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SajkoWolfe's I cant sleep lets write bad poetry thread


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They dont have names, they are called by order of my writing them:

1:
In a ghastly shade,
Where residue of emotions lies,
A sharp emptiness, with the bite of a blade,
A sharp silence, within which every human cries,
Silent cries, penetrate with the sound of strife,
A 4th dimention created for those,
Who cannot stabilise,
Their desire for life.

2:
Soaring seas, breaking apart,
A vision distorted, beyond our comprehension,
Surreal thoughts created by my mind,
A literary distortion,
What Ive read, what Ive seen, what Ive experienced,
Mingle and entangle,
To create the chaos of my reality,
I do not remember anymore, what is real,
What is a memory,
And what I imagined, what I wished.
I live a half life,
Or maybe,
A double life with half the meaning.

3:
A noble obligation, to live, create, perform,
To out do the last generation, to up their ideals and their form,
I suffocate in my own aristocracy, in my own pretentions,
Set my goals too high, but fail to chase those aspirations,
A shade of my former self,
A self I barely remember,
A self fragile and beautiful, a porcelain doll,
Set on the shop self,
To be bought, to be sold,
A toy.

4:
A grotesque outline of a world I abandoned,
A burnt cinder, the love I found abandoned,
A realm of imagination, again Im abandoned,
A solitary tear, that is all that I can handle,
For truly, cast away,
Humanity is what I abandoned.

5:
All my previous ladies have few photos with me,
Although in their mind they propably have many photos of me,
Their mental photos full of hate of me,
Remember a girl who always thought of "me",
They forget the moments that I abandoned my beliefs, my stigma for them, the times I lost my "me",
And I dont know about you but thats sad for me.
They hate me,
Detest me,
Even though they were everything to me.
Is this how I feel when everything fails me?

6:
A colourful light,
Sparks that play roles of shadows,
Casting through an open window,
A colourful light,
Early, pinkish dawn,
Sharply reflecting off of the skin,
Of Gods incarnation laying amongst bed sheets.
The light seems almost fractal, almost perfect,
In the imperfection on her skin,
I see Gods work.
The light freckles that adorn her cheeks,
Cheeks of pure white, bright as lilies,
The same lilies that will decorate her funeral casket,
As the light seeks deeper, as if looking for her beauty,
Reflecting off her bare chest,
Stomach,
Thighs,
Neck,
Synergy of a form complete,
They brand me a heretic, because looking at this cannon,
I cannot help but conclude,
That if God indeed exists.
God must have the shape of a female.

7:
Quam amoena,
The way the sound falls on my lips,
Like rosepetals that flood my world,
Each a delicacy that lasts a lifetime,
A single moment, compromised of an eternity of lifetimes,
Each different, yet the same,
Quam amoena,
The petals like silk,
Touch my lips, allow me to kiss,
In my dying moments,
As I lay in an ocean of blood,
Quam amoena that today, I finally get to die.

8:
Imagine a desert,
An eternal world of emptiness.
The material is immaterial,
Snow, sand, concrete, space,
All that is consequential is the emptiness.
Now imagine a solitary figure amongst the dunes,
Wrapped in cloth, holding a sword.
A plain sword, damascus steel from an age long gone.
Crismon is the primary colour of her clothing,
A strange contrast to the gray surroundings.
As you try to grasp her appearance, you find it impossible,
As her figure flows, ever so softly, like a mountain stream.
The moment you see an image, it is long gone into nothingness.
And you realise she has no form,
An outcast, forgotten.
As you leave the scene, filled with sadness,
Take one look back at her emptiness, at her darkness,
Open your eyes, breathe deeply, feel alive
And know you survived,
Seeing the inside of my mind.

9:
Burn you distance,
Burn your self righteousness
The apocalypse has come, the world has ended,
God has abandoned us,
God has stuck a middle finger at his creation,
Picked up a bottle of vodka, poured it into his liver,
And went to make a new better world.
Sad, or maybe its not,
Because how can truth be sad if truth is the only reality and reality is simply beautiful?
Fuck your truism,
Fuck what I think,
Fuck me, fuck you, fuck everyone,
Banal,
Maybe I should make the metaphor of pandoras box,
Just to fit with this cliche?

10:
I cant sleep,
I cant really be awake either,
My world revolves around ezoterisms,
The ezoterism of my own being,
My world revolves around these
People I use
These procents I consume
This music I abuse
This poetry I destroy myself with
When I used to still care about my life
I used to cut, bleed crimson on the bright white floor tiles
Now that Ive given up I cut my mentality with this poetry
Mental self harm

11:
There are moments when words just dont flow,
Emotionless nights when apathy and darkness consumes it all,
There are moments when the words overflow,
A hateful river, flooding the plains of your world,
Between nihilism and destruction,
My plain resides,
A 4th dimention,
Full of self lies.

12:
Will anyone cry, when I am layed to rest,
A thought every person has, an easy thought,
An easy thought to make me cry however,
When I realise that while anyone will cry,
Everyone will cry,
They will all cry for the wrong me,
When my parents weep for their daughter,
My previous lovers weep from happiness that their object of hate is gone,
My friends will weep for their sister,
And I will weep for the potential that never became
Never became anything at all

13:
Drops slowly dropping of the celing,
My eyes follow them, lazy, my retinas peeling
Away the fractal nature of this moment, this feeling,
An emotion that is always too far, but somehow to close to my own begining,
A trace of love, a trace of erotism,
A trace of my long lost heart
A trace of my oversized egoism
The path of the drop, as if tracing the path of hate that I have so often traveled,
Slowly progressing, gravity pulling it towards its epitath,
A sad end, but fitting,
For the last drop of blood that sustained my living.


Any feedback, negative or positive is welcome! <3

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6 minutes ago, Chronopolis said:

I read the poems lightly and didn't really think about them much, but that didn't stop me from enjoying the impressions, and feeling of the words. That's some impressive creative powers you got there.

Thank you very much sweetness! <3

It seems Im good at writing poetry for people who dont like poetry... Huh. :D

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