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Muse by Glappkontakt
Mature content
Muse :iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Literature
Remission
And we gave into a giving
and said thanks for simply living;
we all seem to be content with existing
and breathing has since became an ambition.
The simple things we're after
like living then finding repetition
lost left longing
and leery in suspicion.
So in these circles step softly
and recite not the things you said,
make them secrets
and take them to your grave instead.
Let no one know that God hasn't any friends
and if wilderness is found laid out across your heart,
then child I do understand that you haven't a clue
of where to start.
:iconGlappkontakt:Glappkontakt
:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Literature
Semantics Riding Shotgun
A carefully constructed timeline
of chaos and anachronistic decay,
a combination together that make
the present feel like yesterday;
these minutes instead became
hours spun back in retrograde.
We scream danger
and use our hands to hide our face
but we dare not turn away
because we're so afraid
but equally addicted to
this dreadful place
and all things that strangers say.
Constantly rewriting our lives,
so scared of what we've hidden
between the lines
or what's to be found on
the next page;
visual stimulation,
a portrait and an expression
left for guessing on our face.
The question that's left is
what it's meant to portray?
Keeping our mouths shut only
because we're meant to sit quiet
and offer no say,
instead we let our demons set the price
we can be bought at and how it's paid.
Pushing these semantics aside
before our mind becomes at risk
for flight as we ride shotgun sitting beside
the monster that controls our lives,
the ones created in dreams and nightmares alike.
:iconGlappkontakt:Glappkontakt
:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 1 1
Untilted 0002 by Glappkontakt Untilted 0002 :iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 3 0
Literature
Denizens' of Traffic
Watching the world from the same level of the street,
lying naked, invisible; all but incompletely complete
and the world continues to move by in of its own scene
with denizens' of the empty shell routine;
stifling footsteps trying to pass as people but nary,
they haven't even a heartbeat;
reacting to patterns on the street
by stampeding metal beasts with rubber feet:
a controlled traffic light symphony.
Rush hour dead stare caught unaware,
side by side like a gridlock street fashion;
fixation on a red light objection glare,
realization is this is one of time's greatest assassins.
Sitting and watching their lives go
by at an intersection where the instantly gratified
vultures rub shoulders with their kin on welfare;
all of them trying to find perfection in the rhythm
of an assembly line made of concrete,
a symphony with an electronic signal driven conductor
and the music is the horns honking in objection.
And I stood out on the street
wrestling with my own conflicting views
as pedestri
:iconGlappkontakt:Glappkontakt
:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Burning Cove by Glappkontakt Burning Cove :iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 1 0
Literature
Idiosyncracies
I'm completely lost in reason,
using memories when you're addressing me,
you were always, never there for me
for the first time I'm beginning to see
relationships built on
false pretense and precarious romance.
Your words moist with lust
and your fake smiles through your sensuous lips
did nothing but tear down my trust
with the same fingers that followed the beads
of sweat that trailed down your hips;
I fell in, forgot my original intent
or why I still write about you in past
or future tense, never in the present.
I connect the lines drawing perspective
on our actions together if only to find a relief,
seeking a peace became the only objective
but I discovered razor objection sharper than the pain lent
when I often think back on the time together we spent.
Desires of love like reverie
with every kiss given without the warmth of a good memory,
our touches fail to bring intimacy with intricacy
as we hide behind all the little idiosyncrasies
that we use to give shape to our shame;
move th
:iconGlappkontakt:Glappkontakt
:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Literature
She
She's my sunlight
in a world that's gray;
she's breaking through
the clouds in each
and every way that counts.
Beams of light
to save my life,
I'm saving my life
thinking of her
a little every day.
Soothing the fires
raging inside
with word play;
twisting
and bending,
breaking
and fixing,
contorting images in my head
to fit to the words on paper;
the warmness of her words
like a blanket.
I'm holding what I know
about this woman
close to home
and when I try to forget,
I'm just faking it;
every thought that falls
from her lips
was spoken to raise my spirit.
This just might be true love
and possibly the first time
I can feel as if I'm part of,
no longer on the sidelines
as I in the world role play
the part of a juxtaposed passerby,
no longer will I have
to stand idly by.
Escaping confines
as a figment
of my memory,
no logic or reason
can define this muse
to any extent
or tell me what she represents.
My head is spinning
and my thoughts are caving in
and now I'm having problems
forming sent
:iconGlappkontakt:Glappkontakt
:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Mature content
Self Aware :iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Literature
I Do Not Exist
I do not exist;
an idea that aggressively persists
apart from the whole,
a fragment cast adrift,
bits of flotsam clinging in
the brainstorm by instinct
and in the instant
a ship in the distance,
a glimpse in the storm's pigment,
too soon thought salvation is
but imminent.
Staring face to face
within the last inches
of weathered lives as
tired figures waving goodbye
an then we're rescued in
a sinking ship.
Rolled by waves jaded
and nihilistic world views
collide to fall into a queued line;
punctuated by thoughts that
echo before they ebb and flow;
a future cannot be perfect left
unchecked by our own neglect;
it'll tangle like wires
shoved into an overloaded fuse.
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:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 1
Literature
An Exhausting Life
Steady saviors',
I promise I'm afraid,
with fear etched on this face
and please don't ask me
if I believe in fate.
It's in times of grace that,
I most often lack faith;
rhetorically screaming confessions
to an unrequited sky for discernment's sake.
Exhausted with just existing
instead of simply living;
just supposing the juxtaposing
of a endless maze of malaise,
with wooden walls cut against
the grain with a dulled blade.
Waiting for death to visit today,
waiting the end of this game of charades,
the eternal pause to our play,
and the subtlety of oblivion.
:iconGlappkontakt:Glappkontakt
:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Literature
Light, Lackadaisical
A darkened corner with juxtaposed,
fidgeting luminescence
and it's lackadaisical concern,
whether the light's faulty pretense,
will make any difference.
Incandescently we look over tattered maps,
lit by candles that refuse to shine when they burn
and in this collection of well traveled paths are
the routes we take to remain;
to trespass the boundaries of the obvious.
Steady saviors' because we're only afraid,
and it's often in times of grace that we lack faith,
in the passing of choices that we've made;
we'll sweep our fears beneath the rugs of yesteryear's,
where we'll know they'll be decayed.
:iconGlappkontakt:Glappkontakt
:iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0
Mature content
From Assumptions to Innocence :iconglappkontakt:Glappkontakt 0 0

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I saw someone elses' page and figured its about time I give it go since I've been searching for something like this and have found nothing. This world is thoughtless.

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Nick Lotze
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
There isn't much to say, I've been writing for 5 years, mostly prose or what is intended to be heard out loud as spoken word. I do not like to follow the parameters of poetry.
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