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    1. Behind the Teeth

      always seem happy and dandy and talk of love and romance a riven smile on the face to hide thoughts of pain for her, everything has a verse a waltz at each step a flimsy variety of beauty that...

      always seem happy and dandy
      and talk of love and romance
      a riven smile on the face
      to hide thoughts of pain

      for her, everything has a verse
      a waltz at each step
      a flimsy variety of beauty
      that melts after rehearse

      huge hipster glasses
      coffee without any taste
      a window facing concrete
      is now hummingbirds enlaced

      and when she sings all her love
      I am always in disbelief
      cause when someone shouts too much
      I sense a hooded grief

      2 votes
    2. Infatuation Mishap

      You were smart and pretty and praised every word I said Responded to my commands like a very well-trained basset You gave me food, shelter, affection in bed, you did as I pleased and such strong...

      You were smart and pretty
      and praised every word I said

      Responded to my commands
      like a very well-trained basset

      You gave me food, shelter, affection
      in bed, you did as I pleased
      and such strong devotion
      was hard for me to receive

      Cause how could I trust someone
      who clearly and truly loves me?

      6 votes
    3. Love Mania

      In this grass where we sit, I saw many full moons lit Kissed them shivering in the wind, felt like solution, formed decision, ultimate end But the frenzy always fades, pretty mirage in the haze...

      In this grass where we sit,
      I saw many full moons lit

      Kissed them shivering in the wind,
      felt like solution, formed decision, ultimate end

      But the frenzy always fades,
      pretty mirage in the haze

      Silly me...

      I just met you yesterday
      And once again tremble my veins

      4 votes
    4. Seeking Meaning

      I cannot defend my lack of years my lack of tears my lack of guilt I will always regret the tears and sweat that I've put upon your face For it is a disgrace the things I've done the thoughts I've...
      I cannot defend
      my lack of years
      my lack of tears
      my lack of guilt
      
      I will always regret
      the tears and sweat
      that I've put upon your face
      
      For it is a disgrace
      the things I've done
      the thoughts I've thunk
      the things I've done to you
      
      When I killed that man
      in the cabbage patch
      at half-past 3 am
      
      When I killed that man
      that I knew you loved
      that I, too, loved
      that I knew was marked for greatness
      
      When I killed that man
      with a knife to the heart
      with a mind full of rage
      with a mind ablaze
       with many a myriad thought
      
      I could almost say it was jealousy
      (i know that I cannot)
      
      I could almost say it was hatred or spite
      (but i know that I cannot)
      
      I could even say it was impulse to slay that man who I knew and who knew not what he wrought
      (but still this thing that i want to say--
       i know but one thing: say it, I cannot)
      
      For it was not calculated
      nor can I say that I hated
      that man, though I often berated
      him for things that control them?  He could not.
      
      For the reason that I did all these things that I did
      was simple in the extreme
      was harder to digest
          than powdered ice cream
      
      And even I could give you a ream
      of paper to show the things I did
      of paper to show you these things that I did
      of paper on which to pour out my sin
      of paper, cathartic, explaining my doing
      of paper, incredible, pure white and blank,
                and innocent, available, asking me to taint it
      
      An I could give you a billion words to explain all the pain which I caused
         I could give you only two
      
      NO REASON.
      
      8 votes
    5. Untitled poem

      Ask not for whom the cradle weeps; it weeps for you. O sly kitten, O accursèd cat, cry, cry for the weft and the warp of the world; cry, cry for the sin and the sorrow and suffering; cry, cry on...
      Ask not for whom the cradle weeps; it weeps for you.
      
      
      O sly kitten, O accursèd cat, cry,
      cry for the weft and the warp of the world; cry,
      cry for the sin and the sorrow and suffering; cry,
      cry on the bloodshed, but more on the tears; cry,
      cry for divisions, and ill-wrought connections; cry,
      cry for the laughter, so far out of reach; cry.
      And in crying find solace; peace——rhythm——be still.
      
                                                     cry 
      and cry——cry for the widows and widowers, woven together forever,
      by weeping and painless heart-let.
         But your pain is not theirs.
         For, though burdened with truth, you will never be cut 
         by the serrated and blunted edge of polite fiction.
         Enough!
      
      
      When the cat's in the cradle, the mice will play,
      And I hope that they fly far——far-far away.
      But the tears of the kitten forever abide,
      and someday they'll catch you.
                     will you take it in stride?
      
      11 votes
    6. Tagging: "poem" or "poems"?

      Simple question. For people's original poems posted in ~creative, should they be tagged "poem" or "poems"? "poetry" is the broader category, and includes discussions about poets and poetry in...

      Simple question. For people's original poems posted in ~creative, should they be tagged "poem" or "poems"?

      "poetry" is the broader category, and includes discussions about poets and poetry in general. However, when someone posts their poem, should that be tagged "poem" or "poems"?

      The tagging guidelines say (or used to say - since I re-organised the Docs pages, I can't find this reference any more) that tags should be plural. That indicates that "poems" is the better tag. But the post contains a single poem, which makes "poem" the better tag.

      Opinions?


      EDIT: In the end, I went with the popular choice. When I looked at the tags used in ~creative, I found over a hundred topics tagged "poem" and only four topics tagged "poems". It seems that most people naturally choose "poem" when posting a poem, so I standardised the few differently tagged topics to use "poem".

      5 votes
    7. F*** me

      1:45 A M Two divided Lonely bed, lonely couch Emotional drainage leaks Seeps into sub floors Foul and sickly Sticky and putrid Fuck me

      13 votes
    8. Blue house

      Blue house Foundation exposed Brown threadbare carpet White counters fadded dull Wallpaper curled and yellow Still it's theirs Contentment abounds

      9 votes
    9. Untitled Mental Health I

      I'm not quite like you A few words and that's it The façade fades Crumbles The carefully constructed mood dies Coping mechanisms defeated The castle is compromised A strong exterior only goes so...
      I'm not quite like you
      A few words and that's it
      The façade fades
      Crumbles
      The carefully constructed mood dies
      Coping mechanisms defeated
      The castle is compromised
      
      A strong exterior only goes so far
      Each word pulls stones from the foundation
      Fragile walls, fragile heart
      I retreat to my secret home
      Away from the swords and arrows and fire
      No one can reach me here
      Safe and quiet and in control
      Equally secure, equally secluded
      
      19 votes
    10. Untitled I

      Tapped out on my phone in an Uber on the way to D&D. I write about more than love, I promise! the water laps at the dam seeking egress, seeking progress everyone inside so thirsty life affirming...

