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Inked

She looks at the inkstains on my arms
and asks
What do they mean?

I wish I could say something with depth
or at least something to make her smile
but I can’t.

The permanent stains on my arms are just old memories.
Memories of hundreds of pricks,
a burst of colour,
and then darkness.

They’re here because of you

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Power Surge

The light from the sun peering staleness through my open blinds

is more fluorescent than the fluorescent bulb I instinctively flick on.

-Then off.-

Favouring the unnatural light from nature

over the warm pretentious nature of a gentle and warm promise.

-Not the promise of a bulbous bulb mind you-

rather, a slim coil of bulbous fibs promising warmth it cannot grant

but casting light that impersonates the sun to fool me

(or fool itself?)

Mind; the sun glows cold 

before the moon is no longer sunken

-how I loathe the loss of the moon!-

The sun lights the moon and the moon humbles itself amongst the stars.

Not pretentious due to some vastly attained fandom

-as the “stars” on earth make out to be-

but dead and dying beings that still whisper through the cosmos

as powerful as thoughts

(unwilling to be silenced…)

Adrenaline from the noise pollution

drives me to return to my studies

-rather, studying-

as even I can only be a periodic genius,

better than most

(not enough for me.)

The falsified sin of a sun sets soon, but in the point between the sun and stars

I know my sardonic fluorescent bulb smiles

-its twisted grimace-

Prepared to coldly offer warmth in exchange for power,

electing upon the consumption of power to ignore the hollow promise of warmth

-recommending I seek heat from the heater positioned below it-

Why honour a contract when voiding the contract

means that it keeps the power to itself

-I should impeach its wicked reign-

though, the slinking bulb knows

that to rise against its glow will only damn us both

(leaving us alone in the starless darkness)

I watch the suns decent with emptiness

What are we without others to manipulate?

(Or to manipulate ourselves?)

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Take Yours Too

I sit beneath an empty sky
Prepare yourself
Tonight you die

I meditate on what you’ve done
Load the bullets
Cock the gun

You always push the blame on me
Spin the chamber
Count to three

Now I place the blame on you
You took my life
I’ll take yours too

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Sickness

I feel robotic in a way
in sickness how I spend my day

not alive but far from dead
empty thoughts, an empty head

never hungry, never full
all of this is total bull

I can’t go out, I don’t want in
I cannot lose, I cannot win

nothing here and you are there
a robotic state is far from fair

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Inspired

Inspiration is key in all that you do
if you toss around frisbees or play the kazoo
to sing or to chant
share your speech or your rant
As long as you’re doing what you love to do

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17 Signs

Seven is the number
of sins that sour blood

Ten Commandments have been issued
Obey or God will flood

The text is strewn together
A list of what is wrong

But in the end, nothing is right
I’ve known it all along

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Cruel King Claudius

You act so cruel that
King Claudius would see you
as a heartless beast

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Feels Good, Don’t It?

Let me explain something
G B B B A G D
That thing inside of you
D C B B B A G D
That ticklish feeling you get
D C B
I know what it is
C D
It’s what makes you smile
C B A
and sometimes cry
F# D
It’s called love

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Light Up the World

I look up and see the moon
It’s right where it should be
The lyre starts to play its tune
across the floating sea

Cassiopeia I spot
Lying on her chair
Andromeda shall not be caught
Riding Pegasus through the air

And as Orion starts his hunt
-Pardon me, but if I may
My effort’s made to not be blunt
but there’s something I must say

Not a single shining star out there
is even close to you
for your beauty can’t compare
Forever I’ll love you.

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Good Morning

tweet
The bird wakes with the sun
fwoosh
The tide meets with the sand
rustle
The wind meets with the leaves
drip
The finale of last nights rain has fallen
yawn
Good morning world