Plumbers for Pipe Dreams.Are there plumbersPlumbers for Pipe Dreams. by BleedingProphecies
who can silence
the pipe dreams
keeping me up at night?
The incessant sounding
of copper cries
Shaking my molars
a thousand times
I, the MasochistIt left a taste in my mouth, like swallowingI, the Masochist by SomethingOnceSacred
A handful of salt water. I had
Loved you in my sleep, waking up to wonder
If the devil had at last taken me. I gave my soul away
To spiders made of ink.
The ground looks so much softer
From six thousand feet above; I knew this fall
Before sweet dreaming, midnight wishes, all
Glasgow smiles and gnashing teeth. And you would pick
The skin from my lips for those
Copper kisses and say that it
Was only for a little while.
VoicesThey chatter on inside my head,Voices by Breatheforlife
little whispers through the night
when the sky is tinted black and blue
and when the sun is burning bright.
Screaming for hours and hours on end
while my ears are bleeding red.
But no amount of begging silences their calls,
they're there when I wake and when I go to bed.
I told mamma once about
the voices that follow me so.
But she laughed and told me to leave her alone
"Run along, silly child, now go."
So I tried to ignore those voices,
I tried to push them away.
But they stood rooted like a tree in the sand
and they've haunted me every day.
I tried to run away from them,
to leave their blood-curtailing screams behind.
But they will not choke in my dust,
we are branches roughly entwined.
So I stopped ignoring those voices
and I sat back and enjoyed their glee.
But that joy quickly turned into the sickening urge
to feast upon others screams.
"Let us taste the power" they cried
"that comes in baths of red!
Let us take what we desire,
let your world drown
Mind's For SaleYou have ideas all your ownMind's For Sale by OptimalDecay
SO YOU BELIEVE
So steeped in your own mythic stance
the trees shield you from seeing the leaves on their limbs
The sun is out
The newspaper is on the lawn
The grass is green
War is peace
Dying is for another day, another person, in another place
You'll soldier on, because YOU are apart from it all
Nothing to see here
Keep the dream alive
A quiet cancer is invading your dreams
Your subconscious mind is ablaze
A wildfire in the cerebral reality you hide from in daytime
Your mind is on a shelf
In a Wal-Mart
Your mind is in a bag
Your mind is in my Big Mac
Your mind's for sale
I eat brains
Your mind's a commodity
I consume passions
What am I?
I am your elected devourer
What am I?
I am your inner voice, too long quieted
What am I?
I am your truth, gorging on your wasted years
If You Could Ask God One Question...He died. He died in a clean white bed in a clean white room. There were no tears, no last gasps for breath, no alarms, no dying confessions; he simply stopped breathing sometime in the middle of the night. In the morning a nurse in a clean white uniform checked for a pulse, made a note on a chart at the foot of his bed, then made a phone call to some men in black and gray uniforms. The men came and carefully packed the body away in a gray vinyl bag. A few days later his body was sealed in a vault at the Sunny Vale Mausoleum. There was no ceremony, there were no mourners, there was only a cold body in a stone vault. It could have been sad and lonely.If You Could Ask God One Question... by kilkegard
But it wasn't. It was simply quiet and uneventful. He had out lived all of his friends and family so there just wasn't anyone left to mourn. It was like he was the last person to walk across the tarmac to a waiting airliner, there was no fanfare, no waves goodbye, he was simp
BreakingI sit alone at a table in the far corner of the crowded room, easily ignored by the people around me. I can still picture my wife, sitting in the chair across from me, complimenting the soup that I sip on now, which had always seemed a little bland to me. Ever since her passing, I have been left alone, spending my days sitting in her favorite spot and thinking of the times that came before.Breaking by Breatheforlife
I hear him first, rather than see him. His shoes stomped loudly into the old folk’s home and, even though there was only one pair of feet, his footsteps sounded like a bull participating in a wild stampede. People turned to glare at him as he walked past. I did not look up.
“What has upset you, my boy?” I ask in my hoarse, aging voice, keeping my eyes glued to the lukewarm soup.
“Mother and Father won’t let me join the school’s soccer team. They offered me the goalie position.” My grandson, Matthew, whines. “They say it will take away from my studies.
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