      Tapped out on my phone in an Uber on the way to D&D. I write about more than love, I promise!

      the water laps at the dam
      seeking egress, seeking progress
      everyone inside so thirsty
      life affirming liquid
      but the dam
      the wall we built to keep ourselves safe
      our salvation
      our condemnation
      seemed a good idea at the time
      but all our other crimes against ourselves did too
      how are we so smart yet so stupid
      it hurts
      it fucking hurts
      life without love may as well be an empty gift on Christmas morning
      but we all do it to ourselves every day
      so many boundaries and rules and norms
      all because we’re too afraid to get hurt
      too afraid to be ourselves
      too afraid to realize ourselves
      too afraid to give one another the best gift we can
      
      12 votes
    11. Untitled Mental Health II, or, but

      I’m sorry but I can’t today I want to but I can’t It’s not my fault but I’m guilty anyway I’m not understood but I’m pressured anyway I yearn to create, to do but I just stay in bed I want to live...
      I’m sorry
      but
      I can’t today
      I want to
      but
      I can’t
      It’s not my fault
      but 
      I’m guilty anyway
      I’m not understood
      but
      I’m pressured anyway
      I yearn to create, to do
      but
      I just stay in bed
      I want to live
      but
      I’m too hurt
      
      13 votes
    12. Cotton Candy

      Put your head over here and cry all the yearning away cause thinking will bring you nothing just thoughts and yet more pain Sleep, sleep my child breath slowly that way cause here there is no more...

      Put your head over here
      and cry all the yearning away
      cause thinking will bring you nothing
      just thoughts and yet more pain

      Sleep, sleep my child
      breath slowly that way
      cause here there is no more strain
      under my loving gaze

      In your cotton candy dreams
      you embrace with such strength
      a cloud above in the sky
      sleep, honey, yes, sleep
      cause here you're free from time

      And there I am on this dream
      imagining, imagined
      the mark of a want, of a wish
      a trace drawn in the sky
      don't know if I'm the one dreaming
      or if I am been dreamed about

      Portuguese original

      encosta a cabeça aqui
      e chora a saudade toda
      que pensar não leva nada
      só mais pensar e dor ainda

      dorme seu sono infante
      respira assim devagar
      que aqui não vai sofrer
      debaixo de meu olhar

      em teu sonho de algodão doce
      não sei do quê dá risada
      e abraça com tanta força
      uma nuvem no céu alçada
      dorme, meu bem, dorme sim
      que aqui o tempo não passa

      E nesse sonho estou lá
      Imaginando, imaginado
      A marca de uma vontade
      Um traço no céu projetado
      Não sei se sou eu que sonho
      Ou se eu é quem sou sonhado

      7 votes
    13. Gesture

      Saw in you a trace, a gesture without any end a phrase with no reticences a shadow lost in the gaze A question you have not made a plot not yet heard a night with no resolution be calm, the sun is...

      Saw in you a trace, a gesture without any end
      a phrase with no reticences
      a shadow lost in the gaze

      A question you have not made
      a plot not yet heard
      a night with no resolution
      be calm, the sun is not late

      Portuguese original

      Gesto

      vi em você um traço
      um gesto sem fim colocado
      vi frase vi reticência
      suspiro pela metade
      e olhar desencontrado

      da pergunta ainda não dita
      sequer pinçada talvez
      da trama'inda inaudita
      que a noite não tarda ou finda
      mas calma que o sol já vem

      6 votes
    14. My Glowing Pet

      Glowing friend, your light has given me everything I know. To run you require a sacrifice I click open my knife forgotten forever in the drawer with the butterfly yo-yo, the heart necklace of an...

      Glowing friend, your light
      has given me
      everything I know.
      To run you require
      a sacrifice

      I click open my knife
      forgotten forever in the drawer with the butterfly yo-yo,
      the heart necklace of an immature love
      and the compass
      with the atomic symbol.

      With the blade I
      etch
      and cut
      and stab
      to draw sand
      from the glass
      long left unflipped.

      It slides along your surface
      sinks in
      and is gone.

      7 votes
    15. lost

      lost time like grains leaking out an hourglass lost feelings like love leaving a full heart lost purpose like a crusader without a cause all these years, feelings, purpose stolen, violated an evil...
      lost time like grains leaking out an hourglass
      lost feelings like love leaving a full heart
      lost purpose like a crusader without a cause
      all these years, feelings, purpose stolen, violated
      an evil I never invited, never wanted
      it's not my fault, not my goal
      innocent yet guilty
      convicted
      more like cursed
      their hatred is my destiny
      never get back what was lost
      never recover who I could, maybe should, have been
      robbed of a life, of a happy, normal life
      I can't even hate them for it
      can't even have that comfort
      I'd be just as bad, repeat the cycle
      almost sympathetic
      only path, only cure, is love
      creamy center of a cyanide pill
      
      9 votes
    16. fire

      This is a reflection of what building friendships and close relationships is like for me. Mental health makes everything much harder, but I keep trying. it shines and blazes such light and warmth...

      This is a reflection of what building friendships and close relationships is like for me. Mental health makes everything much harder, but I keep trying.

      it shines and blazes
      such light and warmth
      stories told round the hearth
      cold nights kept a safe distance away
      beauty in chaotic dancing patterns
      it promises everything all at once
      no regard for consequences or the future
      just passion in the moment
      no foresight, only enthralling abandon
      its wake is ash
      empty, cold, dead
      no energy
      never burn again
      it destroys what it loves
      what it needs
      not because it wants to
      because it is
      destruction guised as passion
      
      8 votes
    17. Untitled II

      I wanted to write about self-forgiveness because it's such a hard thing for me to do. Past mistakes and trespasses stick in my mind for decades, and it's so hard for me to shake them. This work is...

      I wanted to write about self-forgiveness because it's such a hard thing for me to do. Past mistakes and trespasses stick in my mind for decades, and it's so hard for me to shake them. This work is an attempt at expressing that difficulty.

