Bipolar Wasteland

Someday they will see my dreams like a Picasso collage–splashed with glue—confess the shiny hues made it true… they will say, this is not the way to speak, machines will laugh and this is how her dots crossed made her think like a freak. Roller coaster poster-child for bipolar rolling holy rollers…they will say it was all my creation, blame the nations downfall on you.

I cant seem to hold on… Maybe Icarus didn’t burn his wings in the sun melting like wax perhaps Icarus flew into a black hole like the soul of the sum of the whole. Stop repeating facts because there is no proof, its just that. And the cat, which is fat, and he has a bat, and bats are bad and Marilyn Manson and I cant stop beeeeeeeeeeeep

Why do all my words amount to a brief ellipse of time. I am happier alone, making love to my own only reflection–as the faces turn into reproductions of my minds elation.

Why is this freakin’ madness, insane, lunacy, not a divine glimpse of a lost timeline?

Money for a wasteland for a plastic paper factory…

Compliance. Bipolar mediocrity. Shill out the bills, find a light at the end of the bluedream scheme as the pyramids sink in an ocean of bull sh-t because this paper is worthless, toss out the trash, hand over the cash, crash into the moon and explode with a last laugh.

I had that. Now I dont want it I want it to be back in black, painted like a saint with a heartless attack. I want to immortalize my own visions in a laser sharp monograph on the animistic compound of a neurotic impulse to analyze overlay and lie when after I die I didn’t die.

Why? Because I am a damage magnet. Forget it, forget what it meant. this is a trial, and error, I care i care I care I care I cant cry I forced a middle finger to the moon for some dark ominous reason I threw the pill bottles at the sky, and I said—HEY and IM RIGHT.

I hope you hug the demons close, I mean, glitter fairies in disguise.

&I lied.


Are you a stoner?


no Im not. Just tired lately going thru some personal stuff.

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Happy Hospitals

we sing in silent harmonics

he danced alone

the corners of the room would glow

but it wasn’t normal

she cried hysterics in a sanitary gown

and she believed in me

and understood

my synchronistic frowns

mistaken identities

schizophrenic affections

in these happy hospitals

full of teddy bears and pretty pills

for every emergency

available…a remediation

dont take it serious

honey, just a heroin overdose

don’t kiss me too long

dont, just hold me close

and pretend I wasn’t

closer than God

to the clouds and I dream

the lady next to me

is still breathing…somehow

haunting my sleepless nights.


This is some real poetry… great job snap snap

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I really liked that part

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thanks, I dont know why I write anymore

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Because you can’t stop haha maybe you’re just meant to be a poet. I write as well and even though I get no attention as an artist it almost doesn’t matter


I dont want to be a poet…not anymore. I used to get inspired and write, and lots of people would read my work. Then its like the world faded, and there is only just some music left, thats only for special people…

or people stopped caring, I think people like to hate more than love tbh. People like to be hateful narcissistic or just abusive…power-trips, constantly. Thats why I write, I feel some sense of power over what I can control, my thoughts, my words.

Its like the notebpad or canvas is my domain. Thats the only place I feel free.

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That’s a good way to get your word out and change the world then. Loving is the most difficult yet simplest thing. Hope to see more of your stuff

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Get well hugs. 1515151515

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Hmm. . .

I Enjoy The Restlessness & Slight Inner Spiritual Dialog Within The Endless Dark Narrative.

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thanks @roxanna

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