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  • Poems

    Post yer poems.

    I wrote a couple in jail. They are untitled.

    Long, the Age of the Siren
    Man in labyrinth
    Only growing old
    What happens when you die?

    Labyrinths gazing outwards
    Of divine windows
    Following the logical path
    To absolution

    Turn here and there
    The way to lush gardens, consumed
    The labyrinth exit
    Long forgotten

    Does one not wish
    For pale blue starlight
    To decorate one's lover's eyes?

    To walk through time
    Around the burning soul?

    To fall with the rain
    And splash down
    In the hot springs of Mercury?

    That's the first one. Here is the second.

    I am ANARCHY!
    She cried the world
    From fortified horizons
    Of rose
    And pearlescent clouds
    Wearing the golden crown
    Of the sun
    And was instructed
    To get on its knees.

    If you insist..

    That was the second and is based on an amazing, fucking brilliant and defiant woman I overheard while in my holding cell. I couldn't see what was going on, but I imagined terrible things, hopefully not so terrible.

  • #2
    Has Jail Changed you ?


    • #3
      There's mally. Sorta. It was a big part of it. My terrifying insights under psychosis were just as mind-altering. I saw enough.


      • #4
        Just turned thirty eight
        Still look and feel great
        I know some will just hate
        But its all just childish bait
        To rise above and be your best is never too late
        Now for cake i can't wait


      • #5
        I like your post
        mother moon -she's calling me back to her silver womb,
        father of creation -takes me from my stolen tomb
        seventh-advent unicorn is waiting in the skies,
        a symptom of the universe, a love that never dies!


        • #6
          People miss having likes
          till the mods say on your bikes
          bikes not what people want
          So stop being like a cunt


          • #7
            It's not fucking words worth i know


            • #8
              Two kinds of pain
              The kind that hurts
              And the kind that feels nothing
              Where feeling is desired

              Straddling the iron causeway
              Arms a bouquet
              Waiting to meet the center
              Of three lights of sloth

              But she's so demure

              Tableau vivant
              Fruit red and white
              Waiting for an embrace
              Hit me


              • #9
                Night, bat winged
                mermaid fetus, queen
                Terrorizing the Burroughs
                Raining hell from above
                the longest Suffering
                I adore

                How were we saved?
                by irony
                the children pumping iron