      Down in the foothills the peak is so perfect
      Covered in pure white snow
      Nary a tree in sight
      The peak carves a visage in the sky
      In the clouds
      It just is, it exists peacefully in its austere authority
      Calm, serene
      Impossible
      Yet I yearn to climb
      To ascend
      Down in the foothills among the trees
      The greenof the hills
      I make my preparations
      Breath
      Training
      Gear
      I practiceand I meditate
      I meditate upona life
      A life of mistakes and triumphs
      Each breath preparing and steeling
      
      It's time to begin my climb
      Each step and the air, the precious vital air, thins
      Lungs emptying and muscles weakening
      And yet I continue
      Not quite undaunted, but I continue
      The views are stunning
      Yet I don't see them, eyes ever on the peak
      Visualizing success, not the process
      It's so cold
      Bitterly, viscerally cold
      There's no air
      Even a yogi must stop for air
      But there's no air
      The ground slick with snow and ice
      Snow and ice with the oxygen I need
      Sealed away in the mystery of the bonds
      Just as beautiful as it is inaccessible
      
      But I continue my climb
      Slipping and falling, the rocks cut and score
      Gashes and bruises amass
      I take a moment and reflect
      Is it worth it?
      Shall I ever ascend?
      And as I slip into meditation, I slip down the mountain
      All progress lost
      The world turns around, up and down
      I lose my breath
      And land, dizzy and hurt, down the bottom
      Even further from the peak than when I started.
      
      11 votes
    18. The Ward; and a goodbye to Tildes.

      First, the piece. I built a fire from the branches which were missed by the snow. Drank the water of the cacti that in deserts still grow. Found the shade in the south where the sun forever glows....

      First, the piece.

      I built a fire from the branches

      which were missed by the snow.

      Drank the water of the cacti

      that in deserts still grow.

      Found the shade in the south

      where the sun forever glows.

      Clawed and scraped my way to freedom

      of likes I have never known.

      .

      A starved, abandoned cub

      lost in Greenlandic champaign -

      I pawed about the lifeless floors

      of snow-imprisoned plains.

      With wind ill-matted fur I marched

      and shivered through the rain

      in search of hearts and hearths to

      make me home again.

      .

      A ward of warmth appeared, assumed

      to aid my ailing mews.

      A securing shawl of summer softened

      me from winters shrewd.

      A multitude of miracles revealed

      rejuvenating news.

      I concluded countless colder winds

      are warmer without you.

      This site has given me so much: peace of mind, freedom of expression, cathartic release, and a sense of care and community of which I, over the last number of months, have deeply been in need.

      Things are looking ever forward as I continue on about adult life. However, included in those plans of forward-action are a number of artistic pursuits.

      In search of some semblance of belonging and community, I revealed a lot about myself in various posts and comments I’ve left about Tildes; and made the mistake of not publishing my works separately or under a pseudonym.

      I would like to publish a book of poetry, release paintings, and create music. However, I don’t feel comfortable continuing to do so under my real name.

      I will be well; I’m in a better place now. (Personally, of course. Not like that.) It’s simply time for me to separate the art from the artist, as it were.

      Thank you all, so much, Tildes. I love you.

      It’s been fun.

      Bishop.

      29 votes
    19. the city

      Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more...

      Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more generally. I've never not lived in a city after moving out of my parents' place, and can't imagine going back to the suburbs. Cities are my home, cities are where I belong. I don't think this one is finished, yet; there are a few rough spots, and I'm not sure about the ending. But, like people have said in a few of the timasomo threads, the important thing is to get the words out, to make the work exist outside of one's head.

      the city is awake, alive
      lights dance in the dark of night
      little lifesigns, each a past and present
      each a history and a story not yet told
      subways and busses and ubers
      the occasional oblivious cabbie
      (cancer on the streets)
      each moving people to their goals
      their dreams
      veins and arteries in the city's body
      lights for seeing
      superstructure in steel and glass
      inspiration
      aspiration and ambition
      passion and drive
      these power the pulse and the breath
      each person, each cell
      shapes and grows the city, the body
      each experience shapes epigenetics
      no place the same after
      the city takes us all in
      gives us homes
      maybe not shelter, but homes
      we are alive and so is our home
      an energy ineffable yet indelible
      

      edit: A friend has said that this reminds her of the opening of Murakami's After Dark, and I can absolutely see it. Perhaps a bit of subconscious inspiration?

      6 votes
    20. A love poem

      This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I...

      This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I explore yoga more deeply as part of my teacher training program. There's clear inspiration from Whitman's O Me! O Life!, but the message is very modern.

      That the powerful play goes on and you will contribute a verse
      Why not let the verse be love?
      It used to be so easy, so easy, just a simple choice
      Choose love
      All the conflicts of today and every other time
      Not enough love
      For one another
      For ourselves
      Not enough love
      All the religions and faiths of the world
      All our enlightened leaders
      All taught love
      The play used to be about love
      So many acts ago
      Only a few moments ago
      Seems like forever
      Seems we’ve forgotten the lines
      But no one to remind us what they are
      And we don’t get a rehearsal
      We get one grand opening day
      One somber closing night
      No matinee
      No encore
      Why choose any other verse but love?
      Love makes everything else possible
      Makes everything else worthwhile
      Everything else builds on love
      That the powerful play goes on and you may choose a verse
      Choose love.
      

      note: Posted this with the wrong title first, so deleted and reposted.

      7 votes
    21. Untitled poem

      hi I'm here right here I'm on the edge of something big I'm on the edge of something new edge of a cliff--should I step forward? edge of my bed--should I step forward? which side? I'm on the edge...
      hi
      I'm here
          right here
      I'm on the edge of something big
      I'm on the edge of something new
      
                 edge of a cliff--should I step forward?
                 edge of my bed--should I step forward?
                                 which side?
      
      I'm on the edge of my seat
      I'm edgy
          lost my feet
          they went down the cliff
          can't walk
      it's like I'm paralyzed
      the words, they swim before my eyes
      my eyes are swimming
          I can't swim
                  stuck
                  stuck here
            can't move
            at least I can't step off a cliff
            but what does it matter
            if I can't step out of bed
      
      12 votes
    22. chocolate.

      My phone sits, as I, in silence In my room – alone. I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy To dig into my bones. When I was younger I was told that One day God would call me home. Instead the...

