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Katryna Oct 2018
I,
You,
Beer,
Lights,
Sounds and Headbang.

How can we stop the time?

stella and blue moon this time.
mixed in one glass.

your
lips
to
your
glass
to
mine.

sip,
kiss,
hug,
kiss.

cheers!

that's all I need.
that's all you want.

that's all I need,
you is all I need.

How can I stop them?
You’re officemates,
You’re soon to be so-called "wife"

How can I keep you from them?

This is all we had,
Saguijo is our crib,
our enchanting place for a couple of hours.

your hand,
slide to mine.

your lips touch mine,
we walk on the street as we own it
we talk under the moon,
waiting for the sun to rise and shine.

but it never happen,
you just escort me to our last stop,

bid your last goodbye.
your last kiss for this week.

wishing for the next round,
next, "see you"
next back to routine,

from ex-lover to mistress but wait.

no *** this time.

congrats.

to the so-called wife.
Anurag Mukherjee Jan 2019
When I headbang- and we do headbang
since as far back as we remember-
my hair, shaking like clumps of phantom pom-poms,
has its fun, evading a spotty survivor's guilt,
making good use of training and conditioning
under diverse climates. But it still chafes
against a comb, which is understandable.
I don't relish being grabbed by my throat
although I have been, but very safely,
in the good humor of a modest Tropicana-
ConnectHook Sep 2015
♪♫♫♪♪♫♪♪♫♫♪

Revelation:** three, seven – the Kingdom of Heaven

The key to unlocking both glory and shame.

Philadelphia knows He’s arriving in newness

inscribing on foreheads His city and name.

(Though it could be on tee shirts or baseball caps, true –

unless someone takes time to decipher the text…

is it Greek? Aramaic? Amharic? What next?)

Don’t be mad – it’s not me but old John who’s to blame.

Of names and on numbers of Savior and Beast

I have long been a-pondering, trembling, wondering

mushroom-cloud raptures in mind’s eye a-thundering.

How will we get to that marriage-day feast?

Will my garment be ready or filthy with fall-out?

(The song says His blood will make clean if we call out

in faith for forgiveness, in humble repentance

believing that grace will abolish the sentence.)

You may wish my rhyme to be likewise abolished.

Bear with me. Forgive me, I grant it’s not polished.

I speak what I feel and I write when I’m able;

which brings us to heavenly thoughts gastronomic:

what dishes we’ll meet as we dine at that table-

strict Jewish? Angelic? Or pre-Abrahamic?

Shall they serve us from silver or common ceramic?

Being clay to the potter, an unfinished vessel

I leave all these questions for others to wrestle.

Yet there’s still one more realm I explore in conjecture:

the sounds at that gathering.  Classical?   Rock?

Unending revivalist Christian refrains?

Shall we headbang in heaven with glorified brains?

Psychedelic/Psychotic…? or  Handel and Bach?

(Lighten up. It’s the end of my bible-school lecture.

You’ve seen a few rooms of my castle-in-air,

and we ALL know it’s reggae they’re playing up there…)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSRPfT9UP78

R.I.P. Mikey Dread aka Michael Campbell DREAD
ConnectHook Nov 2015
REVELATION: three, seven – the Kingdom of Heaven

The key to unlocking both glory and shame.

Philadelphia knows He’s arriving in newness

inscribing on foreheads His city and name.

(Though it could be on tee shirts or baseball caps, true –

unless someone takes time to decipher the text…

is it Greek? Aramaic? Amharic? What next?)

Don’t be mad – it’s not me but old John who’s to blame.

Of names and on numbers of Savior and Beast

I have lately been pondering, trembling, wondering

mushroom-cloud raptures in mind’s eye a-thundering.

How will we get to that marriage-day feast?

Will my garment be ready or filthy with fall-out?

(The song says His blood will make clean if we call out

in faith for forgiveness, in humble repentance

believing that grace will abolish the sentence.)

You may wish my rhyme to be likewise abolished.

Bear with me. Forgive me, I grant it’s not polished.

I speak what I feel and I write when I’m able;

which brings us to heavenly thoughts gastronomic:

what dishes we’ll meet as we dine at that table-

strict Jewish? Angelic? Or pre-Abrahamic?

Shall they serve us from silver or common ceramic?

Being clay to the potter, an unfinished vessel

I leave all these questions for others to wrestle.

Yet there’s still one more realm I explore in conjecture:

the sounds at that gathering.  Classical?   Rock?

Unending revivalist Christian refrains?

Shall we headbang in heaven with glorified brains?

Psychedelic/Psychotic…? or  Handel and Bach?

(Lighten up. It’s the end of my bible-school lecture.

