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I make fun of people writing poetry in the notes app but my phone is a mess so this is what you get

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Red to Dead

My eyes are wide

Red flashing lights

All I see is red

I only wish to be dead

Seat belt hugging me tight

I won’t be in your arms tonight

They lifted my body like a burden

I’m to much to carry

The red consumes them

I want to be buried

The cold breeze wraps me up

My lungs freeze

Its taunting me

The red is haunting me

We roll away and I can’t breathe

The things inside no one can see

I crashed my car

I ruined my dreams

The monotone red perceives

Everything that’s dead in me

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Attaché hashmark, masthead bows, lows along the song,
a fist-spitting moratorium, rotator cuff fray,
competing with the easy way the sea is said
by some, not me; simpering like an injury, I check the rigging
without knowing what I’m doing

except staving the taking on of water –
not so much directly related to the ropes.  

Spackled miraculous with salt, a worthwhile clingpoint to a barnacle,
a belief in sea-beasts
easing the heartbeats for having known and being reaffirmed,
a rearview searing with reflecting reflection
and somewhere in its backstory the sun.
Undone undo undone, a storm adds on.  

- B B Pine 

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Crawl from under the soot and bebreis, can’t find the way. Where am I, is this still my home? No! A voice say’s in almost a whisper. Come with me child, you are lost. Where are my kind? I’m sorry they can’t be with you anymore.

Slowly they walk, one will lead; the other must follow. Where are we going? We must find our way through, we must join the others who are left; who have survived. We must make a new home.

Why must we leave, what happened to our home? We went to sleep in the night, our world was lush and green. We had all we needed to sustain us. Then it came. The blaze was warm, to warm for us with fur. It was hot, to hot to breath. It brought the smoke that blocked out the sky, we could no longer see the sun. We couldn’t tell the difference between night and day.

Why didn’t we run? Where could we go child, every path was blocked. Every opening a trap, every pit a fall. The air became thick, the water turned to ash. This land sadly has become dead child. It will take many moons to recover.

Are we all lost now, no child, we are all survivers. We that remain must carry on. We must replenish in numbers and not be forgotten. We will make our way, we will find a home; we will continue on in the habits of our kinds. We cannot let this be our legacy, our suffering must not be in vain. Come child, we must catch up with the others, we must live on…

Image: / Koala mother and child pic

Let me know what you think and pass the thought along.

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excerpt from the novel that I still kept on writing “The Light”
She’s a soul
and he’s a human,
they were not 
intended to meet,
but the entire
cosmic universe
had let them be
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Electric blitz running through her veins
Untampered and alight with the oxygen
She stole from those she deemed less worthy.
She’s got a pack of playing cards in her pocket
And she likes to play at the worst possible times.
Oh, but she’s always grinning, always feeling good
About herself and those around her.
And she’s more willing to pull you up after
She has already climbed that high wall.
She likes to speak in languages
That neither you nor I know, but it’s fine
She makes me laugh anyway.
She confesses her love in Arabic, because
She says, it’s the kind of language you use
For that kind of thing. I don’t return the sentiment.
I don’t plan to.
You, however, a little obscene
Tell her you love her in English
Because that’s all you’ve yet learned
And I have to swear, to both of you
That I don’t feel left behind.

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The childish joy i get from stepping into the ice-hardened snow

A pale joy. sunlit. glittering,

half-buried in the bluewhite

snow/ No. i am not innocent,

but i still deserve this

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pearly white cages
through which we let slip
laughter and rages,
desperate grasps through the spaces.

we reach with our tongues
for grip on another,
and, too, fill our lungs
through gaps in our slanted rungs.

but ire like a cordon,
off, solitary,
mind a cruel warden,
sets aflame the jail garden.

empaths underneath
with understanding detained,
we trap our sympathy
behind the clenching of teeth.

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Well the reasons are plenty,

should I list each and every

because that wont end up being easy.

Why do you want to fall off a hill?

Why is it that you want to perish,

you absolute fucking imbecile?

Ah, you should have put it that way

Now I have an idea of what to say

I’ll get to it post-hate, no delay.

You can’t even get a fucking point across

Always evading the important questions

You’re hopeless, a lost fucking cause

Fuck. See I’m scared that none of them like me

That the person within, isn’t one they’d like to see

Scared they’ll let me go or won’t let me be

Pathetic, you always try to blame them

Like you’re never ever at fucking fault

But do go on before I slash your brain stem

I’m worried that I don’t know I am

Who do I see when I turn on the webcam?

this identity issue is killing me, god damn

I’ll be the on killing you, no one else

But riddle me this

Wasn’t it 2 weeks ago you said you were blessed?

I thought I was, but now you’re here

3 months since your voice was in my ear

I guess you were always pretty near

Did you really think I’d ever be gone?

That one day, you’re going to wake up

and won’t have to write another sad song?

I guess I hoped th-

Listen, this one is getting tedious

Just kill yourself real quick

and let’s get done with this?

Can I at least die without my dick?

it’s one of the things that make me tick

Maybe I can be remembered as a cute chick?

But you’re ugly and they’ll just think you’re a freak

So you might as well die as you are

Just like your life, your death shall also be bleak.

Alright, sorry for even asking.

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Call in it’s name

Heavenly tune

Sung through the hills

Awakening the many with pleasent glee.

The most simple rite

Moving souls to dance

Origin unknown, a beautiful mystery.

Call in it’s name

Proclaim your passion

For the song that soothes your heart.

And then you’ll see

Stiffly trudging over

A dead man singing for those who can’t.

Upon your shock

And initial scare

The singer will smile in your disgust.

For he knows true

The power he exudes

Is what the living think as must.

cackle ensues

Rotten teeth shine through

Hung with the words he never spoke

A heavenly tune

Is never assumed

To be birthed in a sinners holy yolk

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Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) : Poète et militant américain, autre pilier de la Beat generation, mort d’un cancer du foie. Son recueil Kaddish1, écrit à la fin des années 50, présente pour nous l’intérêt de montrer les thèmes importants ici du deuil et du délire.

(© Sous Ecstasy)

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Has she ever wondered how the shape of her brow intoxicates me? The sweetness of her breath fills me with an elixir that even a divine being could never create. The dancing of a drum fills my head when I lay ever so close to you. It’s a gracious and most harmonist sound I’ve ever heard. Will you think of me? Am I someone to be thought about? Will you love me and take me from this lonely drought? Not now, than maybe later. When the time is just and our feelings the same.

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