An artist wandering round the glittering city
Soaking up inspiration from both
the beautiful and the gritty,
He got a camera to document the nights
That frankly,he might not always
remember otherwise
The hard living isn't something
I'd want to glamorize,
but the raw talent remained,
and sometimes got to shine
By:J.N.R Dutton
A raw and powerful chemistry woke
At the sight your glorious smile.
My heart began to fancy you, hoping for a touch.
How I imagined the rush of your touch
From a lover's best dream, I woke.
Befuddled was I, dreamy eyed with a smile.
All near me knew, betrayed by their smile
And few could resist a poke or a touch!
Prodded back to reality, I woke.
So I woke with a smile, and dreamed on for her touch.
Byproduct
By Dustin Branum
Have you no clue how hard i try
To keep positive alive and negative aside
Why must you insist, genocide
Why must you feel the need to lie
I don't remember the reasons why
I cater to your deceptive lifes
What makes you think I'd oblige
Why must you live this way of life
Have you no clue how hard I try
To not do the things I so despise
To keep a hard face and try not to cry
If I do so, shall it be my demise
And should it be, I give you my word
Destiny will be mine fulfilled in time
I'll show the world that's being disguised
Time to reveal this knowledge I hide
As everyone starts to wonder why
But it's little too late to rectify
Nothing you say can justify
Living such a demonic life
My deepest fears are coming true
Total darkness is bleeding through
Raging inferno that's within my soul
No longer desires to maintain control
Exposing this darkness for all to see
"Reveal your demons!" You beg of me
Social guillotine
By Dustin Branum
9/03/26
Acceptance is dire,
I let this be known.
My only desire
was to feel I belong.
The empty will devour
everything I own.
Knowledge acquired,
the tongue is unknown.
Interpreter required
to speak the untold.
Silence gets louder,
the darkness gets brighter.
My Destiny expired,
no longer headstrong.
All hope is gone,
decaying empire.
No king for the throne,
no skull for the crown,
no cheers from the crowd.
No acceptance required,
no longer desire
your approvable satire.
Chronicles of the revolving door
By Dustin Branum
When exactly does life begin? When will this
tragedy come to an end? It's like over, and over,
and over again... When will I ever find peace,
my friend? And nobody knows how far I've
been; Nobody cares about the pain
I'm in. This knowledge that
burns deep within, with
a withering soul,
reality will
bend.
The
light
turns dark
with a grayish
blend, begging for
mercy, it's demons they
send. The light is illusion I
can no longer depend—There's no
Destiny for me to defend. Yearning for
happy, acceptance, and Zen, Instead of this
anger and evil times ten. No kids, no wife, no
next of kin; Lonely and broken, this chapter will end...
Exactly where the it began.
Empathy
By Dustin Branum
So, keep up with me:
In order for one to give a f**k
one must have a f**k to give.
So, one must’ve got f**ked
to have a f**k to give.
Someone had to get f**ked
for the rest of us to give a f**k.
If it wasn’t for the first f**ker that got f**ked—
the one f**ker that actually gave enough f**k
to take a f**k, to have a f**k to give.
Everything we know of all existence
evolves around a f**k-show of empathy.
If it wasn’t for one that gave a f**k enough
to have empathy,
thus born: i-human.
Getting f**ked to have a f**k to give
so we can all give a f**k together
Instead of being f**king f**ked.
So the question is, if you don’t give a f**k,
and if they don’t give a f**k,
and you don’t even give a f**k if they give a f**k...
Then who the f**k gives a f**k?
Well, I do.
sitting in balcony with the cup
attached to my lips,
the soft drops falling down to the
surface from the sky
whisper the most enchanting words
into my ears,
as if erasing all my sorrows without
my permission.
just like she did
in the most awful times of my life.
It's summer and
the grapes are still unripe.
Which stone inscription of history
shows my presence
in the scene of an eternal life?
I am a raw brick
unbreakable
Shabnam Shirvani
Bird mouth on the brain sells
plump unstately bucked up
matters of actual o-
bligatory occurrences at
Owl's Creaky Bridge where
forageable items can
spawn like people squeezing
elf-aware and clammy chowdered
clown adults from
rubes off courting blots of
nightingale PM firenze
crushed and all mixed up be-
between a frequent
moving stream of
freebies wheeling in a
west virginian's mother mar-
ried pupward to a
shapeless clumping mob or timely
hunk stoned sober old and sentient fac-
tory molding
silver fish resigned to meet-
ing parties all aligned and
drawn from quarters pound-
ed into minds repeated over
bendless queasy headed eggs a-
top the Falling Garden Wall.
Lord,
help me shed this ego-atrophy.
Like a second skin I'm desperate to peel away.
Undoubtedly knowing this is the final fray.
Don't leave me, I beg you. Lord
Please don't give up on me yet.
I've made repetitive decisions,
stumbling once more in this drug addicted trap.
I see the line you drew in the sand.
While the wall of the world is built sky high.
I'm teetering on the edge.
I pray you don't send me Lord, right over the ledge.
So many unfinished poems, linger behind my lips.
You saved me in my darkest nights, trapped in the abyss.
You found me when I lost myself,
right in the nick of time.
Humbly asking you My Savior
just one more day.
There are so many thoughts within one mind;
some are lost, while others are forgotten.
These thoughts begin bleeding out as I write.
I shed tears while missing the sun, all while gazing at the stars burning bright.
Unlocked cage in addiction, but my flesh isn't accepting the loss of the fight.
Take me back to ground zero, beginning with the circle of life.
I reminisce about the garden where my heart still resides.
Replaying every song forever in my mind.
Wishing for God's well of living water, to quench my thirsty soul.
As reconstruction continues, the conversation persists.
Vivid memories dating back to when I was a kid.
Water flows downstream, the river running as much as I am.
Sent a key and a mirror, illuminating what my eyes cannot hide.
Breakthrough roadway ahead
faithful is God,
all while slipping in sin.
New journey is His Rock
Rock His is journey new
sin is slipping while all
God is faithful.
Ahead roadway breakthrough
Manipulated raw bleached rolled wheat
Hard spaghetti facilitated
That melts in your mouth
Burns your eyelashes
Pinches your ears and nose
Blue marinara sauce. sauce.
That's too hot, so sweet to meet
All that's left
Is a dessert plate rabbit raw,
yet it all tastes great.
Crunck! Crunch.!
As I munch, yummm!
Thisravished raw royal spaghetti
8/16/26
by James Edward Lee Sr 2026
Sometimes my writing feels choppy like the bay,
On a stormy day.
However, I keep writing and rewriting until it’s flows smooth as fine wine,
Until it becomes divine.
Something that was hidden,
Buried deep within and felt forbidden.
Things that others don’t want to mention,
I put them on paper and they are given dimension.
I stand alone quite often,
My words they feel I need to soften.
They simply don’t understand my line of thought …
Psalm 69:3 ~ "I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail while I wait for my God."
tears fall broken
pain unspoken
dealing feelings raw
tears can't drown
my anguish down
lachrymal guffaw
eyes bleary
soul weary
emotions run high
enveloped by sadness
bleakness and blackness
life's a teary dreary sigh
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