My feelings have geometric folds....
Feelings with geometric qualities.....
They can be measured by a tiny ruler...
But the ones who measure, whether nephilim or some strange forgotten god, they cannot hold the ruler...
Thus, they cannot know my feelings....
My soul, trembles as dewy tentacles sprout.....the sound like a tree snapping itself in half.....
The sprouts reach in all directions.
Screaming to be known,
Screaming to be acknowledged,
Screaming to be measured.
A mass of spinning and odd shaped geometry.....I hold an uneven number of sides, in my time we called it a heart.
The spinning mass, with it's reaching tentacles, take hold of the first ledge it comes across.
Pulling itself onto a platform that surely must contain it's true shape.
But, there is no true shape.
Only the mother waits on the platform,
a distant membrane that feeds on it's young... It convulses and erupts, spilling digestive juices, a tidal wave of acid over takes the platform....
My geometrically incorrect mass, does not witness the event. The tentacles lack strenght to raise itself onto the platform and mourn in confusion....
My feelings in geometric folds, measured by peculiar rulers unknown to children of angels, long dead gods or actual humans.
>>7520036
0/10, juvenile, redundant and overwrought.
infantile sorry
simply awful
Vaporwave
in a world
where every song has been sung
where every image has a cost
every item has a price
every value a tag
a cliché:
all these transgressive moments lost in time
like punks at walmart
time to buy
the memes of production seized
the industrial culture ceased
aesthetic deceased
in eternal internet easter reborn
non- not anti-christ; eucharyst
metro boulot dodo
became bobo
postmaterialism is still slavery
postmodernism puts the 'tard in lyotard
hyperkonsum macht frei
Überspätkapitalismus macht frei
repeat after me
copy besides me
paste before me
ascend, descend no more
transcend, in eternam, once more
Beyond capitalism, beyond!
Not in solitude one unlearns to speak,
but in society
As much as: not in postmaterialism one overcomes capitalism,
but in hypermaterialism
Owning:Stealing does not correspond to Owning:copying
Plagiarism macht frei; Selbstplagiarism dies mal zwei
Like, Share, Subscribe, Follow me, Transcend me
I passed by a gas station where a man was shot last week
on my way to a place that's a mistake to be
and on the highway as I shifted into fifth
I thought to myself: "there's got to be more than this"
Underneath an overpass and the burning orange sun
I kept thinking to myself: "man, I wish I had a gun"
To destroy the sky and the view of the city so everything becomes dark
Underneath fluorescent lights and above linoleum floors
the view of my life is stuck in a stasis of papers, grades, and
doors slamming shut, again for another while now, I won't
speak to things pretending to be good people
And I can't help but lie when asked about my life
I deny everything that's wrong, even to myself sometimes
My grades, my esteem, my future, my unemployment,
my height, my face, my purpose, my place in this world
>>7520184
ITS ALL IN YOUR HEAD
ALL IN YOUR HEAD
ALL IN YOUR HEAD
>>7520192
zombie, zombie, zombie, eh, eh
OP it's so bad that I think you're having a laugh, but in case your serious I'll try to break down some of the most awful parts.
>ellipses on almost every line
Looks like a semi-literate Facebook user chose the punctuation.
>my feelings have geometric folds
Immediate unintentional comedy. Ridiculous imagery.
>they can be measured with a tiny ruler
Again, ridiculous. The vehicle of your metaphor clashes badly with the tenor. This is a howler. Actually sit down for a second and picture this.
>but the ones who measure, whether nephilim blah blah blah
Godawful, overcooked.
>Thus, they cannot know my feelings
Deadeningly self-absorbed, cliché.
>My soul, trembles as dewy tentacles
Another howler. Total banality ("my soul"), risible clash of imagery (your soul is like a mass of tentacles? Why are tentacles trembling? Tentacles outside collecting dew?)
>tree snapping itself
Trees don't do this.
>A mass of spinning and odd shaped geometry... I hold an uneven number of sides.
Incoherent, pretentious.
>with it's reaching tentacles
Back to the tentacles, for fuck's sake? Wrong "its."
>must contain it's true shape
Again, wrong "its."
>But, there is no true shape.
You did not set up any expectation here to be subverted. What is the "true shape?" I don't care.
>Only the mother waits on the platform, a distant membrane that feeds on it's young... It convulses and erupts, spilling digestive juices, a tidal wave of acid over takes the platform
"Its." Disgusting, unintentionally comedic, serves no purpose. Again, clashes badly with the overdone emotionality of the piece.
>My geometrically incorrect mass
Non-imagery. This means nothing, the reader associates nothing.
>tentacles lack strenght (sic)
This makes me think more than anything else that this is a joke and you overplayed your hand. Well if you did, I guess you won, because I spent 10 minutes typing this reply.
If you're serious, this is something i'd expect to see from a 15-year-old. If you're older than 19, you should seriously consider never writing poetry again,
>>7520291
*in case you're serious
>>7520291
Not the guy who wrote op but I appreciate your reply.
Labyrinths inside my dome,
Closely resemble a hive
Where horrid creatures like to roam,
And nothing seems alive.
Walking through its corridors,
I saw a ghost strolling loose.
It seemed to be a foreigner,
Its character I tried to deduce.
Many alike I had already seen;
None were as ugly or strong.
It kept writing: "you have sinned"
On the dark walls all along.
Attempts to soothe it were fruitless,
They magnified its passion.
Every wall is painted now, yes,
I'm stuck here as its ration.
>>7520036
Don't do the quadruple dots thing. Let the text speak for itself.
A punctuation is the point in a text where the author steps in; That's why a stream-of-consciousness doesn't have punctuation.
>>7520036
Pic related (?)
There once was a man who came from overseas
It was no vacation
Just loud noises and jungletrees
When he came home his wife greeted him with another man
He tried to shake his hand
But there was nothing to shake
He had become a simpler man
Less to control he said with a smile
He took his other hand forward and said
Im not lefty man
But i’ll do what i can
No friends left they all surrendered to the loud noises
he wishes it was him
With a necklace of rope on top of no jungletree
He looks up at the sky and says
I guess this is it for me.