      My phone sits, as I, in silence

      In my room – alone.

      I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy

      To dig into my bones.

      When I was younger I was told that

      One day God would call me home.

      Instead the coffin calls my name in whispers

      And beckons the unknown.

      .

      Why do I feed a body with a

      Soul that keeps depleting?

      When all my hopes and expectations come up

      Short and keep receding – I

      Start alternating between plotting,

      Thinking, pleading

      That I’ll make a rash decision, they’ll

      Give my organs to the needy.

      .

      Perhaps I’ll drive a stake into my head and chest.

      No one should endure this mind or heart.

      Meditation never seemed to give much value,

      All the medication felt a farce.

      I’m an incongruent, uncompleted puzzle

      Dangling from a bridge; falling apart.

      I watch my pieces sink below into the water,

      As this letter dances all about the hearth.

      .

      I carried out important shit in boxes;

      Let the rest behind to be thrown away.

      I hid and watched as they threw in the dumpster,

      A bed now wrought with chocolate and decay.

      As the memories flashed in to my brain,

      Of how we chose to spend that final day.

      (Of how) even on the best day of the end of my life,

      I ended up naked, chocolate-covered, curled up on your chest and crying,

      Begging you to stay.

      .

      The devil is a myth they tell believers;

      Hell prevents their chasing earthly dreams.

      I will not go to Heaven, and there is no Great Receiver

      Who will comfort me and silence my screams.

      There is no purgatory in the ether;

      The earth is this one act’s final scene.

      Fittingly, the water isn’t beautiful here either.

      It’s choppy, warm, and a putrid shade of green.

      .

      Someone use my hands to write a sonnet.

      Someone use my eyes to see a better day.

      Someone use my legs to climb a mountain;

      Use my tongue to find the words to say.

      They’ll use my lungs to feel the oxygen.

      Use my kidney when theirs is in decay.

      They’ll use my heart to feel in love again.

      I’ll rest easier that way.

      10 votes
    23. [Kind Words] moonlight masochist\

      I keep on my journey when the world's asleep, searching you out, like a bewildered sheep. If you'll come to my aid when you see me- with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets. It must...

      I keep on my journey when the world's asleep,

      searching you out, like a bewildered sheep.

      If you'll come to my aid when you see me-

      with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets.

      It must be the price of my earthly sin,

      that I've no food or water for nourishment

      that I crawl alone, in the dark, hoping.

      I am the moonlight masochist.

      ..

      So hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.

      Bring me the moon, and make me your star.

      Protect me like mountains and be my guard.

      Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.

      Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.

      Get me into a home, and out of the bars.

      Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -

      My moonlight masochist matriarch.

      ..

      I cough as I choke on the poisoned air.

      No one around who seems to care -

      Save for two beady eyes who approach and glare,

      a thin coyote with a hungry stare.

      I only hear howls in monotone

      as two other dogs come sniff my throat

      But at least when they carry off my bones,

      I can kinda say I never died alone.

      ..

      Hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.

      Bring me the moon, and make me your star.

      Protect me like mountains and be my guard.

      Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.

      Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.

      Get me into a home, and out of the bars.

      Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -

      My moonlight masochist matriarch.

      7 votes
    24. hey i have a question

      it's kinda silly kinda nothing but i was thinkin kinda wondering hey. if i asked. would you pick the loose string from my sweater bring a blanket in cloudy weather go with me on an adventure give...

      it's kinda silly

      kinda nothing

      but i was thinkin

      kinda wondering

      hey.

      if i asked.

      would you pick the loose string from my sweater

      bring a blanket in cloudy weather

      go with me on an adventure

      give a little hug, a little pressure

      would you grab a little snack

      put my favorite towel on the rack

      hear me sing, and try not to laugh

      or light a blunt, hit twice, and pass

      help me dye my hair

      tell me i look cute in underwear

      text me just to say you're there

      snap your cookie just to share

      or rub my neck soft when it hurts

      tell my i've a way with words

      walk to the park when wind's absurd

      just to sip a tea and watch the birds

      tell me that you like my lips

      pick me clothes out for a trip

      head to the lake to skinny dip

      and blush a bit because you like my hips

      could you

      sweat with me at the gym

      fill our popcorn to the brim

      say that this shirt makes me look slim

      and maybe love me limb from limb

      instead of him

      .

      .

      .

      18 votes
    25. boats. (or, Kintsugi Bitch.)

      I was a kintsugi bitch A dull, forgotten, broken pot And then you fixed me up . You lined me with your own dweomercrafted brand of gold Lac, Mel, et Saccharum . And when you’d starve me for...

      I was a kintsugi bitch

      A dull, forgotten, broken pot

      And then you fixed me up

      .

      You lined me with your own

      dweomercrafted brand of gold

      Lac, Mel, et Saccharum

      .

      And when you’d starve me for attention,

      Fed me more from your breast

      Til you filled me up

      .

      And then I’d look you in the eyes

      Sugar broiling in the stomach

      Am I pretty now

      ..

      Lost, full, and quite ignored

      When you had leapt onto the floor

      And said we’ve got to go

      .

      I grabbed your hand and followed blind

      My stomach churned I lagged behind

      You were the love I know

      .

      You said we’re going to the sea

      My dear you’ll spend a life with me

      We’ll make the waves a home

      .

      And I smiled ear to ear

      Cheeks were blushing like a deer

      Am I pretty now

      ..

      And then we made it to the bay

      quickly climbed into a boat

      They never have to know

      .

      We headed south for centuries

      They cannot take the memories

      I never hunger now

      .

      And after weeks of solitude

      A stranger came into the view

      There was another boat

      .

      My stomach burned, concerned,

      Not a soul had stood astern

      You produced a rope

      ..

      You gave a gentle kiss

      And slid the twine across my wrists

      And tied them into knots

      Dipped my legs into the water

      Either hand tied either helm

      Stretched into a cross

      I looked up at you in fear

      Just to see you’ve disappeared

      I started crying out.

      My stomach burned under the water

      And the sun was getting hotter

      And I’m all alone.

      I pleased come to feed me

      Don’t leave me weak, depleting

      I got no response.

