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GodThere is a God. I have seen him snap the necks
Of children and inspect their hollow remains.
Pushing past the sinews, there is nothing there.
No prayers clogging the arteries, stopping the rush
Of blood, a blackened jet.
Their mouths had not yet learnt how to
Form 'hail mary's'. Tongues twisted at the sound.
The syllables choke.

There is no use lying to a child who when asking
For God, finds only silence.

He is not interested in them. The purity sickens.
There's a boredom in innocence that causes him
To turn away. His eyes are better fixed on those
Who can praise him. The shallow whore who never
Thought her life would take thiGod6 years ago in Open

If I Were A LineIf I were a line
I think I’d be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
I’d sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a line.

If I were a spot
I’d be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
I’d have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a spot.

If I were a colour
I’d be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
I’d lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
mIf I Were A Line5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

LifeI’ve seen the world with these two eyes.
A movie played inside my mind.
I’ve traveled the seas in half the time
Without ever leaving home.

I’ve spread my wings but didn’t fly
I’ve touched heaven, but I didn’t die
Had the chance to ask God why
Without ever receiving an answer.

I’ve count the stars and made to ten
Lost track and had to start again.
People laughed, but that’s how we make friends
Without ever knowing their name.

I’ve loved completely and watched them leave
I tell the story—some don’t believe
Let them go or did you flee?
Without seeing what tomorrow brings.

I&#Life6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

I dance in clown shoes.

You compose your conversations.
Fitfully gesturing with whatever you hold,
ending arguments with a flourish.
Make a point, now whirl, quickly.
Make it impossible to counter with your unpunctuation.
You duck and weave, spin, sidestep, pirouette:
One, two, one, two, faster, harder, stronger.
You leave me confused and two steps back,
just far enough behind to appear lost and unsure.
And if I catch up, if I make a point,
you spin again, a trail of words falling like pixie dust
as you make your escape.
And as you storm out, you slam the period behind you,
Ending your sentence with a door.
And I must follow you, my thuds down the staI dance in clown shoes.9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Sex.Love is lusting
Love is trusting
Love is thrusting.

Minus two
if you do-
But know
that Sex
is a vex;
A curse
for the worse.

A voice
without choice.

Indeed,
to lope
and cope.

Pulling the pieces
Through nephews and nieces.

Making mingle
be single.

Singular-
Like the word unheard.

But those
who speak
are weak.

Just fuck
and with luck -
The Sun
will shine
Devine.

But those who care
will spare;
Those who live
will give.

But what is life
without Sex?

A goddamn vex.Sex.6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

The PastThe past is behind
But I still feel the ripples
Disrupting my flow.The Past5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern

A Legacy of WisdomYou have scribed your words,
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.

You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
unto eternity.

And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, I’ll know
that Lear’s been there before, and
I’ll not swoon.

And if Hades’ doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, I’ll recall that
I am not the first – Dante’s been down
there as well.

AA Legacy of Wisdom4 years ago in Open

NonexistenceI pray to a God I have never seen,
who lives in a world that has never been,
to save my heart that has never felt,
from eternity's failures, eternity's guilt.

My feet step on grounds no men stepped before,
my lips taste the poison, bitter and sore,
yet it does not kill me,
does that mean,
that I am immortal,
or that I've never been?

I pray to a God that may not exist,
while the iron shackle tears up my wrist,
to tell me the difference of being and not,
to show me the memories that I forgot.

My mind flies to places nobody has reached,
to learn that the stars are nothing but bleached,
spots on the dark, they're not even light,
Nonexistence4 years ago in Open

AnarchyScream the anthem of the anarchist!
What is it? Exactly.
I won't tell you; make it up.
Go away. Blow it up.
Burn it down. Deface the town.
But don't give in,
Never -- no.
That's the song we all love so.
Freedom past extremity.
Far away, in my backyard
I own the world; I am a bard.
I wear a beard and shave my head;
All the normals want me dead.
I won't give up; I ramble rave.
You'll never make me behave.
My brother, loser, freak, meek geek
You know-- the beatnick, hippy, punk--
The rock bands my parents debunk--
We treasure what we cannot have:
No allegiance to any flag.Anarchy10 years ago in Open

IcarusWho are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I touched the sky
I flew too hard and burned too fast
Dreams like mine, they just don't last
I touched the sun on feathered limbs
I satisfied my wildest whims
But I burnt out, and I fell down
My body wasn't ever found
But don't remember me for how I failed
I embody all the dreams that've sailed
So who are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I wasn't afraid to fly.Icarus6 years ago in Spoken Word

out of Gardenwhat sea
how it is welling your eyes a wet mess

what tide
where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy
where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes

stewarding the land instead
is why i never set sail with you

but to lay in gardens, oh…

a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet
and our laps full of stars

what black soil will pervert your knees there
where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth
to run fanatic toward cosmic space
after bathing in the space among us

where walking air pushes every dust

one of sun-dried butterflies
one of beaten rug with broom
one of honeout of Garden5 years ago in Open

Perspectives of a Hallucino...Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.

r

Perspectives of a Hallucino...5 years ago in Open

the plasticized quantum theory

alabaster immortality
une voleur honteux
slip of the tongue
in each saturated pore
spectrum rehearses its symphony

crooked whispers of a flute
a glimpse of blue infinitude
quiets the confines of los alamos
¿quién es él? eso piensa
en kaleidoscopes

paralysis in the peristalsis
jewel in the vitreous humor
phosphorescent anti-matter
until it watercolors
the poison of psyche

papillae the plagues
oxidizing ash and ember
a quivering effigy
splinters the moon
instinctually

the mirrored hand exhales
swept the epileptic ceiling
dissolving tendrils of mahogany
detached from the retina
unblemished

tranquil, tthe plasticized quantum theory7 years ago in Open

Death is a GentlemanDo I have a reason to fear Death?

