clucko - Hello Poetry

has your life really been that easy? that you can spout your **** and expect no consequence? has it been that easy? that you really expect no backlash when you say those things with a grin on your face? has it really been that soft? that no matter what you say or do you will never know pain again? i held my tongue this once but next time i will prove to you that not everyone has had the luxury of forgetting hell.

0

Mar 9, 2020

Mar 9, 2020 at 5:30 AM UTC

clucko

peeved

has your life really been that easy? that you can spout your **** and expect no consequence? has it been that easy? that you really expect no backlash when you say those things with a grin on your face? has it really been that soft? that no matter what you say or do you will never know pain again? i held my tongue this once but next time i will prove to you that not everyone has had the luxury of forgetting hell.

14

empty days empty or dead empty head that im not empty eyes alive and empty or dead that i am still eternal void approaching me no reason to stay reminded only anger and sorrow warmth and as the dark closed in and her I closed was blinding my and her light eyes... by her shrill laughter but was startled awake

0

Mar 2, 2020

Mar 2, 2020 at 9:58 AM UTC

clucko

shrill

empty days empty or dead empty head that im not empty eyes alive and empty or dead that i am still eternal void approaching me no reason to stay reminded only anger and sorrow warmth and as the dark closed in and her I closed was blinding my and her light eyes... by her shrill laughter but was startled awake

12

Dear World. Hello. I no longer wish to be so wrong. I have taken my pills and sung my song. So please mend my heart. Wash my troubles away and Grant me another start. I promise to do my best I now know not to trust. ... I'm sorry. My bitterness still remains. I know we can't restart. I'll just swallow my tears. And write another poem. Best Wishes, Max

0

Feb 28, 2020

Feb 28, 2020 at 10:31 AM UTC

clucko

To Whom It Concerns

Dear World. Hello. I no longer wish to be so wrong. I have taken my pills and sung my song. So please mend my heart. Wash my troubles away and Grant me another start. I promise to do my best I now know not to trust. ... I'm sorry. My bitterness still remains. I know we can't restart. I'll just swallow my tears. And write another poem. Best Wishes, Max

19

You taught me so much. How to hate without breaking. How to lie without crying. How to sleep without resting. How to scatter the contents of your mind against the wall by your bed each night like rainbow glass crashing into rainbow splatter dripping into rainbow puddles flowing into black cracks. How to ****** without killing.

0

Feb 26, 2020

Feb 26, 2020 at 7:53 AM UTC

clucko

DIY

You taught me so much. How to hate without breaking. How to lie without crying. How to sleep without resting. How to scatter the contents of your mind against the wall by your bed each night like rainbow glass crashing into rainbow splatter dripping into rainbow puddles flowing into black cracks. How to ****** without killing.

10

d r i p d r i p d r o p tears blood or wine you chose

0

Feb 26, 2020

Feb 26, 2020 at 7:43 AM UTC

clucko

tragedies

d r i p d r i p d r o p tears blood or wine you chose

16

Hey, Look! Blue cloth pants with yellow vertical stripes and glittery disco boots! Joy and dance in concrete club halls! 30 foot tall glass tanks filled to the brink with tiny white pills, turn the tap, they go clack clack clack on the floor! Bass boosted booms burrows beneath bones, flesh feasts on fear, and fights for fickle infatuation. Saliva drips between the beats, two hundred souls makes a swamp and their legs get tired from sloshing through the fluids. Outlives the sun and makes love with the moon, their friend, and anyone to everyone else. It's a party! A party!

0

Feb 25, 2020

Feb 25, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC

clucko

I stay home.

Hey, Look! Blue cloth pants with yellow vertical stripes and glittery disco boots! Joy and dance in concrete club halls! 30 foot tall glass tanks filled to the brink with tiny white pills, turn the tap, they go clack clack clack on the floor! Bass boosted booms burrows beneath bones, flesh feasts on fear, and fights for fickle infatuation. Saliva drips between the beats, two hundred souls makes a swamp and their legs get tired from sloshing through the fluids. Outlives the sun and makes love with the moon, their friend, and anyone to everyone else. It's a party! A party!

