Blobface - Hello Poetry

The rose sits The rose waits The rose does not talk The rose does not walk The rose hangs down The rose keeps a frown The rose is permanently stuck The rose is consequently plucked

0

May 24, 2018

May 24, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC

The Rose

The rose sits The rose waits The rose does not talk The rose does not walk The rose hangs down The rose keeps a frown The rose is permanently stuck The rose is consequently plucked

8

I am jealous of spiders Those small, poisonous creatures They don't care how small they are Or how weak they are They fight for their life despite the conditions They hunt their prey without hesitation Without pity Without fear They can enter any room They don't need your permission They all know their purpose They all fight for their purpose They catch or become food They can create their world however they want No one tells them how to connect their strings They are clever That's what makes them deadly They are small That's what extends their limits They are selfish That's what helps them survive Their tiny-dark eyes Those small marbles that extend their vision to places the human eye could never reach Their infestation of twisted legs Those agile limbs that move them with surprising speed and balance through any kind of frictional surface They exist in every corner Creep through every opening They could crawl up your skin, Plant their deadly kiss under the tissues of your outer layers, Leading you to an agonizing swell of chemicals that tare and torture your nerves and muscles The aftereffects are as countless as the number of their species Pain Nausea Headics Paralysis And if you are lucky enough, Death You could have one of these You could have all of these They don't care They are spiders, And for them You are a their predator And their next victim

0

Mar 1, 2018

Mar 1, 2018 at 12:52 AM UTC

The Merciless Hunters

I am jealous of spiders Those small, poisonous creatures They don't care how small they are Or how weak they are They fight for their life despite the conditions They hunt their prey without hesitation Without pity Without fear They can enter any room They don't need your permission They all know their purpose They all fight for their purpose They catch or become food They can create their world however they want No one tells them how to connect their strings They are clever That's what makes them deadly They are small That's what extends their limits They are selfish That's what helps them survive Their tiny-dark eyes Those small marbles that extend their vision to places the human eye could never reach Their infestation of twisted legs Those agile limbs that move them with surprising speed and balance through any kind of frictional surface They exist in every corner Creep through every opening They could crawl up your skin, Plant their deadly kiss under the tissues of your outer layers, Leading you to an agonizing swell of chemicals that tare and torture your nerves and muscles The aftereffects are as countless as the number of their species Pain Nausea Headics Paralysis And if you are lucky enough, Death You could have one of these You could have all of these They don't care They are spiders, And for them You are a their predator And their next victim

44

I detest when people ask: are you OK? It gets even worse when it proceeds to: what's going on? I avoid the answer to these questions, for their answer is neither clear nor joyful. I wish they would never ask I wish they would just stay quiet They think they know what I have They think they know what I need I don't need their attention I don't want their attention I Just want to be in an empty room... Where the only sound is the echo of my thoughts... And I don't have to talk... Or think... Or move... But they come back.... They pressure... They stare.... They judge..... I want them to leave. I don't want them to wonder about me. Leave Leave me alone. Stop torturing me. Only then can I torture myself .

0

Jan 15, 2018

Jan 15, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC

Scopophobia

I detest when people ask: are you OK? It gets even worse when it proceeds to: what's going on? I avoid the answer to these questions, for their answer is neither clear nor joyful. I wish they would never ask I wish they would just stay quiet They think they know what I have They think they know what I need I don't need their attention I don't want their attention I Just want to be in an empty room... Where the only sound is the echo of my thoughts... And I don't have to talk... Or think... Or move... But they come back.... They pressure... They stare.... They judge..... I want them to leave. I don't want them to wonder about me. Leave Leave me alone. Stop torturing me. Only then can I torture myself .

25