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>user uploads a poem:
Tell those you love they are loved. Make sure they know they are loved. Do good. Be good. You can. That's all the world needs. That's what everybody needs.
>tags it goodbye
>notes: my last
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>last online:
12 years ago

In a fallen state.**

Looking at friends and family—
Seeking guidance in their daily lives.

They struggle with losses they are too ashamed to
share all because of their psyche.

If I interact I am nosy.
If I complain I am stubborn.

I can't mind my own business because of our connections.
————————
I investigate relentlessly and ask nothing but questions.

In my own world…
I spend my time in a delirious state—
Some would describe it as a ticking time bomb.

Like trends that never end.
Better yet addictions.

Some days are like picnics with an abundance of food—
The rest of the week is comparable to dew coming as a signal to the crack of a thunderstorm, soaking everything in water.

I stretch my youth out in limbo.
A perfect pause for—
“The Scream.”

I writhe in my downfalls with droplets of rain devising my tears like water going through pipes.

I can say…

Many of you suffer the same way and are confused in your youth.

With feelings for one another.
Our sympathy does not support the struggles of being different.

As it is now…there is a distance between you and me.
And there is nothing more to do than wait for your brush to be revitalized.

Your strokes would radiate the board with colors, colors so vibrant they make a pedestrian walk back the second time.

Knowingly, I cannot watch over you….
So I will look you directly in the eyes as I will tell you this.

he s̷p̷ea̷k̷s̷       in      th-th-the hush                        b̷e̷f̷or̷e̷ c͟o͟m͟m͟a͟n͟d

bɑ̶r̶e̶-̶c̶h̶e̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ // b̷r̷a̷c̷e̷d̷                 f͝o͝r͠ the̴ se͞n͞t͞e͞n͞ce͞                     to                        L̸̡̫̮͊̿͠͝Ą̵̜̥̎̾N̷̦̳̤͝ͅD̷̳͚̈̐͌

h͎i͍s͍ ͔n͎a͔m͍e̳                      cu̸r̷l̷s̷                 b̶e̶h̶i̶n̶d̶ their     t̶̵̻̻e̴̞̼̻͐̽e̸͖͒͜ẗ̶͈̲́̓h̴͝­̳͓̓

a wreck—                 soft                     r̸e̴a̷d̴y̷                        f̶or͞             c̷ol̷lis̷i̷o̶n̸_

they move                     like               thund̴e̶r̷—holding—                 back

drawn       tight         į̵͈͔̫̄̈́̈́͝n̵̦̺̼̄t̴̢͉̪̥̽í̴̯̈́m̴̙͊a̶̞̙̕ẗ̸̛̼̬́͂͐e             d̷̞͗̍̈́e̷̪͈̫̬͊ḻ̸̘͒̅i̷͈̖̖͊̈́̒b̶̯͔̥̹͝e̷̡̛͎̳̥̔͠r̴͓͐ą̴̛̅͘­̡ţ̸̂̓e̸̼̞̎̓͘

he / d̷̲̝̖ͅo̵̢̘̠̰e̶̼̤s̴̮̤̰̳n̴̢͔̼̹’̶̢͍͕̦t̴͇̹̦ / run         he   r̴̨̯̯̋͝i̷̩̟̠̯͘s̵̲̼̖̾̊͌ė̴̢̺̩̞̅s̸̘̜̬̐̎̋

not broken       b̴̡̮̎̓e̶̳̮̓͝n̶͎̞̿̓t̶̺͒͘         toward          becoming…

It was not man’s dream
to walk the Earth, or gander at the spectacles in the sky—looking at shooting stars different in color and size that appeared white to our naked eyes.

The dream of an astronaut is that of a child.
Because children don't let go of their ambitions.

Always seeing all the colors of the moon lit stars, which is regular to them.

A telescope and a room filled with geniuses is the comparison here.
It was never ironic for the world's prodigies to consider taking a path in space exploration.

Willing to make a name for themselves, they would want to be as big as the sun.
With little to no care of what risk it might pose.

——————————
The Day Of Launch:

“Apollo 11 was the first successful crewed mission to land humans on the Moon. Launched on July 16, 1969, the mission culminated in Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin becoming the first humans to walk on the lunar surface on July 20, 1969, fulfilling President Kennedy's 1961 goal.“

You looked at the magazines stapled together.

Today you walk grown ready to engage with bodies outside of your world.

The ship is titled upward and the rocket propelled directly up, the countdown is only brief—because of time.

Today or Tomorrow you have left Earth behind.