      The fish were getting curious

      Flies buzzed something furious

      They knew what I did not

      That if you leave out milk and honey

      In the heat, in weather sunny,

      It’ll start to rot.

      .

      Months had passed in sickly motion

      Head leaned back, my eyes were open

      I died long ago.

      The bugs ate at my open mouth

      My skin was yellow, wrought with drought

      My throat housed a mold

      The waters smelled of sulfate

      As the serpents ate my stomach ache

      My blood has washed away

      The rope gave up on hope and

      Threw my purple, molten corpse into the ocean

      Am I pretty now?

      .

      .

      .

      5 votes
    26. angel (short poem)

      i have no idea where i am who i have been i have the slightest glimpse into the present a wavering image of a time long past my soul sits on siain heights above the fish and birds where we know...

      i have no idea where i am
      who i have been
      i have the slightest glimpse into the present
      a wavering image of a time long past
      my soul sits on siain heights
      above the fish and birds
      where we know endless comfort
      and a burning desire for wisdom
      this version, far away from the peaks
      that I am so accustomed to;
      yet drawn to the body of man,
      who screams in agony as he is raised to the heavens.

      4 votes
    27. metaphysical sigh.

      one day i will die one day so will you. the pictures on the wall will end up in the trash or old and tattered in an attic. our greatest of great-grandkids won't know our faces or how deeply we...

      one day

      i will die

      one day

      so will you.

      the pictures on the wall

      will end up in the trash

      or old and tattered

      in an attic.

      our greatest of great-grandkids

      won't know our faces or

      how deeply we were saddened

      to never see them grow

      to never learn the world they know

      to never speak their modern language

      or watch the trees around them

      grow.

      for we'll be dead in the ground

      and we'll never hear a sound

      for what comes next ain't only silence

      it ain't blood and it ain't violence

      it just

      ain't.

      so for now we're killing time perhaps

      we'll get laid or

      learn to paint.

      but in the end, it all goes out

      into the trash

      into the dust

      and rest assured

      into the ground.

      .

      if you choose to abuse me

      i'd rather hear threats for ever than

      hear no sound.

      because if you're still here to hurt me

      i can say that someone

      stuck around.

      .

      .

      .

      before i'm buried in the ground.

      9 votes
    28. Eldritch Love.

      Longest piece to date? Last night I saw a beast four different heads with blackened eyes. Not black in metaphor, but from the blood that dried inside. Each of seven legs was mangled and the beast...

      Longest piece to date?

      Last night I saw a beast

      four different heads with blackened eyes.

      Not black in metaphor, but from

      the blood that dried inside.

      Each of seven legs was mangled

      and the beast was blind

      but she could fly.

      .

      Once upon a night so dreary,

      and so dreadful I

      came across a weathered bar

      a woman stood inside.

      She sat me at a table, there was

      not a soul in sight

      but I felt fine.

      .

      Then she brought a glass of dark with

      something new inside.

      Leaned in close and whispered to me

      "Baby, close your eyes."

      I parted my lips and drank as

      her hand guided mine.

      My guard resigned.

      .

      She said "I know a place where you can

      truly feel alive.

      Each one of your problems fall

      defenseless by your side."

      And she wrapped her arms around me

      I contently sighed

      as she took flight.


      Her wretched and misshapen legs

      held me close to her chest.

      She let out her warning cries

      i inhaled every breath.

      Her claws were creeping out I

      fell upon them like a bed.

      I laid to rest.

      .

      I fell into a home so oddly

      shallow and recessed.

      The walls were made of rock,

      a water drop fell on my head.

      There was no single light,

      the ceiling lowered as she led

      me to her den.

      .

      As I looked around the room birthed

      questions in my head.

      So opposite the warmth that she

      had first on me impressed...

      She stroked my cheek, claws on my chin

      my heart fluttered, digressed.

      I was possessed.

      .

      She laid me on the floor and stood with

      five legs for each end.

      One aside my head and feet

      another at my hands.

      Then she gently laid a blanket

      down over my head,

      "Shall we commence?"


      I still feel it so vividly

      each night I fall asleep,

      the fused infatuated fear I felt

      at a monster's feet,

      when that heinous eldritch horror

      drained my blood from me,

      took me for libation, prayed a tithe

      she poured me out.

      Her heart could call the kettle as it,

      too, went black in drought

      She bore her fangs and lowered,

      took my body in her mouth.

      She then carried me cliffside, like a dog

      she threw me down.

      My corpse then fell so far, on

      impact, no audible sound.

      The final earthly thing I heard,

      her shriek, "The Gods are proud."


      Now upon each night so dreary, she

      crawls out to find

      a source of poor, defenseless blood

      that she can sacrifice.

      She'll lure them in with gentle kisses

      and sapphire eyes.

      We all will die.

      Epilogue.

      On my way to death, I was met

      with a choice instead.

      I could end my life or help

      ensure the gods were fed.

      In the heat of fear and pain I

      then nodded my head.

      The halls of purgatory filled with

      screams and smells of death,

      as my eyes dried from the inside

      and I then begat

      five extra legs.

      6 votes
    29. 12:08

      So what’s the deal with offices, amirite? What if we gave a building full of adults enough money to get by. Oh, and also they have to drive 30-60 minutes to get here. And that time they spend on...

      So what’s the deal with offices, amirite?

      What if we gave a building full of adults enough money to get by. Oh, and also they have to drive 30-60 minutes to get here. And that time they spend on the way here? Yeah what if they just gave us that for free, and we made them pay for parking!

      I know, I know, fantastic right? But listen, it’s not over yet. What if we also made the work pointlessly constrained to a particular 8-hour block in the day, five days a week so that they never have any personal time, even though this is all work they could get done in four hours a day and is fully capable of being completed on their own?

      Fabulous!

      ——

      So yeah, I don’t have free time. That means I’ve got a few half-ass pieces that I’ve been wanting to finish up for awhile.

      Apparently bars are open today, so I’m gonna get sauced and get to it. Prepare for a small dump today. (Also I got some dummy minor news imma share in another post. Stay tuned if you want. Or don’t ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ all’s well.

      Anyway here’s that piece now.

      ——-

      I remember that time I forgot your

      birthday

      And that time was today

      At 12:08 in the morning

      And for a moment

      I felt great.

      .

