[x]

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming warmth of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment before I heard you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the first second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.

WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.

Redeeming Light
Read bottom to top:
.
there
journey
e
h
t
and the stem is
than the flower must be redemption
n
i
s
are
If the roots

a true writer's souli write to release
i write to breathe
i write to feel
i write to bleed

i don't care
if you don't understand
i don't care
if you can't relate
i don't care
for your opinion
i don't care
about you at all

my words are thoughts
my words are emotions
my words are curses
my words are memories
my words are everything
i want them to be
and fuck if you can comprehend

i could write in measure
i could bother with rhythm
but i'm better than your rules
i'm beyond the margin

i'm a fucking psychotic mess
of ambiguous lunacy
that only the ones that think
can understand
the ones that
are just like me

fuck your critiques

fuck your citicism

fuck your opin

Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.

Shared HappinessI like it better when you're happy.
The world feels like a safe place -
A good place to be.

Stay happy, even in the face
of great adversity
I know these last few years have been...

Well, difficult, to say the least.
But as long as your heart shines
I can hear it...

That devilish smile on your lips
the one no amount of miles
or hardships can erase

Remember, I'm always watching
With the eyes of my heart
I see you clearly

And, as long as you are happy
No matter where this life leads me
Then I am happy too.

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.

ConstructDelving into the origins
Of what makes an individual
Who are you? Who am I?
There’s a lack of understanding,
Yet we jump to judge
And claim to know
That which we could never understand

Attempts are seldom made
To investigate the unknown
To strive to discover
Those we claim to know
From the inside out
Extract the innermost thoughts

In place there is an idealist mirage
To which our beliefs shall cling to
In desperation, or disbelief

It’s the construct of our mindset
That leads us all astray

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will you take creditwhere can
i go to
exchange bodies

the one i was given
is broken down, listless
bits of it hanging &
wisped in the wind

the elbows corroded,
the joints going bad.
the metalwork frame and
skin overworked in useless oil

it's shit that you don't take
no refunds; this product
was flawed from the start---

sunken eyes, won't turn on,
won't charge at night, broken heart---

do you have anything maybe in a
stick-thin redhead who
knows who she is and
whose clockwork is ticking, whose
motor's not dead

a theatrical destinythere is a spreading mottled bruise on my hipbone
from where i banged it.
impaled on the corner of the table where i work
for hours a day, sawing foam

there are three deep gashes spreading the span of
my back
the nail-marks of a lover, or
perhaps gashes from actual nails
protruding from splintered, frozen boards

drag-marks from screws askew
on the wood of the floor
stretch and wrap around my wretched wrists

my hands are rough and flaking,
unused to being held. and puncture wounds
from splinters and thumbtacks line
the thumbs.

he tells me come back,
little girl. you know you love me,
i promise not to hurt you
(but why then did i have to

nighthawksThe late-night girl at the mess hall was herself a mess. She was wearing all black and it might have had a certain art-student glamour had her pants been skinny and her eyeliner not been greyish and smudged. Her grey coat was old-and-new, clearly a thrift-store purchase that she'd been proud of paired with a dress and tights, but on top of the black ensembled looked tired and out-of-place, haphazardly thrown on because it was wool and warm. But wool was not what she should have picked. The girl had an air of good intentions but having horrid luck, and that's what happened today. It had rained heavily in the morning, and that rain turned to sl

knockoffi'm that doll in the bottom of the tub
that no-one wants to play with, no-one wants to love.
but if your little sister sees me, cheeks all fresh and hair all plaited,
my plastic heart will melt a bit and i'll forget how long i waited.

the narcoleptic and the insomniac(it
feels
like
i
don't
ever
see
you
anymore)
.

the insomniac can't sleep for fear of missing him. she can't close her eyes without seeing his face, feeling the razorish butterflies sear her stomach and throat. they met one night when their worlds briefly brushed arms; she was early for a train and he was late.

the narcoleptic is a handsome asshole. too tired of the world to even prop open his eyes, instead he lets them close and frets the long ropes of eyelash against his sharpened bones. the narcoleptic has always had beautiful skin. long lazy cat-naps in the shade on strange and sleepy days in the summer will be the cause of that. howeve

skipping lives and licking knivesthere is a small corner of the bottom of the theatre-building that always smells like catfood and coffee-stains. it's a greyish room, maybe it was white or yellow once but now it's been beaten down by age and talent and misuse. a small couch sits in the corner, though no one sits on it really; though i think perhaps there is an office further back. a microwave with frozen drips of food wax-melted down its plastic sides sits on a shelf that still has vague imprints of cheap canned goods. once, maybe this room was loved and used. but for now, it's a lonely wreckage tucked away into a drawer that no-one wants to see. like myself. like what i am

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recrudescence

by ~hipsterfaust, Jul 2, 2012, 8:44:55 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

melancholy mediocre
middleaged and playing poker
with wornout chips and chocolate kisses
meaning nothing idle misses

sighing backward dreaming forward
picketfencing mumbling poor words
graying flaying soul is fraying
thinking saying still decaying

married to your work believing
9 to 5 no laughs no grieving
flickering husband he's decieving
leaving you for miss relieving

wake each day to fight the night time
scrape a pan soak up the bright time
any little spark from when you
wedding white bells little venue

up.and.out.and.over.a.gain
just.your.children.kept.to.remain.
memories.you've.wound.the.clock
gear
up
gears
whistling
near
ticking
to
a
stop

recrudescenceby ~hipsterfaust

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

recrudescence - ( )
The reappearance of a disease or illness after being cured

~introvertebrate Sep 28, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

holy shit, your rhyming is amazing.

~hipsterfaust Sep 28, 2012 Student

thanks! (: rhyming IS the shit

~introvertebrate Oct 2, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

yours is just brilliant <3

~hipsterfaust Oct 2, 2012 Student

awwww, shucks! thanks! (:

~introvertebrate Oct 4, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

anytime (:

!proudeyesneverlie Jul 3, 2012

married to your work believing
9 to 5 no laughs no grieving
flickering husband he's decieving
leaving you for miss relieving

love love love it. this reads like listening to music.

~hipsterfaust Jul 4, 2012 Student

(: thank you!

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recrudescence

recrudescenceby ~hipsterfaust

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