Taste
Always goin back
Home
I never made it cozy enough
My mind gives my heart
Attacks
And I start acting like that again
Never Meant to hurt you
But I have no self control
Now who is who
Just wanting something to grab onto
Late at night is when the strongest
Feelings of missing you
seem to
haunt me,got me paying attention to The past too much,and I need to stop looking back
Trying to
See something else Attempting some sort of a re-route In perception
I know I change my mind a lot
But I'm not sure pain is
perceived
I embrace everything that has happened to me, Just not what I have done
I have always liked the taste of blood.
-Sunny
The Real Story Behind DLS
John listened carefully as the cold March rained pattered against his window. He counted each drop in hopes of his mind drifting away. It’s too dark, but not yet late. The blackness of the night eats at his mind. To sleep, or not to sleep; that is the true question. Tomorrow, John knows the sun will rise in the east earlier than he’d like to awake. He needs a solution to this never ending problem. He listens to the radio man talk about the government. The government is taking suggestions; suggestions for more control. First prize is a shiny new ride down to the local polls to pick a man with the lightest soul. It strikes John, at that very moment. He has the perfect suggestion.
A suggestion so great, the government can begin implementing their control like steel hands gripping a soda can, and the population would slowly be crushed. His proposition would not only win him the ultimate prize, but he would have solved a problem of his own. So he fumbles with the candle, and he tries to summon the light. At that very moment, he began writing his letter to the big man of the land.
“Dear Mister Government, I know how busy you must be, with all of the fighting, budget woes, and the election quickly approaching. I wanted to take this moment to offer up my suggestion for the contest for control. I believe we should standardize time of day and control the daylight based upon the seasons. While this suggestion offers a few benefits, the best of which is the turmoil and distress every American will feel when it begins. I truly feel this will meet your highest hopes and wishes.
P.S. Thanks for last year’s tax act; I really appreciate it.
Sincerely,
Your biggest fan,And most depressed American,
John Smith
”The very next week, John received the letter he had been wishing for. No more, lying awake in the darkness wishing the hours matched the sky. Plus, he had appeased the government with his sincere seeming concerns;
thus DLS was born.
-Steph
Twilight Savings Time
In the mist of Illuminati tampering and ex-girlfriend meanderings I’ve found myself lost in the early hours. Where I was once alert and musing off my morning’s dream hangover, I am now snoozing and nursing my borderline alcohol poisoning. Not really, but fit the rhyme scheme too well for me to NOT throw that in there. I can’t drink like I used to. I tried. I failed miserably, in bed, out cold before midnight. I remember watching Sunday morning sunrises reminding me I lived the post meridian to the fullest. These days I’m just trying to find fires in a world banning my favorite gasolines. Relationships. Bar tabs. Drama and other people’s problems. All once faithful muses now on my do not do list. Knuckles dragging on pavement like Neanderthal, praying for Prometheus to bare that cross. I’ve been locked jaw shut, eyes trying to cut to the meaning of everything I’m seeing. I’ve tangoed in tangled webs of black widows more this month than I have my entire life. I can’t tell the difference of chained animals asking for help or telling me to keep out. My muse only comes to when I’m on the clock, on the run, behind the wheel, or trying to kill my sight for eight hour death beds at a time. I’ve had a project on ice, all it needs of me is to record my voice digitally and mail it electronically to the mastermind inspiring the creative collaboration that is Saturday Night Sagan, shout out to Joshua Genius. But there have been incidents ranging from faulty mic cords raging to sexual harassment law suits against death. Can’t remember the last time he touched me like that, but it definitely made me aware of my mortality and the grace god has given a gutter poet like me. I try not to waste this 7th chance at life but I get so caught up in the mundane and its so easy to let your spirit sway into autopilot as opposed to burning monk against the tides of work and bills. I feel like life is a poem that's completely over my head. I’m not understanding all the symbolism and metaphors I’m supposed to be catching. Just reading words and not making sense of any of it. I get sparks when I see pretty women. Get lit when I’m with other artist. But recently only had a few fleeting moments of burning alive in the moment and they’re gone just as soon as I wrote it down and out for the count I feel sometimes. Sometimes I wish I could spend time with the Sunshine. There’s an energy and honesty that comes with someone who wants to pick a fight with the world just to show it how to make peace with itself. I work best when I’m working against people I respect most. Hey Sunset! I didn’t think I had any secrets left, but I’ve found out there’s a difference between not wanting people to know and knowing what people can and can’t handle. I think god has a crush on me. I’m pretty sure the universe wants to muse me in a way that makes destiny want to rethink whether she’s going to play hard to get or get it hard, either way, I’m still stuck here. Trying to wake up. Paranoid against the possibility of an organization that may or may not exist and their possible attempts to keep me distracted with the phone calls, texts, and emails of girlfriends past and I’m just here like I don’t want sleep, but I don’t want these dreams to leave me alone in bed. I don’t want to relive the good days, I just want to live.