You’ve seen a few rooms of my castle-in-air,

and we ALL know it’s reggae they’re playing up there…)
more notes:♪♫♫♪
Maria Etre Jan 2016
I breathe
I see
I feel
I yawn
I am alive

I shake
I stress
I moan
I grunt
I am here

I believe
I cry
I touch
I react
I am fine

I caress
I claw
I spank
I bite
I shake
I am ecstatic

I rest
I dance
I walk
I strut
I even run
I am healthy

I drink
I smoke
I talk
I hug
I like
I love
I am still here

I speed
I lash out
I headbang
I folk dance
I hold your hand

I fall
I stand
I tip toe
I walk in circles
I slide

I glance
I enjoy
I fight
I sit back
I sacrifice
I befriend
I help
I think

I write
I sing
I narrate
I block
I break
I create

I am blessed
Bailey B Apr 2010
Driving down the freeway with my Gaga glasses on,
radio cranked all the way.Too tired to headbang,
so I compensate by belting (entirely too loudly) the lyrics to Nickelback
at a stoplight. It's curious how, though we are maybe four feet apart,
I can hear me, and the blonde 20-something beside me can't.
Through the rolled-up windows, maybe she just thinks I'm talking to myself
because I'm lonely. I crack the window just a bit
and scream until the light turns green.
My heart is headed in all of the wrong directions,
Delving in multiple women to satisfy my craving of affection
Looking into my reflection, I can see that the tension
Is still there.
How, why, what is the deal?
I have all of the partners
that wanna be lovers
But none of them are making me feel.
None of it's real.
Speaking irrelevance over our meals,
They speak about nothing,
Just constantly blubbering
a grinding and sputtering wheel.

I need more than empty shell.
I need one to whom secrets I can tell
Who will admire stars and throw coins in wishing wells.
Someone who will flee this place with me on a whim
In hopes that all will be well.

She'll have an aquatic soul,
Headbang to rock and roll
She'll lay back and count the holes
In the night sky, through which pure light pours.

She'll find her way to me,
Cause I believe
We're drawn together, magnetically
Blessed to surely meet.
I'll probably delete this later. It went from poetry to rap then back again. **** it.
donia kashkooli Jun 2018
04/25/2015

i skip classes until 12 PM to lay in my bed, watch gossip girl, and eat chocolate chip cookies. i like to go to punk rock shows in basements and headbang until my neck starts to ache. i like taking occasional breaks from contemplating my life to dip out to my neighbor's backyard to smoke cigs and talk politics. i really wish that people gave a **** about the seattle mariners. i wanna be a play-by-play radio announcer for the seattle mariners. my counselor tells me that i'm unbelievably driven for someone who's failing 3 out of 4 classes. black is my favorite color.

i like conspiracy theories and pretending that i'm in an alternate universe where the most remote islands on earth are easily accessible for whenever i wanna get the **** out of this place. i wish i was a visual artist because words emotionally drain me. i'm not what anybody wants. i wear hawaiian shirts that are 4 sizes too big for me with cutoff levi's and red lipstick. i still want to drop out of high school. i have a crush on someone new every week. i cry a lot but i'm the happiest ******* the west coast. i need to get my **** together.
16 y/o me. feels like a lifetime ago.
Rey Crux Feb 2016
I Am
Yes, I am still ******
I am always drunk,
I smoke weeds,
I go to metal slam,
I headbang,
I have a circle of boy friends
But then I haven't been experience ***** thing such as ***
Laurel Selby Dec 2024
Spotify
Discman
Walkman and Boombox
Four things in common
Is the music they play
Songs that you love
Loop over and over again
Songs to uplift, songs to mend hearts
Songs you can headbang to or move all body parts.
Music you play all to yourself,
No need to be embarrassed when it's only oneself.
To dream, sing and dance no rules to abide
Feeling that beat down deep inside
Ohh how the world so easily disappears
As soon as I place these phones in my ears...

6/7/24
Music is Life, without it I would be a long time....
I don’t give a **** about protesting
It just causes problems with the world
I know they are trying to make the world better
But who gives a crap about that
Politics are supposed to be there for us
Even if it ain’t really so
I prefer a good party than protesting
Save peoples jobs
I do the hokey pokey
But I still want to work
But nobody listens to you if you protest
Get us out of isolation
I headbang to bon jovi
Even if I care for that they are out of work
I just don’t want to protest about anything
Because they do more harm than good
To save the immigrants
I will have a beer with Duncan
I care but I think it is dumb to protest
I drop some money in the jar to help
In every charity that they protest about
The protesters only get arrested for
What they do
So what is the point
They are in jail
And I am partying on YouTube
I care but I don’t want to suffer
And that is the way of this world

— The End —