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Paul Butters Aug 2019
A massive moth outside in the night
Flings itself at
My bathroom window.
Another Icarus
Sorely tempted by the electric light within
My house.

A swooping vulture
It tries again and again,
Fracturing its fragile wings:
Battering itself to exhaustion.

Perhaps it curses some Moth God
And feels a failure in life,
Totally frustrated
At not being able to reach its imperative goal.
Not knowing
That had it succeeded
It would now be
Incinerated.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\8\2019.
Yes, I took my annual bath. hehe
Colm Aug 2019
Buried beneath the same old memories
     Are the papyrus and the paper scraps

The kind which will be eventually tossed
     Just to settle upon the winds of trash

But even still in stillness found
     Like a dream born near in this reality to pass

Though it’s a beautiful and ironic sight
     I am sleeping on your memory at last
Sleeping - A Fond Memory Past
Kora Sani Aug 2019
i let my hair down for you
because that's how you like it
tousled in my face
imitating life's chaos
a chaos we cling to
because we don't know any different

still telling ourselves
that we crave stability
but we know how the story goes
seeking comfort
loathing change
forgetting that our comfort lies in pain

imposters we've become
pawns in our own game
having yet to learn
that bliss only follows
those who let go

enduring a new kind of angst
but only for a moment
then letting it pass
and living to adore it
Amaris Jul 2019
You gave me silken scarves and solitude
To weave my own bindings
You gave me surpluses of satin
Bandages for skin you broke
You gave me Swarovski accessories
As if it excused your absences
You gave me smooth apologies
A salve to my twisted fingers
Jay Jul 2019
On my addiction ****,
I need to pop a cig,
I think that I should vape instead,
But the nic and vibe is all the same.
Why do I keep comin’ back?
I know exactly why, but why can't I just,
Y'know, stop?
Why am I wired to do what gives me that exhale,
Knowing full and well my breathing is gonna be shot?
One a day, two a day, five, a pack.
The number is rising but I still cough up cash so I can cough up my stress.
People have outlets right?
Running, working out, drawing, even writing.
Is this one of those things?
Some people are better off just not venting at all yeah?
Facing their problems head on?
****, there I go again.
How's a patch on my arm supposed to keep a cig out of my hand?
It's a great way to put a physical expression into how I'm feeling.
The smell and the taste puts into perspective the ****** feeling I have on the inside
It feels good initially.
It helps with the anxiety.
At least it's legal, unlike ****.
I'll just wean myself off.
Little by little,
Day by day,
One smoke at a time.
A solid chunk of this is excuses my friends use for why they smoke. I used to be a shill for **** sure, but I've always loathed cigarettes and cigars.
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2019
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                            
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
.
King Lear is a tragedy by William Shakespeare in which the titular character descends into madness after disposing of his estate between two of his three daughters based on their flattery, bringing tragic consequences for all. Based on the legend of Leir of Britain, a mythological pre-Roman Celtic king.
Mitch Prax Jun 2019
I look for peace
in so many people
and in so many places
where, deep down, I know
peace can never be found,
and yet the things we have a
glimmer of hope of finding it,
we run away from.
Such is the irony
of this turbulent life.
Seazy Inkwell Jun 2019
Listening to your music makes me very bored

So I headed downtown for the things I can’t afford

I walked into the crowded lake till my feet got sored

If the traffic questioned me I’d say I was lured

For a glass of ice and an old album I stored

It made four. I listened till the choir singers broke their last vocal chord.

For years they trademarked desire, eventually it topped the Billboard

the train got jammed midway, again this team had scored

I didn’t say anything; I even signed the peace accord

All the piano keys marched out my door, saying ‘cursed was my Lord!’

I couldn’t sing well, but I walked behind them with a sword

Only my guitar slept soundly; at midnight it even snored
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