Poll: Which is better?
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View poll results: Which is better?
Blue
1 33%
Red
2 67%
Voters: 3.
#1
A Deviant Style of Art

Through nicotine cravings and cocaine mirrors
I painted my feelings and filled them full.
Full with black and brown and gray,
Turning this addiction into the Bronx,
Into an accurate representation of the gauche.
I became a deviant’s style of art, separated
From mainstream and a little more alternative.
I was smoking, smoking, not smoking.
Hoping to finally find a little inspiration.

I painted people coated in ice talking
About facts and memories they will
Never get back. It’s never quite the same.
I skated through abortions and jobs.
Slaughtering their backs with slits,
Slits of sixth grade enjoyment.
I turned their narcissism into sadness
Throwing their wallets into wishing wells.

I collided with crashing minds faulting
In jail for the mistake they remember forever.
So I applauded them because they’ve succeeded
Proving some people actually regret and sorrow.
He’s sorrow, he’s anger, he’s me, and he’s the gauche.

I broke that mirror, tired of painting the same picture.
Waiting for someone to finally give me some color,
To draw like we did in sixth grade without the slits.
I broke the palette, washed the paint, knowing you could always
Paint a better picture anyway.


The Location between Conscious and Unconscious

I stared at the clocks hung above my bed
And across the walls.
Each one speaks of different sides
To one single story.
It seems hard to believe just
One of them.
So I begin to lose faith
In there words
I exit the room without
Any second regret
The first one was gone when I walked in.
I examine the Outsides for a simple solution
I looked out across to the neighbor’s house
I saw the answer when I looked through there window.
There was no light
So I went to sleep
You see it was that time,
It was night,
Midnight to be exact.
My body laid on the bed.
Head on pillows edge.
My mind wanders off somewhere I can’t follow.
And with that my eyes shutter close, and
The dream takes over.
I was left on a cold floor.
In my old restaurant
It started of as sane to Unconscious.
Then conscious became jealous
He maneuvered his way in
“I have no restaurant!”
I awoke;
No, not in my bed
Not there again.
I awoke,
On mountain tops.
I stood up, and felt the wind
I felt the wind.
I began inflicting pain to my upper arm
To see
If this was reality.
Nothing;
I reenacted my last steps
It seems I have lost pain.
You see there is no useless symmetry
Lucidity is no exception.
Few words are known to describe this feeling
After a while of standing.
I felt the weight on my back.
Wings, and those of an angel too,
Have been placed on me.
I started to look for my center of gravity
(Is this even considered sanity?)
I couldn’t hold balance,
I had to jump.
I flew
I flew!
I could feel it all at that moment, everything
But then something happened.
All of it seemed to be fading in a last blow
I tried, to get it back.
But I awoke
In the last place I wanted to be:
Consciousness.
And when I tried to recall back the feeling
All that came back
Was the excitement of lucidity.
And this, was worthless to me
#3
yeah! single vote baby!!!! im the deciding factor as of now...WOOOO!!!!!! lol.....I voted red becuase of the amazing imagery I got in my mind reading it......
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