THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

UnbornBuddha · 03-21-2015, 01:40 AM

Blossoms and floral motions are more than notions
They are a vortex of humanity’s preferred emotions.
Before emotions, we tended to ignore our omens,
Hordes of rodents hiding in the floor of oceans
Pains we never formally noticed because they were sort of dormant
Retroviruses that slipped pass our main fortress forces, Trojan horses.
Torment is our ultimate opus; it alone morphed us through encoded curses.
A wanderer with floating pulses diagnosed by a Chinese doctor a morbid person.
I guess even such a sage couldn’t see the golden auras from the surface.
Gauging how my soul is working,
By how much burden I can place on what’s left of my working organs.
Scrutinizing my own portfolio like a whore’s performance
This chemical age has began to distort serotonin’s purpose
Its slow release is viewed as a by-product of a holy person.
Thus, we begin upping the pharmacopeia dosage,
Even as we become vulnerable to our hearts being broken
As we try to forget who we are by discarding photos that display us in our darkest moments
Places in time where our skulls were coated with battle scars, our very own gray matter logo.
And yet, we still maintain a stark devotion to concoct a potion that will stop our poisons.
Love an opiate, a harmless venom, voiding the harm of heaven, the armored weapon of Armageddon;
Its deeply red garnet color is far from being a tarnished metal
It will live on evolving forever, beyond the imaginings of that Darwin fellow,
Non-permanence is an alarmist hellhole; its original intent being a catharsis vessel.

03-21-2015, 01:40 AM	#11
UnbornBuddha Senior Member Join Date: Jul 2014 Posts: 1,008 Battle Record: 23-10 Champed - Art of Writing League - AOWL Season 5 Rep Power: 23856379	Blossoms and floral motions are more than notions They are a vortex of humanity’s preferred emotions. Before emotions, we tended to ignore our omens, Hordes of rodents hiding in the floor of oceans Pains we never formally noticed because they were sort of dormant Retroviruses that slipped pass our main fortress forces, Trojan horses. Torment is our ultimate opus; it alone morphed us through encoded curses. A wanderer with floating pulses diagnosed by a Chinese doctor a morbid person. I guess even such a sage couldn’t see the golden auras from the surface. Gauging how my soul is working, By how much burden I can place on what’s left of my working organs. Scrutinizing my own portfolio like a whore’s performance This chemical age has began to distort serotonin’s purpose Its slow release is viewed as a by-product of a holy person. Thus, we begin upping the pharmacopeia dosage, Even as we become vulnerable to our hearts being broken As we try to forget who we are by discarding photos that display us in our darkest moments Places in time where our skulls were coated with battle scars, our very own gray matter logo. And yet, we still maintain a stark devotion to concoct a potion that will stop our poisons. Love an opiate, a harmless venom, voiding the harm of heaven, the armored weapon of Armageddon; Its deeply red garnet color is far from being a tarnished metal It will live on evolving forever, beyond the imaginings of that Darwin fellow, Non-permanence is an alarmist hellhole; its original intent being a catharsis vessel.