Failure

Steam Engine Junior

He was powered by steam,
and through his propulsion, found walls
as an obstacle to be torn through, vandalized;
turned to shrapnel strewn across factory floors.
Organic of mind with steel slighting nerves,
and lucid in complex of what he has rights to;
his mechanical strides would be taken much further,
depending on variables and moments in time.
A gangling, flesh-ridden machine,
which possessed a great mind and a solitary heart,
set course for unknowable and unforseen change.
Upon carrying route, he fell to malfunction.
The water of innards had escaped or gone dry
through leaks in his core and down his old stratum,
leaving him weighed by the modus and modifiers
which had allowed him 'til now to travel so far.
The steam which had risen, expanding his limbs,
had fallen to strings of dew and slick vapor
which pittered from excess, gorging on farse,
or simply had loosened and departed from use.
And with loss of function, came loss of his strength,
which drained in an instant and pinned him beneath
the weight of his metal, the gorge of his ply,
the rapid recession of his will to continue.
He had striven for precious, forgotten light,
which could act as a fuel and a way to escape
this logic monstrosity of which he was trapped
within it by program, by virtue, by choice.
The glow had gone faded, shielded by hinge
of the door that had only seemed open for minutes.
And with its one exit came purpose renewed,
and with its new barrier came eternal in question.
Still on two feet, gravity beckons
and calls for his rest below exterior press.
Sweat stinks of rust and breathing has quickened,
the whining and clinking will rattle his ears.
Gears begin failing, pores of exhaust,
last bit of steam will sputter and vent;
collapse will occur, profoundly and soon,
and shut down will be welcomed by he who has failed.

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Feeding on Faded Dreams, Glorious Misery. Poison. Long Name. F*ck it. Read it.

Folder: 
My Personal Faves

Black dark night
railing of angular metal
what lies beyond
in time and space and awareness

I'll go with nothing
nothing bigger
nothing beyond
nothing within

hope has been sucked out of me
like a fetus from a uterus in a vacuum
i'm bleeding
nothing left to give

and who really cares?
people look at pity and run
who wants to be brought down?

no one
it's toxic, flavors of energy
potent wildfire

i need flames of hope
but I'm too angry to see anyone
with a light that is happy
it disgusts me
in this world
barren, miserable, lonely
i'm somehow sickly satisfied

nothing to gain, nothing to lose
can't hurt me anymore, them dreams

them dreams that taunt you
make you believe in them
their figures, shapes, colors -- they seem real and vivid

and then fade into darkness before you know it
right as you are about to touch them, hold their hand
they fade into darkness
somewhere beyond that stupid stupid
rail

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I Know What It's Like

I know what it’s like to be born,
with a disorder unattractive to the eye.
I know what it’s like to have a father,
show me that love is nothing but a lie.
I know what it’s like to have a mother,
stick around for awhile.
I know what it’s like to have a step-dad,
break everything within a mile.
I know what it’s to have a family,
that is nowhere to be seen.
I know what it’s like to have a childhood,
where everyone is mean.
I know what it’s like to have friends,
although bullied every day.
I know what it’s like to go to friend’s houses,
to find out my mother walked away.
I know what it’s like to have grandparents,
hire me a lawyer because of my dad.
I know what it’s like to live with a father,
who always makes me sad.
I know what it’s like to be taken under someone’s wings,
who hates everything you are.
I know what it’s like to have a parent,
who’s always at the bar.
I know what it’s like to have a boyfriend,
who lies to your face.
I know what it’s like to say, “I love you”,
and in return, “You’re a disgrace”.
I know what it’s like to have an aunt,
take you in after being kicked out.
I know what it’s like to make new friends,
who are there beyond all doubt.
I know what it’s like to get accepted,
into the school of my dreams.
I know what it’s like to see my future,
fall apart at the seams.
I know what it’s like to have a boyfriend,
not speak truth and always lie.
I know what it’s like to have hope,
that tomorrow I may die.
I know what it’s like to have a best friend,
named Crown Royal.
I know what it’s like to live your dreams,
and still feel like hell.
I know what it’s like to trust your surroundings,
and fall a victim of date rape.
I know what it’s like to take some time off,
only to find out I’m in bad shape.
I know what it’s like to go to school,
and feel all alone.
I know what it’s like to have a best friend,
who can only talk to you on the phone.
I know what it’s like to fall in love,
yet live with so much hate.
I know what it’s like to have a boyfriend,
ask another woman on a date.
I know what it’s like to live with family,
who makes you more depressed.
I know what it’s like to excel in school,
when you can’t even get dressed.
I know what it’s like to change my future,
by switching majors to the unknown.
I know what it’s like to have support,
say you can’t be left alone.
I know what it’s like to have freedom,
at the age of twenty four.
I know what it’s like to have a family,
hate me at the core.
I know what it’s like to graduate college,
and still feel like I failed.
I know what it’s like to get interviews,
and rejections that were emailed.
I know what it’s like to want the world,
and get nothing in return.
I know what it’s like to go through life,
thinking there must be something I didn’t learn.
I know what it’s like.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is essentially an outline of my story from birth until today. It is also the first poem I have ever written.

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The Dud

Inferno cased in flesh and cotton scruff,

wallowing in a terminal between above and below.

Not quite a child, not quite a man;

not a thing like the adequate of which he stacked against.

Invented by and fed from the mouth

of those who cared enough to pass him along.

Now he is but a package on a filthy tabletop,

losing sight of carrier and of destination.

Half-a-dozen dyes bring him into vibrancy -

yet the shadow he casts obscures them towards the dark.

With no neck on which to turn, no hands to reach and grasp:

he assumes his fuse has rot or gone missing.

The sounds he could have made, the sights he could have granted,

The smell of his waking aftermath:

All of it lost to his dependency on the damp.

And now that he's here, and that he's settled;

he tries to tempt the passers-by...

So that they will handle him and marvel at his casing,

just before they set him aside as a dud.

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