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by Pearce Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Psychology · #1089620
A bit of madness
Quiet
Making my back to be straight,
Alone
Suicidal thoughts, blood in rists.
A feast of friends
Sad Faces
And then forgotten.
NO.
Stop this now.
Remember thy truth,
But now it is gone.
Ruled by the faces of others
Fool that I am.
Forgotten now is the beauty
That only a short while ago here did sit.
NO. Thy right side feels weak,
Seperated.
How to bring pieces so lost as these
Together once more?
STOP
Houses of coffins
Under the everwatchful eyes of the living.
AA meetings.
Who am I?
No fluidity in thought now.
Foolish Poem.
A new face, memories
Reborn pain and terrible vibrations.
Is it me?
Fear.
Where is my Poem?
Lyrical dancing, voices, words strewn.
No where.
Walking amongst stars as always.
6486 days, 21 hours and 22 minutes.
How many breaths? Where is 6000?
Why has it brought me here?
Fool, Fucking Fool
No drink why?
Why words want drink?
Drink down death
In life.
Why Jesus did bring death
of a fault not his own.
Kingdom bloody rist.
Blood and cell and bone and breath
Do decay.
Worms make soil, spinning always round.
No center yes.
Why words why?
No good now in all that I do, death
And craziness is really just crassi zen
Brought by Eugen of my blood.
Mental hospitals scare me.
Ego arises, fear,
Why this fuck ego shit?
My heroes are dead,
We die at birth,
Who knows thoughts?
Left hand writing now;
the alphabet five times over.
I read books in high hopes that one day shall they all be burned.
Words are life and curse and salvation.
Is death real?
Doomed are we to repeat the folly of the past
Only until we take said folly off our backs.
What is birth?
Solar love, the rising love, making water to Vapor.
In 1000 years will man jump 1000 feet.
Glorious cellular connection,
And Hesse and Nietzche shall be remembered as Prophets and truth bearers.
Up is down and down is up.
Just words rising from where?
From the Past.
I feel better now.
© Copyright 2006 Pearce (smaypa at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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