Poetry Slam

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by Blanc

on 10/7/2020

Posts: 9511

Sadness in every color

red for the blood on my lips

white for the cum stains on my bed sheets

blue for the tears i shed

orange for the prescriptions

purple for sunsets on long drives

black for the apathy and loneliness

green for the confusion that makes me sick

to my stomach, pink for the medicine

i control my urges with

white the color of pages i turn

trying to find the answers

when i don’t even know the right questions,

yellow lights to guide the way,

were just a deception

i don’t trust emotion,

flashing color, red, white, orange

only ash the color of depression and static

and black, the absence of light

are friend

who do you believe in.

In a house of mirrors, which reflection is the real one.

A puzzle that destroys you while you try to solve it

the weak fragility of the mind, is only as weak as you perceive it

growing up is relying on the advice of your intuition

even though she was taught to whisper, and keep quiet

Sight deluded by pride, envy, Ones predispositions makes reality its puppets

playing out as it may, playing out as it may, the ending was in your head, already decided

I stopped having hope, and therefor, i am hopeless.

I live my life drifting through the shades of sadness, breezing through the pages of color and noise one after the other, until it all becomes a blur

of motion and sound.

I am stuck to the walls from the concentric motion, spinning around, magnetic

and you can feel your own powerlessness in your pulse, as it weakens

when it all stops, how Will you stand without the weight.

That kept you anchored the floor.

Anti-gravity, leaves you feeling, like a balloon

And without pressure, you are not much of anything anymore

but a weightless bird

only she can cleanse me, blue like water

clear like acrylic

and make me new again

and back from the depths so black,

to see with 2020 vision

you are grey like depression,

and you are torture

toxic waste, a sickly green,

Coated, with the incandescent smell

of copper, nickel,

ink, of pens

that sign fat checks, tucked into men’s tailored suit pockets

and the stench of blood,

As your imperfections like broken glass, break the skin

by Blanc

on 10/7/2020

Posts: 9511

In today’s society you sew wounds together with diamonds

and if there weren’t a cure like whiskey sedation,

then you invent your own wellness

in the self soothing gesture, of draining ones consciousness

into a machine. And replacing it with poison.

And the strong ones, who have no propensity for weakness

a set out in the afghani sun to dry up in the heat like raisins

devoured by the snakes of the desert lands

and the ever blazing fire, of innovation carries on

to the tune of war cries, and explosions

because we can’t stand to live without our imaginary friends

that massage the grey matter in our brains

and make it grow thicker

It could be a skull of porridge, nevertheless, none the wiser

my brain is no less no more useful

than the spoons she used to beat me with

and these are the same spoons that you used fill your belly

Young and innocent, and To fill your emptiness

as age avenges, trauma unfolds

like dirty laundry, right in the nose.

as if ones aim couldn’t of been more perfect, i was like target practice and for once i wish he’d just miss

and even after they tell me, it’s my faults, that awarded me these outcomes.

They made a mistake, to mess with the person, who, all that’s left of them, is grit, and courage.

last edit on 10/7/2020 4:32:39 AM

by Blanc

on 10/12/2020

Posts: 9511

Categorical organizational documentarian the rhyme the rhythm the beat of the music, art, the heart, the soup for the soul, the whip lash, the kitchen sink, the healer, the narrator

the words the wisdom the floss between your teeth the mountain the river that floods up to your knees

the fish the bait the chum that bites the shore line the sun the horizon the colors that paint the sky line

youre sideways and I’m under I’m his dog and she’s other, together, we’re under

like the water between the bridges and the pestilence that feeds the night

the vampire slayer that makes the dead alive

and if we rise and turn our wheels like the wagon of epiphany we can ride onto other hills and sing our own song endearingly and infinitely

that is the music that is the cost if you have the time it’s worth the wait

the magic is in the stands not up on the stage I wouldn’t have it any other way

this is our auditorium and we clamor like sea shells before the great ocean that swings us around valiantly

just like the day bells and window chimes that hover in the wind so gently

I wish to be like them, for all my life, if I may, respectfully.

and the great bodies and giants that make up time so fearlessly

last edit on 10/12/2020 5:55:30 AM

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