      My dear that was the first sign

      That you were

      Slipping on out of my mind

      Today I’m sober in the morning

      Feelin okay.

      .

      Well well-butrin what a surprise

      When it done

      Come on back to my mind

      Now it’s 12:09 in the morning

      And ain’t shit changed.

      .

      And in those 60 seconds

      Girl I swear

      I learned a lesson -

      Depression is a woman

      With your name.

      10 votes
    30. fotózás

      fotózás i wonder what it must be like to remember your life. i wonder what it must be like to record it with a flash. i wonder what it must be like to pass those memories down. i wonder what it...

      fotózás

      i wonder what it must be like
      to remember your life.

      i wonder what it must be like
      to record it with a flash.

      i wonder what it must be like
      to pass those memories down.

      i wonder what it must be like
      to be normal like that.

      6 votes
    31. nyáj

      nyáj in the shadows of a great unrest stand hallowed halls yet undisturbed by collapse. to be untouched by revolution is a lucky fate for a place like this— so stable in lives and yet always...

      nyáj

      in the shadows of a great unrest
      stand hallowed halls
      yet undisturbed by
      collapse.


      to be untouched by
      revolution
      is a lucky fate
      for a place like this—
      so stable in lives
      and yet
      always received
      with such hostility.

      oh, to be a church—
      a great meeting hall
      for those of
      the faith—
      is to be us,
      the people of this place
      who dare to
      keep their fire alive.

      we are but a
      little congregation,
      coming together
      once in awhile.
      giving praise to
      what had been;
      remembering what
      our time had lost.

      we bear upon our weary backs
      a legacy
      and hope one day
      to restore it.

      but
      we must rest now,
      and resign to our dreams
      what could be again.

      5 votes
    32. And I Deal With It

      A free form poem. You sing the devotion song and your people drink from your font of well-meant falsehoods. They sway in the breeze, roses ripe for cutting, so you reap. And I deal with it. Brain...

      A free form poem.

      You sing the devotion song and
      your people drink from your font
      of well-meant falsehoods.
      They sway in the breeze,
      roses ripe for cutting,
      so you reap. And I deal with it.

      Brain revolting, hands shaking, heart beating
      Sweating, aching, freezing, creeping thoughts
      that I'm not enough.
      I'm a failure. I don't deserve it. What if this goes wrong?
      "Sometimes it can take awhile to find the right combination of medications."
      And I deal with it.

      The blood in the streets is cleaned, pristine,
      likewise the crimes of an otherwise good man.
      Heads shake and hands pray,
      repeating robotic platitudes, but I do
      nothing.
      And I deal with it.

      The sun shines high and the wind blows cool.
      Our future dances and plays in the light.
      We watch and her skin is soft, her hair yet softer, and I hold her
      against me.
      This too shall pass, my gut twists in knots.
      And I deal with it.

      Dark nights, dark thoughts
      in front of a washroom mirror.
      Lightning thunders, they come and go.
      Drinking my hopes to keep them gone,
      I tell myself, "This isn't you," but it hurts and it's true and I can't stop the dreaming of passing this down
      And I deal with it.

      7 votes
    33. bűnös & fáj

      i intended to actually post these like three days ago but that didn't happen because it has to be super fucking late for me to even want to post these and unfortunately they've now aged...

      i intended to actually post these like three days ago but that didn't happen because it has to be super fucking late for me to even want to post these and unfortunately they've now aged sufficiently that i categorize them firmly in the "intensely mediocre" column with everything i ever do. unfortunate, tbh. anyways here's stuff:

      bűnös

      UP AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKER—
      or i'll shatter your bones
      and crush your heart—
      to dance with me is to dance
      a fine line that wrenches two worlds apart

      for on one side there is a hall of saints—
      on the other
      the brimstone of hell—
      and to stay on the side of the hall of saints
      is something you'd best do well.

      and brave souls that dare toe the line—
      that cross it
      are mighty thin—
      and their ranks are made of anarchists
      who commit most grievous sin.

      UP AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKER—
      state your allegiance
      to the vaunted line—
      or soon you too shall join the ranks
      of those who deserve malign.


      fáj

      when i was seventeen
      the panic attacks began.
      the nightmares.
      the violence. the violence. the violence.

      violence is a funny little thing—
      insidious, slithering in through one grate
      and out the other.
      it always begins with little things,
      little fantasies in one ear and out the other.
      dreams here and there, manufacturing terror and hurt.
      invasive thoughts, marching to an intensifying drumbeat.
      one offs.

      it's not normal to
      want to hurt so bad.
      it's not normal to
      want to cut yourself everywhere,
      is it?
      to feel those feelings,
      to bear them like a cross shackled on your back?
      to wish some days you could cut to the bone
      even though you're afraid of blood?
      to mutilate yourself until you can't feel anymore
      even though you know those feelings are irrational?
      to wish you could die violently, publicly
      even though you're afraid of death?

      violence isn't a very funny little thing—
      terrifying, inescapable and ever recurring
      one night after the other.
      it was the little things once,
      the little fantasies that used to be but now
      consume the dreams, the
      waking thoughts, becoming a great crescendo.
      every day.

      when i was nineteen
      the panic attacks were normal.
      the nightmares.
      the violence.

      12 votes
    34. Burnt!

      Burnt! You embraced me with your apple-pie grin as I tumbled through the door caked in sun, and the larks and the orioles who titter their King George behind us are snuffed with the slam of the...

      Burnt!

      You embraced me with your apple-pie grin
      as I tumbled through the door caked in sun,
      and the larks and the orioles who titter their King George
      behind us are snuffed with the slam of the castle gate.
      We are alone in the fragrant silence of our shared universe,
      your heartbeat against my cheek nuzzles
      like the murmur of some public radio presenter.
      I float along helplessly like a kitten held by its scruff
      until the slasher-scream of a Janet Leigh smoke detector,
      brutally gored by the twirling swirling aerial dancers,
      beckons you away to some Burning of Washington, 1814,
      its desolation likewise impeded by a timely sprinkle.
      In the black ash-pile is the monomania of the Cosmos,
      circling like a hyena for any vulnerability
      to consume everything it touches
      so that we all might become dark and vacuous like it.
      The cosmos and its baggage are swept away,
      its might and vastness no match for a love as true as ours.

