it is by our hands that the world is draft.
Should you forget this simple truth.
The world will rot by ignorant youth.
Remember this simple cord:
The pen is mightier than the sword.
1492 SUGAR DADDYColumbus is famous because
he thought the earth was smaller
than Venus, and he didn’t know
that America existed,
and after he found it, he still thought
it was Cippangu, off the coast of Cathay.
Father of Our Times!
History’s Great Dumbass!
Cupcakescupcakes are awesome
cupcakes can be different things
cupcakes can be animals
cupcakes can be funny
cupcakes can be messy
cupcakes can be colorful
cupcakes can be cute
cupcakes can be big and small
cupcakes can make me smile
cupcakes can bring joy to other people
cupcakes can be the right one for me
and so are you
Hiding Behind the LinesDistant hearts on the desert express, trapped in a ring around the forces that oppress.
Connected, though they may be by a common resistance.
Their case will fall flat on a wave of indifference.
Equality fails and the people see the end of it.
When allies won't stand up without assured self benefit.
They are oh so far away from the shimmer of cognition.
Still camped in the recesses of admission.
Hidden from the light of the public eye.
Shadows conceal all those who misstep and die.
To expect peace is not expected in our society,
And to demand for it means you lack modesty.
For to bring help to the world, without an itching for war,
Is impossible for it lacks the bloodshed the privileged adore.
It's not an issue of “over there”.
Some say to wish prosperity to the world just isn't fair.
For whenever the innocent face war, injustice, and torture.
It is up to the rest of us to realize it is not an issue that can hide behind borders.
Have you looked into the shattered mirror,
to find the subject of your exasperation?
Accursed hypocrites of the heathen reign,
"Make them suffer for the sins of their ancestors!"
What know you of history's bloody course?
Not a thing, not a damn thing.
Look in the mirror of this worlds memory,
let the record show that which is yours,
the folly, the choking arguments.
Evidence is all you have,
just and yet, the other term, of faith...
Yet again and again,
abased, abashed, by my shear hatred for you all,
Of what do you know in regards to faith?
Not a thing, not a damn thing.
You walk hand in hand with
the blind, deaf & dumb
whose names are covered over with genius.
Ignorance is fear, the blood that flows,
will bleed out to write your part of history...
yet what of history do you truly know,
repeated by basic word of mouth...?
Not a thing...
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