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Silence is a weird thing
Too much can make a man crazy
Too little could do the same

Yet here I sit in silence
Dreading the past
And forgetting the present

But what about the future you ask?
Why worry of what’s next
Why plan a next step

To live is to die
I accept the moment for what is
Which is grateful for what was

I have no code to myself
Just a rule or two
Mostly rewritten

So go ahead and cry today
Save your energy for what may
And try to save your pity
Throw your stones at me
Those of you who've never sinned
My past a bit hazy
I don't know where I begin
You think I could get lucky?
And one day catch an elusive win
Something worth sharing with a loved one or a friend
Forget the knowledge that hindsight's 20/20
Didn't know I'd have no one in the end,
Not even one that's pretend
Hopefully I can find a sticky type of happy
But until then
I'm just a puppy
Chasing leafs in the wind

©2024
Arlo Disarray Apr 22
i am only
just pretend
like an
imaginary friend
there is a me
somewhere
that exists
but i don’t think
anyone has
ever been
introduced to her

i play games
with myself,
with strangers,
friends,
lovers,
with family,
coworkers,
and others

i don’t take
anything seriously
and it eats away
at my stability
it tramples me
with insecurity
and keeps stimulating
my curiosity

i’m like a cat
waiting for something
bigger
and better
to **** me
but looking at my watch
time never stops
and none of these
******* got
bigger *****
they can’t get this crazy
**** down
long enough
to set their clocks
they just keep
******* and wishin
they could touch the scars
i have gotten
from all the times
i’ve reached up
for the stars

yeah, i’m really ****** sick
and i don’t know what to do with it
i could let it break me
or let it take me
where i really
want to go
up high
down low
back and forth
to and fro
i’m gonna puke
i think i’m dead
where’d i go?
which way is home?
where’s my mind?
what’d i do?
oh ****
oh no
the clouds float with a sense of melancholy this day,
leaving a lingering sensation of unease echoing below
the well of my insomnia...

the eclipse has cast a dulling shade upon my adulthood.
Where I once felt the ember of passion,
there now lays bare a garden of wilting lavender...
blood poetry
if I told you I died 5 times today,
would you believe me?

now,
in the horizon there,
my passion hangs on
a weak branch
stained of copper.

oh,
so timeless is the upset of ruin...
feeding the crows who leave
their feathers upon me,
making me black...
blood poetry
spring has taken
the shape of a wounded coyote...

forcing a layered film
of something very dangerous
to hide in the bulb of each joss flower…

a brutal coercion made pure
by the ghost of the ending winter...

each day has forced warmth
upon me as if it were a ritual,

the annual harvest of my sanity.
blood poetry
Arlo Disarray Mar 23
maybe
my wings
are a bit
too long
and i’ve
flown
too close
to the sun

perhaps
it is i
who is
lost
in
the sky
getting
carried away
having fun

my smile
has shown
more
than it has
in a while
and i’m
looking forward
to future
grins
too

my head’s
in a spin
as
my heart’s
caving in
and i’m
just not
quite sure
what to do

i know
what
i want
and i
i know
what
i don’t
but i’m
not sure
how to
navigate
between

i’ve been lost
for so long
that i
don’t know
what’s wrong
and i’m
stuck
feeling
like
the
grass
is
never green

the moon
hangs
on
a
wire
as
it
dangles
to
inspire
and i’m
caught
beneath
recycled rays
of sun

the lights
will guide
the way
the
stars
will
find a day
for us to
be
everything
we’d
hoped
we
could
become
el Mar 20
Maybe being insane
Is the curse
That was gifted
To every writer
Renae Mar 7
Crazy? What's crazy?
Maybe I'm a bit stubborn
from feeling so used
I might go out by myself
and never ask another
I suppose that might sound
crazy, I mean,
I speak my mind,
I expose the truth...
I guess that might
sound a little bit crazy
Especially when
the masses can't even see
The crystal clear vision
of a rearview mirror
staring at them
through the windshield.
Which way are we going?
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2023
Crazy Guy Sends His Poems to a Dead Guy

~for Joel Frye,and yes it’s true~


ah another trivial pursuit of trivial nuggets
bout yours untruly, that is a truly truly,
poets that
I’ve known here, but who have moved on,
it’s my obligation to keep them posted on the
au courant,

so slip them a poem or two,
when you ain’t looking to

make one wonder even more,
what makes a man a nutty Natty.?

well if you don’t know the answer to that after
two t h o u s a n d plus poems, you are not getting me

but Joel Frye,
mutual enjoyed our scribblings,
yeah, he got me,
so via social media,
keep him posted of my latest écrits,
fancy french for scribbles,

of course he gets them
before me,
in so far I assume
my thots are known to rise
or more likely drop,
even before
they traverse that narrow passage between my ears…
but really, just in case,
in the peace and quiet
of the hubbub above, with all them comings and goings,
he, God forbid, (ha!), he may overlook my inane insanities,
and the weirdness
of my compositions,
real, ethereal and in between~al,

that’s a great whew~relief knowing,
at least
some one!
is reading my stuff…

natty
Joel Frye,
Poet on HP

Deceased 2023
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