      This was my attempt at writing a poem in the style of Pamela Miller, a feminist and often zany poet from my native Chicago.

      Please let me know what you think.

      11 votes
    35. lunch date. (the love poem.)

      Today I found a girl Who was pretty nice To me. She made me stop and talk And rest and breathe. She said your stomach growls, Your legs Are weak. How’d you like to come And sit With me? . And my...

      Today I found a girl

      Who was pretty nice

      To me.

      She made me stop and talk

      And rest

      and breathe.

      She said your stomach growls,

      Your legs

      Are weak.

      How’d you like to come

      And sit

      With me?

      .

      And my how time it flew

      And passed

      Us by.

      Lunch turned into tea

      Turned in-

      to night.

      The way her body curved

      It shaped

      My mind.

      And then her laugh,

      Her smile,

      Her eyes.

      .

      Would you mind if I stayed

      For an hour or two

      Or three?

      We could sit and talk

      And laugh

      And crawl between the sheets.

      And maybe I can stay the night

      Or two

      Or three?

      And you’ll hold onto me.

      And we can spend forever

      Cus talk

      Is cheap.

      And maybe nights will

      Slowly carve a curve and crash on

      Into weeks.

      Maybe we’ll be cuddled

      On the couch or sipping

      Sex on the beach

      Maybe I could stay

      For life, just

      You, and me.

      9 votes
    36. Wild Turkey 101

      i got fire in my blood Wild Turkey and the nicotine might just call my doctor have him put me on amphetamines driving past the memories i'm pushing on 100 speed crossing single-white lines with a...

      i got fire in my blood

      Wild Turkey and the nicotine

      might just call my doctor

      have him put me on amphetamines

      driving past the memories

      i'm pushing on 100 speed

      crossing single-white lines

      with a blade til my bones weak.

      cold-brew hipster

      gothboi fantasies

      hard to think straight when

      my thoughts are attacking me

      here i let the voices out

      inner demons writing rhapsodies

      before i go and swing from

      a noose and a dramatic tree

      .

      can't decide what i want between

      freedom and consistency

      i say i want it done

      but i think i want her missing me

      last week i bought a gun*

      this week i went to therapy

      when will i be free from all the

      thermo-manic tendencies?

      .

      drowning in my bed

      breathing wild turkey

      i couldn't feel if i were dead,

      but i like the way she hurts me

      i've come to know the pain

      it's like a second home to me

      liquor novocaine

      im falling from autonomy.

      if mecca was a bedroom

      girl you were a God to me

      and laying here alone is

      a wicked act of blasphemy.

      never knew you were a snake

      feeding hate from an apple tree

      I'll chop it down, and build a tomb

      so you can hold me,

      as an effigy

      (* didnt actually buy a gun. me no like. literally 0 plans to.)

      7 votes
    37. the law of averages (fuck math)

      short one. wrote it sober, so i couldn't (didn't?) really expand on it. either way, just bought a bottle for the first time since shit happened but i don't plan on going too crazy this time. then...

      short one. wrote it sober, so i couldn't (didn't?) really expand on it.

      either way, just bought a bottle for the first time since shit happened but i don't plan on going too crazy this time.

      then again, do i plan half the shit i do? or am i just constantly fumbling my way up through life.

      either way here's some shit about math.

      enjoy.

      You said I was the one

      But that was only when you managed

      To get some rest, and breathe, and

      Keep yourself from going rabid

      But must of the time you

      Wore your claws out like a savage

      So if we’re being honest I‘m the

      .08 on average.

      9 votes
    38. űrrepülés.

      i'm bored and entirely too fucking tired to still be up, so here's a thing i wrote in a little burst like an hour ago. see also enikő, the considerably longer weird shit i wrote in a similar...

      i'm bored and entirely too fucking tired to still be up, so here's a thing i wrote in a little burst like an hour ago. see also enikő, the considerably longer weird shit i wrote in a similar burst.

      I. űrrepülés
      having once been the dreamer of many things,
      having once been an eternal creator,
      having seen the birth of great star systems and galaxies
      and life itself
      only to be snuffed out
      with ignominy
      i feel compelled to explain why i too must
      inevitably follow them

      hurt
      is a funny little word. it seems so easy to come
      to a common agreement on what it means and yet,
      if i told you it hurt
      would you really understand that?

      would you understand the feeling
      of hopelessness,
      the vast indignities of having to see
      your every piece of art,
      your life's work
      snuffed out
      like the stars?

      II. űrlény
      you can't play god
      with the people in your life,
      but that never stopped me from trying,
      from creating those great star systems
      that people care about.
      from creating life where there is none.

      and that never stopped me from failing,
      and the stars becoming great cataclysms—
      black holes destroying the life around them
      without regard for its beauty.

      you might say it is callous
      to try to move the heavens and the earth
      and to die when they don't arrange the right way,
      but,
      i would rather die than be that hurt person again
      watching the stars go out one by one.

      6 votes
    39. i woke up with a headache and found this in my notes. (the coffin song)

      In the shadows Like a ghost you hide In the single most foreign Corners of my mind Therapy and pills still Can’t subside the angelic choir Of your pretty lies Promises you made, The bones I broke...

      In the shadows

      Like a ghost you hide

      In the single most foreign

      Corners of my mind

      Therapy and pills still

      Can’t subside the angelic choir

      Of your pretty lies

      Promises you made,

      The bones I broke

      You once took my breath

      And now I choke

      Jesus let me breathe

      Is there hope for me?

      .

      Now I desire

      The obscure

      All that reminds

      Of being yours

      Your oils, poison

      My waters, pure

      Your love is cancer

      There is no cure.

      .

      I watched my grandfather take his final breaths as he kissed my head and you held my hand. Not two months later you foresaw our end, and decided not to keep me, even as a friend.

      And now you’re off, marriage in the plans. I pray your time falls like the sand and hits the bottom of every glass as fast as it can.

      I have no home. I’m lost and cold. You promised me a home would grow. We got a dog, and had planned for more. Mouth of this world, a fish at shore you took my breath and killed me slow.

      I’m suicidal, I have no hope. I’ve not a gun, don’t have a rope. The only reason I’ve not a note, I’d end it all, I’d end it all.


      I just want to feel pretty.