…

Distortion in Space, a place where everything is lost.

A time when a grown man wishes it was a dream—because of the foolishness of this world’s product…children.

I am sick of it
always getting        between us.
      How much        I care
        about you        has lead me
         to believe         no matter how
              much I love you, it cannot
     forgive how         wrong I am
             for you.         But I am
              not one         to give up,
        and would         sooner shatter
             my own heart before pretending
                I don't          you.

I don't think, I really want this...

But surely, I
still have the eyes, to perceive
that she's the kind of,
fever dream
that makes grown men, and women,
lament, and weep

for the way, her jeans
gather round, her knees, and thighs--
for the way, her eyes...
pay homage, to the ancient skies...

would you take...a ride?
And, hey...would I...?
I don't think I might...

but she asserts her swerve,
with a certain sway,
and her curves,
would serve,
as hors d'oeuvres,
for days.
Her fruity lips...
with a sparkle glaze

they trickle...dark...as marmalade.
But if harvested, late...
what's their carnal taste?

...Is she the mark, on the grave,
by which, I think...I know myself?

No...I don't think I really want this...

not a shiver, runs through me.
But, sue me...for looking,
when she's so ******* juicy...
does it consume me?
Does it titillate me?
...I don't feel me, hyperventilating?

What if she turned, to face me?
To lay me, lace me
between her thighs...
internalized; eternal lies,
to sate me,
with her flavor, to bait me
acerbic, and savory...
Her skin, burning, like a lamp wire,

and her fingertips, debasing me.
What if I, was her vampire,
and she,
the one slaying me?
A slaking queen...
aching to break, her thirst...
so, what if I staked her, first...?
Would she mortify,
like ash?
Or would she forge, a lighted path,
and make me wish,
she had, forced...my hand?

No...I don't think I really want this...

not a shiver, runs through me.
But, sue me...for looking,
when she's so ******* juicy.

I woke up under the sun/in my throat/in a prison cell/on someone else’s bed.
The mirror said hello/goodbye/nothing/my name.
I brushed my teeth/stared at my reflection/spoke to the sink/bled a little.

She was waiting in my bed/on my roof/in my mailbox/not at all.
She said: I missed you/I made you/I warned you/I’m not real.
I said: Me too/I know/I’m sorry/Who am I?

I put on my coat/face-mask/body/new name.
Went outside/stayed inside/went sideways.
The street looked like a dream/a crime scene/a question mark/my old bedroom.

Someone grabbed my wrist/my leg/my shadow/nothing.
They asked: “Did you mean it?”
And I said: Yes/No/What did I say?/Who’s asking?

turn off the big
light
the cand
le ts lay toge
ther e will be no
space betweenus
we will catch fir
e mbraced together

I see what I do,

I walk toward it too,

I fly where I stitch the new.

In this eternal dream,
I wake.

Wake up.

Sounds become feels,

The chapter spins and reels,

I watch the scenery shift and peel,

Taking the weight of what it deals.

Wake up.

I begin to see,

A cage that begs to break free,

A silent plea caught endlessly
A dance with death,
a fleeing decree.

Wake up.

Is this real?

Nothing begins to feel.

The past bleeds into the future’s seal,

Bound to a fate I can’t repeal.

Wake up.

A S̵͖̉͝o̵̡̞͓̖͊̀́ư̶̛̺̻͛̽͂̋̈n̸̝̜̖̥̓̎̆̏ḓ̶̰̥̝͕̗̟̓͑́̾̃̈̋̿̏̑ͅ?

A bed of comfort found.

A pulse that hums beneath the ground.

Or is it not so round?

Ŷ̷͍͙͚̝̈́̆͂͐̚͝͝ö̷̩̳͙̯́̿͜ͅu̵̼̘̞̳̣̓͌͐̏̔̇’̶̢̹͛͑̀̍̈́̓̐͑̈͠r̴̈́̈́͆͌­̯̲̱͚̬͇̠̤̯̖̄́̊͗͋͝ė̶̟͎̭̱̓͆̋̈̾͐̈́̕ ̶̫͔̤̟̫̯̥͉́̾ǹ̷͍̉̅̓̓̆̃o̸̢͙͐̾t̴̥͆ ̷̘̖̰̯͖̘̙̂r̵̨̛̘͚̲̈̈ͅe̶͇̙̭̙̽͋͒͜ǎ̴͍̙͚̹͗͛̽̌͝l̶̤͖̇͋̽̆.̶͈̣̩̱̦̉̀̅̐̿̈́̉̚͠­̯̣͕̫