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Thought Dump #1I.
Could you prepare something,
that people normally eat for once?
Well we normally eat this stuff you know.
That is not what I meant.
never mind, false alarm.
I thought it was the---
I'm not sleeping in the tent this time.
My back has gotten all these weird pits and sores.
Don't sleep on the bones then.
Bones? you guys actually had bones put in there? I'm impressed.
What on mother rock do you mean?
the amount of detail for the camouflage....
y'know the elephant disguise!
Many people died in the process of acquiring the tents
by the time we managed to slay the elephan----
THESE ARE REAL?!!?!
That's it. Not sleeping in there again.
Don't worry the couple you met earlier rented it out.
You're too young to ask that question
I am not too young! We are the same age,
hell the same pers---
But someone has to save your innocence.
They'll only accept a pure mind.
Who says t
An Untrained Touch
An Untrained Touch
My fingertips take a spill,
covering your body, in your pockets they congeal
trace with pressure, I watch the blood resurface
daintily dangerous, and at the same time worth it
My fingertips take a pinch,
a rosy aftermath, almost similar to a singe
the color of your lips, now stand adjacent
subtly your body gives way, without misstatement
My fingertips take a break,
now I hold a firm grip, no longer I rake
palmed, static, to try and catch your heart
beats from beneath our chests tearing us apart
My palms break a sweat,
it's amateur hour, and I accompany a vet
this is not your first, and likely not your best
what makes it all worse, your rhythm remains at rest
My palms pinch a nerve,
myself stolen from movement, without a healthy urge
progressing sullenly, dare to seem brash
once was a thriving ember, now a single ash
My palms spill a way,
for me to get away, these goods are too used to pay
honesty's approach to life is something of a gem
with callousness it often opens up a void within
where insignificance meets a freezing desperation
a vacuum's symphony to a sophist generation
the primrose path powered by our decadence
said to have a cost but I laugh at the malevolence
rather us a hostage and convinced it's all a test
a coincidence is only miraculous if it's blessed
which leaves me at a standstill unable to contend
cause questions are a blemish and will lead to your descent
victim to the fear of death for it transcends existence
a guiltless trend to apprehend the lost and often witless
the extraordinary ability to comprehend
the ordinariness of which we are all condemned
the truth never hurts, not even on occasion
and if you're filled with lies, then this is your abrasion
Landmines and sexy slow jams
Landmines and SEXY slow jams
before or behind its time, existing in the present
it solemnly dances alone, the dance of death
hoarder of work unfinished, merely abandoned
unable to create whilst pleasing its audience
passion-stripped, with befuddled concentration
stripped of soul, left with phlegmatic impressions
unmoved with calm disregard for moral decency
no longer good or bad, knowing there only is
gripping the poison, with generous sips
creates an illusion of increased social ability
sensory synesthesia, juggles his taste and feel
a euphoria of stimulation, aided by incompetence
its moves first intricate, holding awareness
its moves now indolent, losing its steps
of the landmines that lay in wait for weight
a single one lies adjacent to the soles of his feet
time is the enemy, as is the sexy song's progression
one off beat slip and he will leave this cage forever
passing and existing only through the mouths of men
whispering amongst prodigally enslav
clash of polar opposites creates the balance
destructive construction that'll exude natural talents
the blind advantage give faint smiles fat pockets
to shelve creative freedom in return for profits
the exposure you hungered for is now in abundance
only problem is your forced to expose a lie to the public
the truth riddled and hidden behind tongues fencing
past identities too distant for memories to mention
only weathered grunts heard behind the media muzzle
to find artistic value is like fixing a broken puzzle
of a thousand pieces stretched across the holy nations
streets paved with gold only the peasant's anticipation
because they know not the masked burden of success
the hindrance mandated to please the general press
to be embraced with acceptance but only just to crawl
never fly and only allowed to stand if you're not that tall
forget your dreams and higher callings you face a decision
bend your image for the master or fly with the pigeons
two universes -
John-a-Dreams dreams endlessly in a dead dimension
remorseless to the time wasted on baseless perplexing
the subconscious universe expands to greater planes
of contrived existence unaware of physical disdains
when he awakes, he finds he's lost track of the world
it has heard nothing from him except thoughts purled
a burning wish to supply both with equal attention
but his conjured creation justifies his own pension
it outweighs himself that exists realistically instead
so long he has been invisible, its best to believe him dead
dead to the world because he fancies more the dreams
where he can wine and dine anything that he fiends
he cannot deny it, he would rather live vicariously
instead of handling his universes simultaneously
Broken PiecesIn a thousand broken pieces,
lies my shattered heart.
In falling it just hit the ground
and simply fell apart.
Hearing of your betrayal,
caused it to crack and splitter.
Your crushing words they grind it further,
into sparkling glitter.
Now with my heart broken,
gone too my hope and trust.
The remnants of my pulverized heart
get blown away like dust.