      Pretty loved and pretty free

      But for now I keep to getting

      Pretty drunk, it isn’t cheap

      But I can afford it/‘s kinda sweet

      Too bad you’re not round

      To drink with me.

      I’d fill the bottle

      We’d watch the office

      Instead I scar

      Until I am solid

      An ugly rock

      A useless object

      I’ll break my stones

      And build a coffin

      And die in your name

      Die in your name.

      11 votes
    40. my therapist won't return my calls (lmfao fuck me)

      tw: self-harm; suicide; lost love. i hit my cigarette like an abuser hits her wife because i'm a fucking coward to afraid to take his life i've felt love before i beg it through the strife but i...

      tw: self-harm; suicide; lost love.

      i hit my cigarette

      like an abuser hits her wife

      because i'm a fucking coward

      to afraid to take his life

      i've felt love before

      i beg it through the strife

      but i only find a heart

      at the wrong side of a blunt and useless knife

      .

      and it's only mine

      at least there's proof

      that i can feel

      when blood protrudes.

      but that's not "work appropriate"

      so i get tattoos

      what a shame i can't get paid to die.

      12 votes
    41. haha this shit’s not working (a poem)

      i got a job i got on meds i got a car still wanting death. still here at night alone in my bed still hear her voice ring in my head “why do you look like i abused you?” . i bought a bottle i...

      i got a job

      i got on meds

      i got a car

      still wanting death.

      still here at night

      alone in my bed

      still hear her voice

      ring in my head

      “why do you look like i abused you?”

      .

      i bought a bottle

      i bought some cards

      can’t kill my thoughts

      my god it’s hard

      just make it stop

      “i don’t think i love you anymore.”

      .

      anxiety’s

      taken over me

      every interaction

      i worry

      did i act weird?

      what do they think?

      i guarantee

      they laugh at me

      can’t beat it all

      can’t bear it all.

      .

      .

      .

      .

      .

      .

      .
      .

      .

      don’t want to live

      don’t want to die

      i fantasize

      (that) it’ll be alright

      she’ll cuddle close

      and hold me night

      and pet my head

      and kill the fright

      i can’t escape

      don’t want to fight

      god let me die

      god let me die

      8 votes
    42. I just want to feel pretty.

      Pretty. Pretty good. Pretty cool. Pretty smart. Pretty cute. Pretty kind. Pretty eyes. Pretty warm. Pretty witty. Pretty artistic. Pretty talented. Pretty cultured. Pretty traveled. Pretty-faced....
      Pretty.

      Pretty good.

      Pretty cool.

      Pretty smart.

      Pretty cute.

      Pretty kind.

      Pretty eyes.

      Pretty warm.

      Pretty witty.

      Pretty artistic.

      Pretty talented.

      Pretty cultured.

      Pretty traveled.

      Pretty-faced.

      Pretty loved.

      But fuck me,

      Life’s pretty hard.

      12 votes
    43. Faerie Desperado

      Old legends what spoke of the fae Said “cold iron must be used in the fray” Bore great axe ‘gainst brownie The first chord made it flee ‘Twas Heavy Metal what had won this day

      6 votes
    44. [untitled]

      In Feudal Japan Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi Tea Party Ninja Assassin of Joy Bringer of His Mighty Wind Most Fetid of Stench For a Tidy Fee Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi Would Disturb Your Foes Piercing Defenses...

      In Feudal Japan
      Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi
      Tea Party Ninja


      Assassin of Joy
      Bringer of His Mighty Wind
      Most Fetid of Stench


      For a Tidy Fee
      Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi
      Would Disturb Your Foes


      Piercing Defenses
      Buddha Alone Knew His Tread
      In and Out, Unseen


      But Never Un-Smelt
      Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi
      Bearing Bowels Most Foul

      7 votes
    45. Sisyphus.

      This isn’t what I want it to be. I’ve just had too many to care. Most days I don’t need any to not care. Yet I smile at them; servers and baristas. Try hard, smile, look happy. Maybe they’ll think...

      This isn’t what I want it to be. I’ve just had too many to care.

      Most days I don’t need any to not care.

      Yet I smile at them; servers and baristas.

      Try hard, smile, look happy.

      Maybe they’ll think you’re cute.

      You arrogant shit.

      “Sisyphus!

      Arrogant twat,

      How shall you pay

      For the sins you’ve wrought?

      I’ll hang your dreams

      In delicate swathe

      And leave you to work

      Forever for naught.

      .

      Sisyphus!

      You “god” among men

      I’ll number your days

      Count them by hand

      While you work, serve

      Slave to my end

      Your bones will strain

      And bend.

      .

      Sisyphus!

      You represent

      The whole that is wrong

      With the common man

      I’ll make you sweat,

      And I’ll make you beg

      (That) one day you’ll be free

      Again!”

      .

      Dear Sisyphus,

      I know your soul.

      Your struggle is mine

      And we share the goal

      That work, work, will come

      To an end

      And we’ll live again

      As free men.

      .

      Sisyphus,

      I hear your cries –

      Your yelps of pain

      In the dead of night

      When your muscles strain

      And your mind ain’t right

      My brother

      Your pain is mine!

      .

      Gods above –!

      Rescue me!

      .

      Sisyphus!

      I’m you, incarnate.

      I do my work and

      Sing my songs in

      Hope the gods will

      Hear my plea

      And one day

      set me free.

      .

      I am he!

      I aloud decree,

      assuming Sisyphus’

      identity.

      I live his plight,

      beg myself free

      that I’ll find a

      love for me.

      .

      SISYPHUS.

      THIS IS YOUR WROUGHT.

      YOUR MERIT THE PAIN,

      THIS DAY YOU’VE SOUGHT.

      YOU KNOW YOUR SINS

      AND NOW YOU BEG

      THAT YOU MAY FRESH BEGIN

      .

      THE GODS WILL REMEMBER

      SINS IN DECEMBER;

      DRAG YOUR SOUL DOWN

      DEEP TO THE EMBER.

      YOU AS THE KINDLE

      YOU AND YOUR KINFOLK

      FOREVER LIGHT OUR WAY.

      .

      SISYPHUS.

      “IMMACULATE.”

      WHAT A SHAME YOU’LL FIND

      COME END YOUR FATE

      WHEN THE TRUTH REVEALS

      YOUR LOVE IS FAKE.

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