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The Morning AfterThe whole thing was surreal, like one night had lasted for months.
By the end, all that was left were questions.
What really happened in the kitchen?
Where'd Stephy go?
And why did Ben put on all those shirts?
Slowly answers strobe like 'Nam flash backs.
The memories bit by bit tie in.
The moments of stupidity and the moments of genius.
A night we'll never forget
Mostly because we'll never fully remember it.
The hangover might be hell
but the source was heaven
The Landscape of HeartbreakThe Landscape of Heartbreak
A sun scorched wasteland
Where time has no meaning
Inhabited by angels with cast iron halos
Ash where bridges one stood
Slowly losing patience with this empire of dirt
My own personal purgatory
A place my mind never goes but is never far from
This is the landscape of heartbreak
dear diarysleep and nausea are my brothers.
the propaganda on tv
is the backdrop to my meandering.
(once the wave paves the way for warmongering traders...)
"choose us. let us, not them, be"
the ones to deliver
rape and ravage to your doorstep.
so far so bad. they coke, we pepsi. all
big boys now, hands capable of cupping
the schoolyard bullies grow up and instead of stones throw
abstractions, abstractions, abstractions.
if brainwash should shed
calculated light on the
tangle of armed hypocrisy,
let it at least be slow and gentle,
rock my brain into a rudimentary reverie
of how the earth will (never) tilt
in our favour but they
will never destroy us.
under topol-m wings.)
do not succumb
or invest your heart in this drivel.
warships make you seasick. your brothers are
sleep and nausea.
a note from an angry feministdon't you think it's strange
(and with strange
i mean complete and utter bullshit)
that some ladies don't have the obvious right
to their own bodies
that hundreds of thousands acts of rape happen every year
and you can bet your ass
that it's the one fake accusation that makes it into the papers
that in media
seventy six percent of main characters are dudes
that women still have to fight
for the same wage
for the same god damn job
that breasts are threatening
if it's not in a sexual situation
that fragile societal structures
make less than ten percent of world population
that the gender binary
is actually a thing
that people will roll their eyes when you-
"feminism isn't needed anyway"
Digital synth pop makes you smile
Neon dreams color your eyes
And your room dances with fireflies
I want to hold your polyphonic skin
And drink the angels of your electric virility in
Beneath the black light's ice fire glow
As the beats and the rhythms swell and grow
And 3.14 here comes the music I never heard before
Echoing through your pulsing muscles
Pulsing through your rushing veins
Rushing through the guitar's strings
Right down to the electronicore
I want to hold your polyphonic skin
So we can feel the world's shaking vibrations and spin
I want the heart of the music that lies between the calm and the restless
And the soul of the music in the times that leave us breathless
The creme de la creme of auditory expressions
OptimismI don't want to hear another rant,
Another sentence which involves the word can't.
All I ever hear is the moaning of the masses
Combined with the tossing of blame in the switching of classes.
What happened to joy and creativity
Which flooded the halls in Elementary?
We've gone from wonder to nihilism
Mixed in with sarcasm and narcissism.
I just want to lay back and talk about fun,
Maybe toss back and forth a pun.
But all I ever get to hear,
Is a scream of self-pity in my ear.
Maybe you could have it worse,
It's not like you've been locked into a voodoo curse.
So stop saying "Woe is me!"
And start being a little more gutsy.
Because the only way things are going to be ok,
Is if you go out and find that way.
The one that leads to a future and your posterity.
And you won't get there by going through your life covered in self-pity.
Bodies Are Not ToysLather on the makeup
and flaunt that new dress and skirt-
your body's such a toy-
but it's not when you're a boy-
The Way From The House To The GarageWhat d'you think they did,
these unlettered kids? They discovered
cheap electronic music machines,
they taught them the beat. They fed the sound
through amps and megaspeakers,
their vibrations generated shock waves,
bass tracks that shook the ground.
And the kids did what their singers had always done,
finding their own way to shout their blues.
With their megadecibel beat, they could at last
release their long imprisoned anger. They holler'd it,
coining a new jive to give their feelings shape.
Music for body and mind, teaching mind
a thundering route to ecstasy! (Some free spirits
left the shackles of poverty behind.)
AmericanI’m a firework on the 4th of July,
I’m a crack in a bell
I’m a 4-wheeler in the mud
I’m an apple pie
I’m a Friday night football game at a small high school
I’m a Coca-Cola and a giant burp, excused with a “Sorry” and a blush
I’m a cowboy in a 10-gallon hat
I’m Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, and John Hancock
I’m a businessman on the top floor of the World Trade Center
I’m a child playing with a Barbie doll
I’m a striped flag flapping in the breeze
I’m an ambassador
I’m a hamburger with extra ketchup
I’m a teenager with angst and high texting charges
I’m a soldier on the field
I’m a song
I’m a prayer
I’m a love
I’m an American.
Men's SocietyNo one likes an intelligent girl
because women are meant
to be seen
and not heard-
we stifle them with insults,
battery, and rape-
thinking their innocence
is ours to take-
and it is our job
to not care
and to not weep
for fear we become
one of them
and endure the same treatment
by our own brethren-
is the cruelty of society
Contemplation at DuskStarlight, star bright
first start that I see tonight
I wish, I would wish it all away,
the darkness of what we have wrought,
I would wish myself
protected by the spirits of the Earth,
made safe from my own foolishness,
the foolishness of all my people,
but before I can speak,
my wish is ripped by the winds,
the winds wailing across the heavens
singing the sad songs
of all my descendants not to be
who cannot be
because of what we are making,
the evil that humanity has wrought
sad are the songs
of loss beneath this endless sky
spangled with stars,
our destiny is not there,
but in the dust
the wind carries,
bitter with what could have been.
The world does not need us.
Sad fates await
for ignoring that,
sad fates await
those innocent of the decisions,
ghosts of tomorrows,
the walking dead,
all those dreams.
But the stars do not need us,
nor the night,
nor the world we are part of.
The spirits of the earth know that
and bide their time.
will not reach out
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More