He is kind and he's quiet,
He listens as well;
He'll drive you to Heaven,
He'll cart you to Hell.

His vest is embroidered
With little white curls
He puts flowers in His pockets
Which He gives to the girls.

He likes to eat chocolate,
(Or so I've heard)
And He keeps in a cage
a little pet bird.

His skeletal horses
Always look proper;
His wine is uncorked
and untouched by the stopper.

His shoes are so polished
You can see yourself in them,
His laces are always tied
Just below His pant hem.

His bones are quite sturdy
And never look brittle;
In fact, I have heard
He quite likes to whittle.Death is a Gentleman4 years ago in Spoken Word

Once again all alone
I suppose I must deserve it
I'm clingy and annoying
Obnoxious and dense
Rash and silly
Lazy and obsessive
Sometimes I hate myself
I want to draw people in
But only push them away
I cry so much lately
Because everything hurts
Maybe I'm not meant to be happy
I force my smile
I fake my laugh
Does anyone notice?
Does anyone care?
It's not "Like Me" to be so
Depressed? Upset? Angry?
What is 'like me'?
Someone tell me
Because I don't know myself anymore
Once again, as before
I'm all aloneDepressed6 years ago in Spoken Word

existentialist pick ups...where have I been all my life?existentialist pick ups...5 years ago in Open

ScrutinyAnd when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin…
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect…

“I am lost in my own depth,” I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic prinScrutiny5 years ago in Open

Vampires heartacheI awake in the night;
I can no longer sleep.
I don't see myself in mirrors;
I see somebody else.
I am alone.
I am dead.
The red stripes on white flesh
Keep me somewhat Sane.
I stare at the ceiling;
It is as cold and dead as I am.
The pain burns within;
as my life slowly fades away.Vampires heartache8 years ago in Open

Wolf's Rain

Snowflakes fall, blood is in the air,
Covering white figure of pride,
Lying forceless on the ground,
Having no strength to fight with the snow,
Nor even with reality,
Which drifts down from the empty sky,
Where the moon cannot be seen,
Where birds cannot be heard,
At which wolves can only howl.Wolf's Rain9 years ago in Open

I'm so sick of suicide
It's everywhere I look
Pictures, and in movies
In poetry and books

I'm so sick of suicide
It's pathetic and it's weak
Blah blah blah so awful
Outlook always bleak

This life's just not worth living
Could they be any more cliché'?
I know that I just can't go on
Isn't that what they say?

Do you live in China
Without freedom's basic choice?
Are you a woman in Afghanistan?
Forbidden to have a voice.

Are you starving now in Africa?
Surrounded by disease
Or under corrupt dictatorship
Forced upon your knees

These people rise to challenges
We cannot comprehend
They live their lives from day to day
And triuSuicide9 years ago in Open

Procremationso he said let's make a baby
she said let's just make
love
and he said
What's the difference?
She said
A snakeskin
or a little pink pill
And he said
Isn't it about time... she said
You're never old enough
to die
She said Make life-- make
death
and he said
What's the difference?

I like my life she said
he said that won't last
she said I feel
no need...
he said
Well, maybe I do

She said Sow your seeds somewhere else thenProcremation8 years ago in Open

the god memorandum

To: You
From: God

Take counsel.
I hear your cry.
It passes through the darkness, filters through the clouds, mingles with starlight, and finds its way to my heart on the path of a sunbeam.
I have anguished over the cry of a hare choked in the noose of a snare, a sparrow tumbled from the nest of its mother, a child thrashing helplessly in a pond, and a son shredding his blood on a cross.
Know that I hear you, also. Be at peace. Be calm.
I bring thee relief for your sorrow for I know its cause ... and its cure.
You weep for all your childhood dreams that have vanished with the years.
You weep for all your self-esteem that has been corrthe god memorandum8 years ago in Open

Emo is black.
Emo is red.
Emo is a love of darkness,
But always needing some light.
Emo is the way you look,
But more the way you are.
Emo is resisting the world
Because you can't stand routine.
Emo is loving everyone you know,
Even if sometimes you wish they didn't exist.
Emo is hurting yourself or your body
When deep down you really love them both.
Emo is making your own choices,
While relying on your friends to make it through.
But really, emo is not caring how fucked up you are,
Cause there are so many friends just as fucked up as you.
Emo isn't hate.
Emo is love.Emo5 years ago in Open

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