Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Feb 2015 404
Thomas EG
Crash
 Feb 2015 404
Thomas EG
Uncertainty fills the air
And suddenly I'm not so sure.
Nostalgia begins to decay
But why?
Heavy, heavier...
I inhale and sigh with, what, exasperation?
Creation?
These are all mere distractions
To prevent myself from colliding
With myself,
With how I feel.
Emotional trauma, Part I -
Coming soon to a childhood near you!
We laugh it off
But it does not leave us.
Nothing can leave us
As easily as you walked away
That night.
I will not forget what I saw.
Engraved in my brain
Causing me to crumble
Tumble, tumble...
**Crash.
 Feb 2015 404
JDK
Philosophistry
 Feb 2015 404
JDK
The postmodernists claim that man is little more than a confluence of forces.
Metanarratives absorbed around the age of four
developed in tandem with an ever-changing world.
Old ideas replanted then growing toward the rays of a shifting sun.
Your ideas are not your own.
You're not the only one.
There is no such thing as an original thought.
But the postmodernists are wrong.
A confluence of forces,
I am not.

Existentialism states that a man's life is his to create.
We make our own meaning.
We define the stakes.
Whether a great victory or a tragic loss,
but never merely a leaf being tossed by the wind.
Everyday is a blank page in the novel of our lives,
and we hold the pen.
Let the story begin.
 Jan 2015 404
Spencer Dennison
"Do not ask for whom the bell tolls
It tolls for thee"
As if all rights and wrongs were just
a memory.
We set ourselves out to sea
in an ocean of imperfections
where the only way to see inside ourselves
is through vivisections,
we watch science explain everything for us
while concepts like faith and love
sink into the background
and we cannot hear the answers
over the sound of cannons firing
because we throw money at problems requiring
care instead of denier
but we still think we know where the heart is.
It's right there,
in that empty chest
in which you keep your best
hopes of ever knowing love again
in a world where we only make money so we can spend.

There will be no exodus,
purgatory is a breeze next to this,
because we bend our children's backs
like pipe-cleaners
just because that's what our parents
did to us,
it's been about growing up
it's been about moving out,
with a rebel shout
we barrel towards the future
because there is no turning anywhere back
because the train-track wasn't made
with brakes in mind
and if, out of all this, there is even a lesson to find
it's not in textbooks or written in flesh-tone ink
on the back of hands,
THINK
we've pushed ourselves past the brink
in the name of progress
with everything always being
no more, no less
we cannot digress  
because we are hellbound
 Dec 2014 404
Spencer Dennison
A question mark
is only an exclamation mark
that strayed from the straight path
in search of answers.
A period is only the end,
setting tracks for a new beginning.
Ellipses
are only thoughts
that never got...
 Dec 2014 404
Spencer Dennison
It is here
that broken memories find their home.
Divorced from the nests
they have made in our chests,
sinking talons into hearts
and clogging our veins
like the junk from a million Wal-Marts.

The air hangs like flypaper,
catching every breath
like a moment in time.
Every foot falls on crust and grime
and used needles.
The colors are faint
but still bursting with life,
pastel shades of peeled paint.

There's a girl with antelope antlers
and a man with a lobster head,
A lobster made completely
of whole-wheat sliced bread.
There's freaks of every size and shape
abominations of every description
but for a surrealist,
these thoughts are our prescription.
 Dec 2014 404
Sjr1000
You open
the
fortune cookie
and
there is
nothing
inside
At a lowest lowest time this actually happened, proving once again there is no fiction greater than truth
 Dec 2014 404
Spencer Dennison
It's all nameless splendours
and 'return to sender's.
Without the clarity to make sense
and the rarity to be heard,
we are blurred together
like colors on the canvas.
Where I settle in and make my home,
it's insanity and ****** sea foam.
        Straight lines where everything careens
               into smokescreens and blackened eyes.
                       Cruelty in disguise.
                              Lonely demise.
                                Unheard cries
                                   Dark skies.
                                       Lies...
                                          It is here... I make my home.
Next page