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Shauny
30/M/Ireland New to writing and poetry. I started a writing class some months ago and have not looked back. I really did not think I would be into poetry but it can be so much fun.
Looking towards the cobwebbed light Any closer and he may get a fright Weapon in hand… The brush! Smokin some of that OG Kush Lay in wait the spiders did A fear of these she has since a kid It’s wings flapping was all you could hear Even though afraid, for the spiders we would cheer One after another they would attack As they fell to the floor, each with a broken back There was no escape from the entangled death We stood there in the cold counting his lasts few breaths
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Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC
The Spider and the Brush
Dependence, playing my heart on strings Wanting, for the answer to almost all things Babbling, to my evil twin in my mind At the best of times he is quite unkind...... My eyes, tightened by unbreakable seams One by one they pass by, my dreams The grand adventure of independence Bad habits putting me on edge and tense Next week, the week after that, I say Come on ta **** will ya! Ok Ok, drugs are bad, M’kay
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Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Fighting it!
My thought process is like a lost dime As I sit here trying to rhyme Bored and uninterested All this time and more I have invested Pretending gets old quick I am developing a nervous tick Looking at a screen and seeing white Why ohh why am I doing this ***** Slowly figuring things out, my masterpiece Making the right decisions my joy can only increase Right…..?
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Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
Thoughts
There are two spoilt children Both boasting and showing there “might” Each as childish as the other Ants watch out! Here comes the magnifying glass! No wait, that’s a cherry bomb Look… the other kid is chewing on his rocket pop One is a self-entitled god that does not take ***** The other is a self-entitled **** I hate immigrants the fatter one says Ohh look a pretty immigrant woman, I think I will marry her I am a “god” with a fools haircut With a penchant for assassination Both lobbing stones across the river Flexing their jelly rolled flab Each staring into the others eyes Silently dreaming, ever sleepless On each bank a heart drawn in the sand Crazy loves crazy is what they say
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May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
Trump your Trumpet
You’re a good friend and a great liar Your confidence is a fickle ceasefire You give others the benefit of the doubt But you doubt yourself, inside and out You can dish it, but certainly can’t take it Mindlessly spitting words of wisdom, your latest smash hit Words that have weight for other people But never for you or your clan of Sheeple You’re a blind babbler, a social shambler Combatting the voice inside you This incessant, never ending mind chew It’s galloping through La-La Land Thought after thought to beat the band If you deserve the best, then why don’t you think you do? You wince at every word that comes out of your mouth. This journey that inevitably leads south You’re the envy of everyone else. Can’t you see? So confident, footloose and fancy free You have great willpower in the presence of your friends. On your own, you have none. Some things are easier said than done
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May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC
Advice?
What's that called I don't remember? The darkness that creeps up At night, In slumber. In the sudden loss of light. Even though it's dark here, I still close my lids to sleep To grant a wish, To dive in deep. Where some cry, most weep. What's that called when We tuck ourselves in the bed? Sing to our ears, Mourn for what's dead. In the deep corners of our blanket. What's the broken thing laying with me? Oh I remember! It's the wry thing called a dream.
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Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
Dreams.
Take a fresh Playstation Add plenty of seasoned frustration Marvel at the glory of this Machine Roll a spliff made for Charlie Sheen Game for 6 hours at room temperature Squeeze controller until you see hairline fracture Anger rising to the top That guy lied to me, the one from the shop Nothing but coffee flavour in this bag of Revels Listen to your shoulder devils Ask Playstation to work the way you want it Refusal to comply, I miss 8bit Swing controller like a ball and chain Look, as its blue eye turns to red in pain Proceed to dance on Playstation to tenderise A madman reflected on the screen in disguise Last salvation is on the warranty sheet Enjoy, Bon appetit
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Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 4:11 AM UTC
Gamer Rage or How to cook a Playstation
Her hair was a thousand tiny ballet dancers with eyes like the rings of Saturn Her gaze was eternity unfolding Biting teeth like a box of rusty nails A mouth as wide as an empty cashiers till Her tongue was a hangman’s noose Her neck as long as an angry goose She had shoulders as high as a wave and her arms were old bunting in knots With wrists that held patterns of scars Long fingers were lost catching stars Grey fingernails like stained window glass Her chest was an overcrowded tent and her ******* were upended top hats Her stomach was a beached whale about to burst With a bellybuttons descent into madness An *** that is clenched fists wrapped in leather Her thighs were slapped orangutan cheeks She had knees that cracked like bad lightbulbs And her shins were nomadic spears Her feet were deflated blowfish And her toes were fish heads, Peeping out from an open can
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Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 4:10 AM UTC
As I see her