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hopi-butler
American
I can hear Your whispered words Your evil thoughts Plaguing my mind I can feel those looks Despising me Judging me With tempered thoughts And satirical mocks I can see them Hiding in the darkness I can see them Their clawed hands Reaching out with Darkened Vengeance My Paradise Lost I see your Beelzebub Your minions Your Igor Mocking me Taunting me You coward, You fiend! Stay out of my mind Out of my life My dreams You steal away My originality Myself The me I have become And who is this creature This monster In my reflection? With hardened eyes And guarded heart I pray today I will sleep away This mentality This disease And be one of THEM One of THEM If only for a day
0
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
Schizophrenic
You’re a liar You’re a cheat You’re everything She doesn’t need She’s so stupid She’s so gullible To believe you To believe your lies Fool me once Shame on you Fool me twice Shame on me I’m so stupid I’m so naïve I believed that You made her happy All I see now Is unfaithful lies All I see now Is her tear-stricken eyes Fool me once Shame on you Fool me twice Shame on me
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:22 PM UTC
The Adulterer, The Gullible, The Fool
Lost inside A broken world So filled with dark corruption And I can’t seem to Find the brighter light And I search And all I find is Something worse than I Dark black evil Feel it’s breath Stank and clammy It tires to come to thee And I can’t seem to Find the exit sign out No more brightness No more happy times The darkness has prevailed And I’m afraid that I am truly lost here Lost inside A broken world Where I can’t find my way out Lost inside A broken time Why can’t I be whole Bright white evil So conniving Tricks even the Saints Makes residence In my heart Next to the black evil in me Lost inside A broken world Where peace is not a word Lost inside A broken memory And I can only find Something worse than I Something worse than I
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:19 PM UTC
Something Worse than I
Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is repetition As I watch from the couch “He won’t last the weekend,” Says Hospice “They said he might not last the weekend,” Says Dauson He’s stronger than they know, I say Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting False hope, of course I can see the way The cancer fights Deceiving the guards Hiding and attacking Slowly taking what’s theirs Slowly killing, Spreading down towards the Ground then rocketing up Until his psyche Dissipates into nothing Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting “Go hunting, it’s opening day,” He says They listen But only because He yells at them to She goes out to smoke My grandma with my grandpa’s killer “Can you pick Dauson up?” Says Mom to Tracy Keith’s mother, Mother of my brother’s “brother” Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then Frosting I know it’s coming Yelling it’s arrival Like the steady beat of a beating drum I’m surprised That no one else Can hear it That no one else Can feel it Permeating the air The shadows reaching out With tendrils made of cold Made of smoke Made of death’s sweet kiss Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is fast forwarded Laying him down on the bed “Melissa’s almost here, The boys are almost here” And then time stops for a moment He’s facing me Eyes closed, mouth parted A single tear that is his own Freezes on his cheek Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting You asked what changed Me the most? What made me who I am today? A grave stone A wooden cross Seeing a man die slowly Day after day
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
Orange Juice then Frosting
Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is repetition As I watch from the couch “He won’t last the weekend,” Says Hospice “They said he might not last the weekend,” Says Dauson He’s stronger than they know, I say Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting False hope, of course I can see the way The cancer fights Deceiving the guards Hiding and attacking Slowly taking what’s theirs Slowly killing, Spreading down towards the Ground then rocketing up Until his psyche Dissipates into nothing Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting “Go hunting, it’s opening day,” He says They listen But only because He yells at them to She goes out to smoke My grandma with my grandpa’s killer “Can you pick Dauson up?” Says Mom to Tracy Keith’s mother, Mother of my brother’s “brother” Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then Frosting I know it’s coming Yelling it’s arrival Like the steady beat of a beating drum I’m surprised That no one else Can hear it That no one else Can feel it Permeating the air The shadows reaching out With tendrils made of cold Made of smoke Made of death’s sweet kiss Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is fast forwarded Laying him down on the bed “Melissa’s almost here, The boys are almost here” And then time stops for a moment He’s facing me Eyes closed, mouth parted A single tear that is his own Freezes on his cheek Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting You asked what changed Me the most? What made me who I am today? A grave stone A wooden cross Seeing a man die slowly Day after day
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72
I bury myself deeper Hiding my true self I drown out the sound Of my selves crying out I bottle up my fears My worries My confusion I store my feelings Trusting only God, pen and paper I hide my tears Behind a fake smile Letting no one see The pain I’m in Letting no one see The nightmare I’m stuck in Eyes holding back my past My transgressions My secrets So I continue on Carrying the dead man’s weight Slowly, ever so slowly Crawling towards The crimson light
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC
Bottling Me