9

Cobwebs Stagnant water Lightless Hopeless Useless The mere sight of it made our angels above recoil in disgust. A festering wound that poisons the well. Meandering procrastination. Birthed hate and envy. It is rot. It is decay. It is a promise. It is inevitable. It is home.

0

Feb 24, 2020

Feb 24, 2020 at 7:46 AM UTC

clucko

Dissapoints again

Cobwebs Stagnant water Lightless Hopeless Useless The mere sight of it made our angels above recoil in disgust. A festering wound that poisons the well. Meandering procrastination. Birthed hate and envy. It is rot. It is decay. It is a promise. It is inevitable. It is home.

12

Her words pour like gasoline And my fist impacts the brick wall in the moonlight Bone shards splinter like firework sparks Sets her words alight, they stick to me My life is approaching its ****** A Gunpowder Crescendo

0

Feb 24, 2020

Feb 24, 2020 at 6:55 AM UTC

clucko

Explosives

Her words pour like gasoline And my fist impacts the brick wall in the moonlight Bone shards splinter like firework sparks Sets her words alight, they stick to me My life is approaching its ****** A Gunpowder Crescendo

6

Inspiration is like coming home to a stairwell full of men in white hazard suits, carrying down furniture from upstairs, and a strange smell in the air. You might not always understand it or even like it but if it makes you write, then whose to say that the buzzing of flies in the stairwell is wrong. But the smell lingers for weeks, and the buzzing quickly loses its charm. It sickens you, and brands a curiosity in your brain. So one night you creep up the stairs and find the door slightly ajar. The smell turns your stomach. Its white, static, sweet and rancid. Your trembling hand push the door open. The hallway is empty, except for a long dark brown doormat. Its cold and dark, the windows are open, and theres a faint whiff of cigarette smoke coming from downstairs. Its another neighbour, the purple haired girl who spends every night arguing with her boyfriend. But the apartment is empty. No corpses with sunken eyes or pools of blood on the floor. Just a sickly stench and a curiosity sated.

0

Feb 6, 2020

Feb 6, 2020 at 5:40 AM UTC

clucko

Rambles

Inspiration is like coming home to a stairwell full of men in white hazard suits, carrying down furniture from upstairs, and a strange smell in the air. You might not always understand it or even like it but if it makes you write, then whose to say that the buzzing of flies in the stairwell is wrong. But the smell lingers for weeks, and the buzzing quickly loses its charm. It sickens you, and brands a curiosity in your brain. So one night you creep up the stairs and find the door slightly ajar. The smell turns your stomach. Its white, static, sweet and rancid. Your trembling hand push the door open. The hallway is empty, except for a long dark brown doormat. Its cold and dark, the windows are open, and theres a faint whiff of cigarette smoke coming from downstairs. Its another neighbour, the purple haired girl who spends every night arguing with her boyfriend. But the apartment is empty. No corpses with sunken eyes or pools of blood on the floor. Just a sickly stench and a curiosity sated.

11

You loaded your gun with Ruin Pointed it at the crowd and found me Blame my luck, but you pulled the trigger. The scars you left on my body is lesser yet than the taste of your Ruin on my tongue. And I couldnt have asked for a better mentor to teach me the all the subtle intricacies of Hate. For everytime I am reminded of your taste I hate hate hate Hate Hate you Hate me HATE every single one like you and me. And with your gun you blew my soul to bits and left me in Ruin.

0

Feb 6, 2020

Feb 6, 2020 at 4:53 AM UTC

clucko

Armed with Ruin

You loaded your gun with Ruin Pointed it at the crowd and found me Blame my luck, but you pulled the trigger. The scars you left on my body is lesser yet than the taste of your Ruin on my tongue. And I couldnt have asked for a better mentor to teach me the all the subtle intricacies of Hate. For everytime I am reminded of your taste I hate hate hate Hate Hate you Hate me HATE every single one like you and me. And with your gun you blew my soul to bits and left me in Ruin.

16