A poem by Suzanne Karbach 14th August 2014
Finger TipsTake my hand, and let us fly
We both know you are not shy,
Just scared of rejection
I, too, lack affection.
Though I would never use you
To fill holes no one can view.
So, are you ready yet?
Please, my dear, do not fret.
Let me take you far away
As to help you make your day.
No harm is intended
For hate here is ended.
You deserve only the best
Not because you need a rest,
Since time is drawing signs
Guiding me to your lines.
Saving HerSave yourself, because I can't save you.
You are drowning in your own sorrows,
Lungs burning with the need for air.
Your wrists feel numb,
inviting you to cut deeper.
You pull your hair out,
Scream into your pillow at night.
You have stomach ulcers,
Light one cigarette after another.
You look in the mirror and see the ghost you have become,
Sickly smile at yourself.
You give your body freely,
Even if you hate it.
You lift your chin high,
But let your heart drag on the ground,
Kicking stones away,
While tripping in your mind.
Falling, you laugh.
Not even bracing for impact.
Closed DoorsLeave me alone
Let me lose
Myself in the ocean
Where I will be
Let me stay
Away from the clock
Of our days.
Of the reality
Waiting for me
With a knife.
I don’t want
To leave behind
The best years
Of my life.
What I like
Fades it out.
Soon will be
Dust these words
In your memory.
Earnest and FrivolousStories
Written in these black and blue—
Held on a—
Hand me another bottle of pills
And because I know you
I’ll lock my words in my throat
Bring them up when I’m all alone.
Walk with me
Breathe in my panic
Then go away.
I've learned the only way
Is to stop feeding off of social interactions
And fold inside of myself
And smile smile smile for you
Because you’ll never see no matter how much I show you
Is to be happy
Because I am very happy.
I won't say good morning to you
Because despite what I've learned
I'm angry at you
You still aren’t seeing
Still aren’t there.
It's my own way of saying
Something's wrong with me.
I was never angry with you
Because you were always there
It’s why I say good morning
And love saying it.
Don’t hold me
Because I can’t stand you anymore
Leave me alone.
Hold me, please
Never leave me.
less or morea little darkness
tugging at my sleeve
trying to bring me down
and get happy to leave
a cloud eager to rain
upon my parade
a simple game
of less or more afraid
if I doubt
the things I know
my candle will
if I fear
their empty threat
I'll lose myself
to nagging regret
His Pony DakotaThe day I was born
There was so much joy
I was moms sweet little baby boy.
Days turned into weeks
And weeks to years
I was so scared and lonely
No one ever saw my tears.
Locked in a stall
Where the walls were so high
The only thing I could see
Was the great big sky.
All I ever had
Was just my name
In all four of my feet
I was in so much pain because I was lame.
I would tremble from noises
I could never see
I was always so afraid
Something would hurt me.
Then with a kind voice
He would reach out to me
He would never get angry
When I would turn and flee.
He would always come back
And reach out his hand
With his kind voice he would say
"That's ok little man, I understand".
I thought I would never know
Love and happiness again
Until the day I licked
The hand of a friend.
He paid 50$ for me
And to some that was cheap
To him I was priceless
And his to keep.
He took me home
And cut down my walls
When I hear him pull up
He would answer my calls.
It was ok with him
That I could not pull my weig
Unique by Myria-MoonN’aie pas peur , et cultive ta différence ,
Peu importe ce que les autres en pensent …
Laisse ton originalité s’exprimer ,
Et sois celui dont on se souviendra en premier …
Car l’immortalité peut être négociée ,
Le tout est de savoir marquer !
Donc existe , ne cherche pas à rentrer dans le moule ,
Car l’éternité n’est pas au milieu de la foule …
Alors chaque pensée vers toi te fera légende ,
Et comme le Phénix tu renaîtras de tes cendres !
Coco alias Myria-Moon
My DarlingMy darling,
When will you realize,
I'm the only one still here?
How many times do I have to apologize?
Losing your heart again is my only natural fear.
I have given my life to you,
My soul is already yours, so why make me disapear?
I wanted, no wished your love for me grew.
When you slept your problems away, your mind was perfectly clear.
So now I ask
Why wait for me to leave now before,
You realize I'm right in front of those frosty eyes.
So my darling,
Don't throw the love I gave you away.
on and on and on and on
don't worry a tad smidgen I'm good to the last drop
these parlor banquet pleasures are no hassle to stop
even if I seem unsteady and on the urge to flop
I'm a long range thinker chained with a rusty knot
oh fudge, there he goes again being incomprehensive
not too long before his artistic image is offensive
misrepresented, his whole aura is one dimension
a tear drop squeezed from an unimportant invention
hypertension grips the barrel of my last intention
my aiming is sin, cursed be my death inception
so long he has been a sheep, with sore thumb colors
its selfish when one's self defeat inflicts many others
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