A sea of green Crawling towards Heaven Swaying and folding Against itself Budding trees surrounding Their branches tipped With the bright green sprouts Of new life begun And old life broken A pond of silk Luminous and pure Floats in the middle Ripples dancing in its water As a cliff overhangs The waterfall falling Unconnected to the earth The sea of green Has become the sea of gold As once green leaves Begin to fall Unto the earth Leaving the willow trees With nothing But swaying branches The waterfall reflects A rainbow cast by The full Harvest Moon Shining in its resplendent form The ripples waltz Never leaving the tempo Set forth by the Creator Long before their own time The grass lays frozen Buried beneath White powder As it falls from a clear sky The trees stand bare Their leaves falling Falling to the broken earth The broken skin of the meadow The pond of silk Lays cold and dead The ripples gone Until the night is done The waterfall lies still The beads of water Exactly where they were When the winter had come again
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:07 PM UTC
Secret Medow
Large, billowing willow trees surround a small meadow, leaving no way to get out. Their branches hang to the ground, the wind whipping them lazily. The green sprouts and leaves on the tips of the branches drag on the ground softly. The trees are so packed together that no sight can be seen through the trees, no escape at all. No one can enter, and no one can leave. The bark is brown, deep crevices made in its skin. The limbs skim over the ground, swaying ever so slightly. On the limbs hang nearly invisible webs spun by clever weaving spiders. The bright green grass wraps around the bark, swaying in the lazy meadow. In the middle of the meadow floats a high overhanging cliff, no part of it truly connected to the ground. Vines cover a structure, obstructing what the structure truly is. Bright pink and blue flowers decorate the vines, adding a serene feeling to the floating island and a floating smell of nectar is carried by the wind. A waterfall flows through the middle of the gates, the cool pure water falling into the pond directly below the waterfall. The pond is covered with ripples, although nothing seems to be obstructing the surface of the pond for the moment. Below the surface flows gentle weaves of seaweed, rainbow colored fish swimming between the strands. They would jump up, spreading small rainbows on dew drops into the sweet tasting air. The cloudless sky seems to sparkle in the setting sunlight, spreading pink and red strips across the sky. No birds fly in the small expanse of visible sky, yet a small nameless tune is heard, the wind carrying it all around the trees. The tune is light, and filled with what can only be known as joy. The tune begins to change, losing the quality of light and joy and changing into a tune of sereneness and calm. The wind carries it through the meadow, pushing it against the dark trees. The leaves begin to fall, staining the ground at their feet different shades of red, gold and orange. The lost foliage does nothing to deter the packed trees from blocking any view outside of the circular meadow, leaving it in seclusion. The grass is turning into bright gold strands, folding unto itself as it sways in the gentle wind. The wind tastes like apples, although there is no fruit on the trees. The wind continues to flow, picking up the leaves and scattering them away from the base of the trees. The pond is covered with a few stray leaves, the ripples from said leaves turning and spinning as if they were dihedrals spun by small children. A harvest moon sends out a bright light, casting a rainbow onto the waterfall. The forever flowing waterfall continues to cascade down from the floating island as the rainbow continues to color the water. The rainbow fish’s scales have turned deep colors of red and gold, and they continue to break the surface of the pond, jumping to and fro. The vines still cover the cold, metal gate, blood red flowers covering the island in stunning beauty. The meadow seems to secrete a pleasant smell, sending waves of comfort and tranquility to every blade of grass and falling leaf. The grass disappears from view as the ground is covered in white, cold powder. The branches on the trees dip from the weight of snow and ice, their limbs brushing the ground in small sweeps. The crisp, biting wind does nothing to help the swaying, and instead blows across the ground, sending small flurries of the snow upwards bound. It circles around the frozen waterfall, every drop of purified water hanging in place, frozen in time. The island itself is covered in snow and white flowers, their color unadulterated. The vines seem to be dead, no longer living as they were before. The secret of the gates seem to be revealed, although barely. The gate remains locked, but the vines are cleared enough that the fenced in area can be seen. The area in the middle of the island is glowing, brightly colored with the beginning of the waterfall, the rainbow fish swimming in the small pool of water. The trees that are in the fenced in area are bright with life and colors, shining as if they were in the midst of spring and not winter. Petals from the flowers that decorate the vines and trees gently fall, landing on the icy surface of the pond. Silence invades the wintry meadow, crushing upon the meadow with great strength as the wind howls silently. The sky is pure black, the only light seen is the glistening stars, all shining as brightly as the northern star. Bright strips of rainbow appear in the sky, the aurora waving like the waves of the ocean themselves. Softly, stealthily a small tune is heard to only those truly lost in the meadow’s power. The tune is filled with what words can only describe as confusion as joy and peace meld with depression and war, hatred and love weaving in and out of the tune like a needle and thread. The tune is suddenly broken, and the meadow disappears, leaving nothing behind but darkness and emptiness until the cycle repeats another day.
