The Cynic Communtity

Silenced operations  ~ Miss A Raging soaring rhythms, and an eye for the keeper, Steal some moments, go tippy toes, disappear, With a friend of yours as dark as the night, A method of escapism, of being alone, of being with yourself and the souls crying. They keep giving suggestions, not to look at the mirror down moonlight, Oo how beautiful, charges the voice of the night, stirring pure choas in sight, Dweeling in the warmth of the silver dark light, How to not be mesmerized, facades are traumatizing. Deep plum purple paints, tough blood staining red,  and blue of galaxy shades, All tend to highlight the tone, hugging at right places,  But nothing suits as perfectly as the moon lit tone itself, Suddenly all the drowsiness fades away, and all is left are the wind blows and the thunder. In a battle of bluffs, you taught me to say the truth, not my thing, But it seems like a new game must be played now that you win, Oh no be smart, don't do this shite again, what you have on bet is a

 Frustrating art   ~Miss A Little to the delve like a heart frustrating, Crave the stones into one single being.  A thought of art and the artist cries, For to bring it to life; he's beyond unqualified. For wandering in the dense shrubs of the garden, He's found a melody, sung by the bees on the leaves by the rain. A hymn he found just so pure, he wishes it to dictate, Easy as it occurred; quickly lost its trail to the complicated. How many musicals have been played, of it were to the debris of nature, Fine mallets and brushes, and he'd crave an instrument. Something which could sustain the warmth of the player, Something which resonated the blows of time and verse the hunger. Coat it with innocence, mask it with unclosed eyes, ecstasy and rejoice, And to make it hollow, give it space, to hold some insights.  But how to do this with stones, nothing so complex like this sculpture, No beginning no end, how to build a breathing Brent. To build a brain passage, scribbles filled

Juin Dunes ~ Miss A And just then I remembered once again, the starting of a hellish phase, Heat strokes and burning skins, the home of the nightmares, it's June again. A June as juvenile as justice, a June as junevibbed as jury, And me a plaintiff, listening and hearing every movement so desperately. Is there something to care about, even yourself, lost appetite, Isn't it fun to bury the dark humour in the dunes of sand. What is a dream? Gobble it down and you'll remember chains better, Wore a knit expression, and all they thought was oh so happy. Barbed out, I can feel it again in the skin, Addiction to poison only kills, but oh lord the sin. Pushed the water to the beach, tribe cold drip, Give it what is needs and heavens parade crip. Don't want to change anything about it,  But maybe preserve as much as possible, try harder. What's do I tell you more about, we don't see comfortably, But to sentiment it in a bottle, you'd understand without a word spoken.

Sleep paralysis  ~Miss A Seems like the twilight and the absolute abyss is chased away by the glimmering rays of sunlight, Now that it's over I remember you my lord, in a state of pure calmness, to respect the chaos, He must be happy to have a follower like her anyway, take to in warm blooming times,  For the else she stays alone, not reciprocating the chills to the other, just for the sake, seems colder each day. Daddy daddy half humming your name she goes to sleep, hoping to wake up at the lazy time, But plays they play, have version of visions, the coldest bear the best illumination, gags for air, And suddenly the roads are a puzzle, a kaleidoscope of self humiliation in a rather picture perfect way, Totally stuck in meaningful reality, paralyzed in your zoom-ins, sleep paralysis. They shake you up, why to keep holding? Their seems no hospitality in the gaze, Dogs wolvering to bite, the flies become to crow, mellow thick quick sand to die, Carefully placed by your side, what tru

Negative Lights ~Miss A Choosing to be rather called drowsy, than to let a sudden exchange of moment pull you down the rail, A simple hell should itne called, deep unlike any well. And as one notices the enchanting briefs, forced to mend with its ways, they examine, As if you're chasing one-fifty, and sence a coming to collapse speeding vehicle right straight.  It's numbing, it's raging, it's roaring, and accepts you of your death, And just the instant you realise the value of life, it's played you to your instances. And when you start noticing these scripts, in the accents of tongue and brain, It's a dive, contagious of contaminated layers, which you'd hope to never take. Some dives are shallow, less to be, some make you understand numbing serenity, And in some, you find the artifacts, you know are samples of poison you've tasted. Aware of the possibility of finding them, you try your hit all the brakes, Without the anti-dote of finding the strength, it

 Brain-dead responses ~Miss A. Moving on to shut the eyes, waiting for you to close the distance, They say to think of postive things before going to bed,  So I try to hold the image of your face, to hide it like a good story in my memories, And I'm brain-dead, nothing exists, no thoughts, no melodies, just you. Stagnant in my vision as a reason to keep on living, a reason to cherish life, And suddenly I find myself those green forests, hugged by mist, and lakes Potentially cold, and forst biting, but burning in my breath like a born fire. But I feel something irritating, an anxiety, and I look at my palms, shaking,  What is that I am missing, for something was there which I was holding with my all, This place seems like paradise, but instict tells me the moss would eat me up, The strong smell of rotting wood, feels as fresh as the lemon jest, even as I lay down, trying to connect to the soil, I can't rest. What is it, what is it, spins my head, what, where, who; and I feel the

 E.E. ~Miss A It's all going in a perfect flow in your eyes, But every word you speak is spoken so blindly, I thought I cry alone, this world is a place so lonely, But damn you weather, always with me. Bullets pass through you, but blades cut deep too, Can't underestimate one based on it's size, Not even sure, with what this free bird is caught, No wounds, but it hurts so bad, feels like internal bleeding. I'm no good, and with the way it's going, I'm upto no good, I used to think, I would grow up beautiful, But the lines on the forehead are deepening, It's all beginning to get all chapped. Don't know what they designed in the lines, But it's not what I asked for, but I'll take your knives, Cut my own lines of fate in my palms, This won't hurt as much as destiny would, right. Blood is an expensive escape, or is destiny, Blood, then who's? Too many things to say at once,  It's sewing my lips into a pristine line. Maybe a letter with bl