-DCR
March 14, 2014
Twenty Years Old
She's cute.
She has a young smile
An old woman's style
And a child's sense of humor.
She's got skin like a peach
She doesn't tan
And she likes to read.
Coffee all day
A chain smoker at best,
She knits and does origami in her free time.
Doodles on apartment walls
Two cats for company
A broken tele
And all the music she needs.
She's a beaut
With the voice of an angel
She's got eyes that
Hold the galaxy in at their seems
She writes love poems
Even though she's never felt it for herself
She's basing it off the emotions
Her favorite Disney movies leave her with.
She's a tad bit clumsy A little bit lazy
She often forgets
But you can't blame the miss
She's been
Caught up all day
Watching the clouds roll into stars
And making shapes out of every one.
She's the kind of girl who walks into the room
Forgetting what she came in for
Because even in a crowded room she feels so alone.
She is twenty years old
and still builds forts when she's tired of being alone
She stays up late
Making t minus three hours
Til she has a big meeting.
You'll always see her smiling
Never see her frown,
She leaves her emotions at home
So when she returns she can pick herself up off the ground.
Twenty years old
Still eating raw brownie mix from bowls
Still reading books about pirates and falling in love
She's never known the texture of a mans skin
She's never known Love.
What a shame She says
Watching couples kiss
On park benches.
They glance at her
Like she's just a shadow
She feels so alone
And she buries her nose in her book
Reading about
Clothes falling down
Finger tips grazing cheekbones
Lips pressing
The things she's never known.
There's nothing wrong with her
She's healthy
Slim
Works out
And Watches her eating
She counts calories like their her life line
She counts cute guys
That she's too shy to confront
She counts her fingers
Wondering what it feels like to lose one.
There's nothing wrong with her
When she ignores her depression
And lack of motivation.
Yet,
She cries herself to sleep
Being twenty
Not knowing what another's touch feels like
Not speaking up
Because they never taught confidence in high school.
-Mute
Glory To The Heroes
Ukraine is burning,
And the violence is getting worse.
Rebel groups fighting for justice.
People are dying in the streets. Barricades rising,
Police breaking them down.
Crimea is under attack.
After watching a video
From the action,
Hearing the fear
And the anger
And the confusion,
Ukraine is burning
From misrepresentation.
How bad does it have
To be that the people
Don’t know where the
Top of the hierarchy is
Anymore?
Orders from up top
Means nothing
But more slaughter.
The police are moving in, The rebels are united, But tired.
Ukraine is burning.
There are demonstrations
Across the country,
In different locations.
Russia is moving in.
The U.S. is fighting Russia.
Russia is ignoring The U.S.,
Russia is invading Ukraine.
Ukraine is still burning.
People are dying in the streets.
We say that we are trying
To stop the conflict, But Ukraine is still burning
And people are still dying
And Russia is still coming
And the U.S. is still talking.
The only words repeated
From the protests
Tell more about the country
Than any political speech could.
Here’s to the fighting rebels,
The protestors,
Those dying in the streets
For freedom and justice, Those dying in the streets
For a better life. Here’s to the heroes. Ukraine is burning, But their voices are ringing
Out loud and clear
.“Glory to the heroes, Glory to Ukraine.” -Seraphine