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
My Secret Place ~ Prose
Large, billowing willow trees surround a small meadow, leaving no way to get out. Their branches hang to the ground, the wind whipping them lazily. The green sprouts and leaves on the tips of the branches drag on the ground softly. The trees are so packed together that no sight can be seen through the trees, no escape at all. No one can enter, and no one can leave. The bark is brown, deep crevices made in its skin. The limbs skim over the ground, swaying ever so slightly. On the limbs hang nearly invisible webs spun by clever weaving spiders. The bright green grass wraps around the bark, swaying in the lazy meadow. In the middle of the meadow floats a high overhanging cliff, no part of it truly connected to the ground. Vines cover a structure, obstructing what the structure truly is. Bright pink and blue flowers decorate the vines, adding a serene feeling to the floating island and a floating smell of nectar is carried by the wind. A waterfall flows through the middle of the gates, the cool pure water falling into the pond directly below the waterfall. The pond is covered with ripples, although nothing seems to be obstructing the surface of the pond for the moment. Below the surface flows gentle weaves of seaweed, rainbow colored fish swimming between the strands. They would jump up, spreading small rainbows on dew drops into the sweet tasting air. The cloudless sky seems to sparkle in the setting sunlight, spreading pink and red strips across the sky. No birds fly in the small expanse of visible sky, yet a small nameless tune is heard, the wind carrying it all around the trees. The tune is light, and filled with what can only be known as joy. The tune begins to change, losing the quality of light and joy and changing into a tune of sereneness and calm. The wind carries it through the meadow, pushing it against the dark trees. The leaves begin to fall, staining the ground at their feet different shades of red, gold and orange. The lost foliage does nothing to deter the packed trees from blocking any view outside of the circular meadow, leaving it in seclusion. The grass is turning into bright gold strands, folding unto itself as it sways in the gentle wind. The wind tastes like apples, although there is no fruit on the trees. The wind continues to flow, picking up the leaves and scattering them away from the base of the trees. The pond is covered with a few stray leaves, the ripples from said leaves turning and spinning as if they were dihedrals spun by small children. A harvest moon sends out a bright light, casting a rainbow onto the waterfall. The forever flowing waterfall continues to cascade down from the floating island as the rainbow continues to color the water. The rainbow fish’s scales have turned deep colors of red and gold, and they continue to break the surface of the pond, jumping to and fro. The vines still cover the cold, metal gate, blood red flowers covering the island in stunning beauty. The meadow seems to secrete a pleasant smell, sending waves of comfort and tranquility to every blade of grass and falling leaf. The grass disappears from view as the ground is covered in white, cold powder. The branches on the trees dip from the weight of snow and ice, their limbs brushing the ground in small sweeps. The crisp, biting wind does nothing to help the swaying, and instead blows across the ground, sending small flurries of the snow upwards bound. It circles around the frozen waterfall, every drop of purified water hanging in place, frozen in time. The island itself is covered in snow and white flowers, their color unadulterated. The vines seem to be dead, no longer living as they were before. The secret of the gates seem to be revealed, although barely. The gate remains locked, but the vines are cleared enough that the fenced in area can be seen. The area in the middle of the island is glowing, brightly colored with the beginning of the waterfall, the rainbow fish swimming in the small pool of water. The trees that are in the fenced in area are bright with life and colors, shining as if they were in the midst of spring and not winter. Petals from the flowers that decorate the vines and trees gently fall, landing on the icy surface of the pond. Silence invades the wintry meadow, crushing upon the meadow with great strength as the wind howls silently. The sky is pure black, the only light seen is the glistening stars, all shining as brightly as the northern star. Bright strips of rainbow appear in the sky, the aurora waving like the waves of the ocean themselves. Softly, stealthily a small tune is heard to only those truly lost in the meadow’s power. The tune is filled with what words can only describe as confusion as joy and peace meld with depression and war, hatred and love weaving in and out of the tune like a needle and thread. The tune is suddenly broken, and the meadow disappears, leaving nothing behind but darkness and emptiness until the cycle repeats another day.
Continue reading...
3
Twisting and Turning Until nothing Nothing Is left Till nothing Is left alive In a corrupted world In a place filled with pain Sliding and Churning In a circle Filling the mind With disease And ill conceptions Until sanity is only myth And lore told of Old
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
The Heart's Contempt
Darkness Slipping and Sliding In a haze of hatred In a haze of death Light Flowing and swaying In a fog of misconception In a fog of swirling life They push They pull Breaking and Bending Until naught is left They mend They forgive And the Circle of In and Yo Continue once again
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
In and Yo
Dark Disturbing Twisted in all its glory Broken Cracked Tortured to submission Drowning Dying Lost in memories Blending Blurring Days come together Waiting Stirring The door opens again Tears Crying Another onslaught begins Pain Blood Stabbed in the back Dark Disturbing I trust again
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 7:56 PM UTC
Imprisoned Trust