I've suffered long enough
Normally I wouldn't mind
Usually I couldn't give a fuck
The more pain the better
But now it's getting ridiculous
A lifetime of nothingness and now this
It's like a sick joke
Played by the dark jester
On the kind folk
Of the humble village
Who never did anything wrong
But everything's pillaged
And now I'm standing here
Staring at the ceiling
Can't see or hear
Just waiting for my calling
They say to love something is to suffer for it
Well, I'm pretty sure I loved you because, I can't even remember the good times we had anymore
All I look back and see is the FOOLISH girl waiting on the borderline, praying, hoping, pleading for your return
I stood there even when I was well aware of her presence
When I was well aware of where you were when you weren't with me... And couldn't be bothered to answer your phone
I laid by the borderline and cried endless tears night after night
Awaiting a return that deep down I knew was NEVER coming
So I have suffered
But, I don't have you
So what did I suffer for exactly?
To watch you build a life with her? The life I thought we had?
To be strung along for months before getting cut off completely
Just left standing in the dust of who I THOUGHT you were
The suffering didn't stop when the truth hit
Or when my head kept telling my heart to give it up
I wanted so desperately not to want you
Not to need you
But thoughts of you.. Of us..
Just consumed my head.. My heart..My life
It eventually got better
I started meaning the goodbyes that I'd been saying for so long
You appeared less and less in my mind
It seemed the suffering was coming to an end
Though I gained NOTHING from it
I know I never crossed your mind even close to how many times I caught myself daydreaming over you
Did you even give a second glance to the girl who literally was holding her heart in her hands... Offering it all to you?
Do memories of any kind ever flood your mind?
If I start to go there, the suffering just starts all over again
And I'm lost in a past love, a past game, a past heartbreak that I can no longer feel
Or I will drown inside my sorrow
So tell me, how much more suffering would I have to do to have you?
How much more suffering do I have to do to be OVER you???
Cause she hasn't felt nearly the amount of hurt that I have
Yet she has you...
And here I am, STILL writing about you
For absolutely nothing
I stood there and watched as our lamb suffered
I watched the soldiers laugh and jeer at him
yet their was nothing I could do but cry
I saw his mother bitterly weep
as she bathed our lambs feet
the soldiers pushed her away
as if she was a dog
but there was nothing I could do but weep
Her pain was my pain
his pain was my pain
I wanted to run to her
yet there was nothing I could do
Then the soldiers poked and prodded him
faking to give him water and spitting at him
that's when I saw red
and there was something I could do
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Usually one feels something to be a poet,
or at least a decent poet has suffered once.
Parading around maybe just a bit stoic.
Put a smile on your face- guises and fronts.
Different on the inside you wouldn't know it,
Rile me up like a tiger and I will pounce.
Sinking deeper and deeper until I'm lowest
Sometimes I struggle with the correct renounce.
Even the sensation of touch would overwhelm,
Promise to touch my soul, and I will let you in-
Entering into a different kind of realm.
Something tells me that we are truly quite akin,
Lead me and teach me, this is surely your great helm,
Take me away from this world and all of my sin.
From the time I came out of the womb,
I was nothing, but beaten to the pulse.
Daddy gone, you alone with your three children.
The world must have been ending!
For you couldn't even handle that.
So take it out on us, we are the mistakes.
Smoke your Marijuana, make the head aches go away,
For we were the children who ruined your life.
Now grown up, and out of that hell hole
I realize that you were messed up.
From past problems that run in the family.
But you didn't have to let him do those things to me,
and not say a damn thing,
You knew it was wrong, disgusting.
If you were getting paid, then its fine and dandy.
Take your children's innocence from their grip
And never let them be the kids they wanted to be
To know just how He suffered—would be dear—
To know if any Human eyes were near
To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze—
Until it settle broad—on Paradise—
To know if He was patient—part content—
Was Dying as He thought—or different—
Was it a pleasant Day to die—
And did the Sunshine face his way—
What was His furthest mind—Of Home—or God—
Or what the Distant say—
At news that He ceased Human Nature
Such a Day—
And Wishes—Had He Any—
Just His Sigh—Accented—
Had been legible—to Me—
And was He Confident until
Ill fluttered out—in Everlasting Well—
And if He spoke—What name was Best—
What One broke off with
At the Drowsiest—
Was He afraid—or tranquil—
Might He know
How Conscious Consciousness—could grow—
Till Love that was—and Love too best to be—
Meet—and the Junction be Eternity
for Denim McLein
The car had jumped the curb at speed,
it was gray and dull and 2 foot high.
On Thursday, 12 men with guns on their thighs
took notes and talked and looked around and choked.
Tears fell from 24 eyes on Friday at the station,
for a 3 year old was mowed down in a moment
The 18:45 four-door sedan has blood
on its hands.
It all starts like a brick,
shifting in your head.
You wish it'd just be lightning quick,
but it often tends to stay instead.
It makes you question everything,
No, you're not dead.
It's all in your head.
Just go back to bed.
By the way, you can't fix your problem with a med.
It's a cry
It's a scream
It's a begging self-philosophy.
I hold it up with a lie.
If it were a dream,
it wouldn't feel so real to me.
A storm in your mind,
all the creatures combine,
building up pressure,
they'll say that you're fine.
But that's not true,
they will lie to you,
then say there is nothing they can do.
They will fake,
your mind will bake.
It's not a feeling you can shake.
A lot is at stake.
I know where you go.
Digging yourself a dark, lonely hole.
Scratching out death, is your goal.
My migraine, is like a permanent stain.
Killing me; driving you insane.
I count the days like a prisoner in a cage.
I know how it feels, I still stand upon that stage.
Trying to withstand the rage,
and flip page by page,
but you can't even engage.
Since I was a kid,
it was no secret what the pain did,
yet I never hid.
I would just explode,
and be the kill you'd discover on the road,
maybe one day they will find a code.
And we all walk a lane,
for those who suffered this pain,
the agony of the grain.
That mysteriously grows in our brain.