Pass
Within the space of each passing moment
I catch a glimpse of my reaper in passing
As they passively sit upon their throne
Silently watching as the seconds burn
Quietly waiting for when it's our turn
cherry valley forever
Not today Justin
Peter Solarz
NASA
we're not kids anymore.
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@peact
Pass
Within the space of each passing moment
I catch a glimpse of my reaper in passing
As they passively sit upon their throne
Silently watching as the seconds burn
Quietly waiting for when it's our turn
Much
So I'm in a much better place than I was before
And in a much worse place than I was before
Much stronger than I was
Much weaker than I was
Much smarter
Much dumber
Much of Everything
Much of nothing
Always in motion
Yet never
In another location
So I'm in a much better place than I was before
And in a much worse place than I was before
Sea of Hands
So each hand handled another
And gave a hand to the other
On the handiness
Of their handiwork
Thursday Mornings
depression hits like dump truck
pinning you against its grill
stuck on a drive with no will
it will grind you down for miles
slooowly through its several tires
smearing your corpse
across the road
leaving a fear
that it will always
be back for more
Depression
a hot knife spreading butter
of ones own suffering
on the crust of life
Common Occurrence
Oh God
What is this
What have I done
Look at this
Look at that
All crap
All garbage
Every piece
Every part
Everything thing in my art
Just a waste of time
A waste of a life
Never gains
Never grows
Never breaking new ground
Just a failure
All around
Pressure
can you feel it
every part of me
every bone
every muscle
every cell strained
as they rush through my veins
down to the molocule
vibrating with pain
can you hear it
this silent screaming
beaming in all directions
emitting endlessly
at full power
with the volume broken
and i withstand it all
like an idiot
letting it all bounce around
increasing in speed and intensity
with no relief
no release
everything gets crushed
with enough pressure
The world moved with the movement, like that of a yawn. Slow and with deliberate intentions. The conclusion was known before it had even started. We could only watch as the events began to unfold.
Sitting
I am sitting here quitely
While the demons
Continue beating
At the door
Crying
Wailing
They desperately
Throw themselves
At the wall
Breaking
After every fall
Wishing
Dreaming
To fullfill
Their calling
Not to come in
But to get out
To express their
Full potential
Their purpose
So they continue
Their assault
To no avail
And as their jailer
I just sit
Quitely watching
Wondering
Who is at fault
BANNED
What happens to those dirty blogs
When the debauchery
Gets cleaned out of the logs?
Is it the feeling
Like the first time breathing?
like coming out of the smog
Into clean air
To run soundly, water freely fleeing
From the grip of a dirty clog
I ask this then:
Where do the banned go, to let their essence flow?
Where do they go, to let their inner freak show?
Where do they go
to show their pictures
of masterfully paired
tits and tinctures
surrounded by a SOG.
Videos of amature made pornos
With women barking on all fours.
Panting like a good dog.
High speed captures
On the impact of a sack of genitals versus
Heavy
Metal
Clogs
An artful black and white photo of a tongue
licking the cum
off one famous blue hedgehog
A link to an attempt
at the world's biggest
Dong
NOW STREAMING
Let's not forget
the classic
tasteful 3D rendering
of Tifa
getting fucked
by an anthropomorphic Mog.
Where do they go?
To be a ho?
Where do they go to escape
The enforced social norms
To release the social tension
of being a cog?
when the stress of the press
Is put upon them
Where they are wound up tightly
And unable to unwind
Everyday
Having to hold
Onto every spoke
Moving along with crowd
But always grinding
Never finding its fit
Because the piece
Doesn't fit it's space.
It's never quite fit in its place
These poor
Poor souls
Where do they go?
You continue to run little guy
When will you break free?
Will you run the circle till you die
Or break the cycle and flee?
Itch
The world is itchy
So I scratch scratch scratch
Scratch the itch away
Scratch scratch scratch
Scratch at the pain
Scratch scratch scratch
Scratch till I bleed
Till I have dug deep
Beneath the surface
Under the disturbance
Into the heat
Of the infection
There I sink
An injection
Into perfect
Imperfection
And without an ounce of will
Try to scrape the surface
Clean
It makes everything feel
All so very
Itchy
I wish to burn brightly
Back to the same old
Greetings
Can you see it?
The signs?
Their movement
Their sighs
Their everyday
Disillusionment
Of everyday
Life
The death
Hanging
In their eyes
I can and I fear
That within
That moment
They will too
I can say some positive things every once in a while, and it feels good to do so honestly speaking.
In a never ending battle
Against forces unimaginable
Where every statement of survival
Is a defiance against the odds
Against the gods
Every blow deflected
And defended
Is a miracle
You
will stand
And remain strong
- I believe in you