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seeslivepeople
Butterfly
Butterfly

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Joined: 29 Nov 2014
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Posts: 13

10 Jan 2015, 2:30 pm

I am not a poet a writer etc. I am not even well educated for my age. Very badly in fact so my fullest apologies if anyone reads this and just goes..."Ok thanks for wasting my time." I'm not in the habit of pulling out a gun and blowing my had off or beating up my wife or pulling the legs of spiders or other such "things" when I cannot cope any longer. Sometimes I think people just need to express themselves to others though even if the feelings are not reciprocated the act itself seems to be worth something to us. It certainly is to me. I tried to put some gaps into it as I understand some people have problems with needing gaps. Sorry if it wasn't enough.


To feel the things people feel is to feel the pain that follows us everywhere we see. We blindly need to feel the things we have hidden among the blind.

Whose faults are these frowns? The fright of the mind, the finding signs, the binding of the grind, and loitering in the mud.

The fear comes from all around; it trumps the mines they saw. The petty blinds they pulled to scare away the mines. Such petty things, such petty thorns these blinds. Thorns poking to and fro at a crown of atomic bombs. Bombs drawing our mutual state. Who can even see these ditches; who can even feel the ruts dug into the hurting ground in the attempts to escape the ditches?

Muscles move objects and the roaches retain their space. Muscles move boundaries, they move guns and tanks and bombs and the villages remain and peoples shattered families spread across the ground like litter, stay in their whims of flight of failed desires of failed aspires. Who can see, who can say?

False promises of love, life, blight of rank, money, of bright of sight of day and of night. False trifles meant to grow a brow or a chin to impress a sinner in her sin. This to depress a living man in his dimness. But who can see who can say, who can see? Truth to be told to be heard to be seared from the minds; don’t panic don’t manic it’s not true, no not true. I can see you're not speaking to me, no not me. Truth is told; No please truth is molded. We cannot take such a fringe. Souls crushed in the mortal fullest of the senses of the dullest nuances of the surest pensees. What is this? What is with this fitness? If I see it as truth am I to be witness?

Nay screw you screw yours screw the truth witnessed screw the mute litany. I saw I see. I cannot be what you will not believe because you will not bereave what you cannot conceive, if we cannot convene. Sadness for us both. Sadness inconceivable flies about our containment without the amenable senses of attainable consensus. Such a draught to our souls. So high a counted life, so fraught with blight so laudable its lights so maudlin its nights. I cry for you I cry for him and I cry for her. I am dry for me, though I cry for free, I wish it were dry here with me. So many tears I cannot see.