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Ackerrman Aug 2023
What is love?
Baby,
Don't hurt me,
Ha Ha.

What is life?
Old.
Past-question,
Death.

If you knew you were dead
Would you continue to go to work?
Like weeds,
Growing on corpses.

I didn't understand life,
I don't understand this.
This dream,
This dream in death.

Free will,
Does it exist?
I eat
Because I am hungry.

But **** am I always hungry,
I cut myself
Because it hurts,
And ****, it hurts all the time.

Can't count the cuts,
I miss the blood,
The way it trickles,
But I don't always cut.

I miss making decisions,
Could word this hypothetically:
Like it was for the audience,
The ghosts of the dead that watch life.

Did they have free will?
To die?
To watch the entropy,
Do the dead souls experience entropy?

Oh audience!
I hope you appreciate
All the effort I make
To balance my thoughts for you

Or make them entertaining
Or philosophical,
That is, make it take longer to process,
That you may miss the next.

I write because the thoughts
Are bleeding out my ears.
Did I choose, Me, did I choose
To pick it up?

And have these black lines
Wrap around my neck
And softly choke me,
Forever.

A testament to silence,
For the ages,
Just letting nothing know
That I was thinking of it.

And **** knows!
If the nothing-forever
Could pick up my book
Even if it wanted to.

Silliness.
This self destruction.
Perpetual,
As all things are.

Inevitable heat death of the universe,
Revert to singularity
To explode.
Then let's do this again.

Christ.
What am I doing?
Pain perpetually?
Until when?

Is brief non-existence
The only reprise?
All I have to look forward to
Is sleep.

And ****!
What is the ******* difference?
Between sleep
And death?
The apparitions cackle-
At last, exasperated crackles
That boon expiration
Continuity and infinity,
Why they have to be
Is beyond me.
The end of all things, I
Wish I were lucky enough to see.
But more than that,
I wish I were free.
Blood from a stone;
Vulcan, erupt.
In his Ares heart,
Of the Zeno soul.
The battle drags on
For a cause, I do not know.
Persons who, not agreeing with you,
Will tell you, your perspective is wrong.
That lived experience,
Has clouded your lense of reality.
But they offer no real difference
Nothing so substantive
As to say,
Mine is fixed
And based in a place
Of true, unbiased rationality.
The emptiness, that fills
The hollow cavity, where
A heart should beat.
Where blood would go
Now, nothing flows.
What is there, that is meant to be?

Of the things kept inside,
And all the pain I've tried to hide.
Turned outside, onto the world,
Wherein the soul reside.
Spilled, to the ground
The collapse, of all that surrounds.
Careening down,
The end of a life.
Julius Jun 2023
I live
To be perceived
By strangers I don’t know
Every line I write is just an adage
A proof of concept that I was here
That I lived
That I died

And who I am will be lost to time
Every word I say will outlive me

To live is to die
Who im perceived as will outlive me

I could die a infinite times before they finally plant me
And I know they’d just replace me

I am a slowly dying animal writing out a story

To live is to die
Both everyone and no one has felt how I am

I live for tabloid headlines and women
Everything I say is a remix

Im sorry to tell you this but
If you play it backwards you’ll get nothing
And I have severed the bridge,
The bond of the astral soul
To this corporeal form.
Similarly feeling, so far
From all that is tangible.
What I am, I don't know
And the point, in the grand scheme.
A stream of air, a speck of dust
Tiny particles without any meaning
Charred remains, of jungle burned:
Fire steeped, laotian leaves.
Who we lost, in what we earned;
For the love of ******,
Of sweet release.

Korean craters, Mexican invaders, &
The Boxer rebellion.
The sinking of Maine, the panamanian strait;
Meuse–Argonne, inherent freedom

Is there a place, for the peaceable to congregate?
Versailles, Geneva, Nuremberg, Tokyo.
What point to rules are made,
When no one follows them.
Bagram, Mai Lai, Tiananmen, the Chechen genocide

Is it merely in our nature;
To fight, and argue, divide?
We can conquer, but can we conquer
The lust that is
The love of tribe
Maybe it's all the avarice
The commonplace detachment,
Of trodden-life, taken as a game.
It is what it is,
The way things go,
A billion different ways
To say the same thing.
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