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joe-rader
American will do my best to answer whatever questions you might have.
From the age of six to weak bones and homes for geriatrics We all still wanna **** the same eighteen year old actress So go home **** off, switch hit and call it practice And I'll go home and write some rhymes about these ******* fascists Pray my humble words find wings and fly about the atlas Play like in my best of dreams when words become the catalyst To tear apart the great machine 'til the haves have never had less We'll both wind up with a sticky mess and possibly a bad wrist.
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Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
A Sticky Mess
I die inside... Slowly... As one piercing word twists the knife... Future, Present, Past. And I gasp. Breathing deep but finding no solace in the air around me. Finding myself swept aside as timing's harsh laugh crashes down on me. And I lie. Back scarred by the black shards that used to be the world around me. Now I clearly perceive the tense in which I now reside. I struggle to stand but collapse in agony As a jagged piece of my favorite "could have been"shifts against my spine. The only answer my cries receive are the callous taunts of a million happy memories As they march to the beat of the shattered heart I cant seem to clear from my bone dry throat My voice cracks as the razor sharp fragments shred the delicate tissue That used to be my vocal chords Silence envelopes and entombs what remains.
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Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
Ritual Sacrifice and Other Fun Family Games
I'm sorry if sometimes my tongue trips And I slip and call you Baby, Old habits die hard like hearts scarred From rolls I've found myself in lately It'd be far easier for me to leave And believe you'll always hate me Than to see that look in you eyes That look for something that ain't me.
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Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Old habits
I'd slit my wrist for a passionate kiss To touch longing lips And tongue's subtle twist I'd bite the blade deep 'Til the blood starts to drip First slow and then fast like my pulse in such bliss I'd smile as the puddle Grows round my kicks and vision gets muddled Having gotten my fix.
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May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
Basorexia
Soon this short Icharion flight Is coming to an end And on that day you'll mourn the rights You chose not to defend Passing on the plight of patriots We piddle on their graves Play sad songs and hold our hearts While the blood spattered banner waves But the cries of a billion tiny voices As they cry themselves to sleep Can't be heard above Lee Greenwood As the tears streak down our cheeks It's awfully sad to see such things In such a sorry state But ignorance is only bliss Until it's your head on the stake Our eyes attract to shiny things Bright lights like fishing lures Robbed at gunpoint before we're paid We're either soldiers or we're ****** As these toxins trace my tiny veins And seep through every cell I can't help but taste distain And think that this has to be Hell
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Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:32 PM UTC
Icharion Flight
You had the choice to make or break My heart and had it long ago Though in fear of bitter tears I'd shed if you decide to go I told you not to even fret For one heart must be cast aside I thought if happiness was yours You needn't know I died inside
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Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:19 PM UTC
The choices we live with
Beauty's merely a black hole To bring a man to his destruction A downward spiral of the soul Drug into Love by beauty's seduction Love is just a dark abyss A cross to bear, a game to play Secrets lacing every kiss The ocean of words you didn't say But every time its the same The hopeless martyr I walk in To this pit this pointless game Even though I know I'll never win.
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Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
Beauty
I'd rather have the nightmares I'd rather have the worst of dreams Where demons dance through every thought And adorn the sickest scenes For the feeling of these silken sheets Now fills me up with fear 'Cause I know that when I open my eyes I still won't find you here
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Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:12 PM UTC
I'd rather have the nightmares
When this at last falls to ash Well rise out like a pheonix The eagle shall be beatin' For these creatins have demeaned it Brains are washed away In the main streams current And the path of least resistance Gets a washed and watered version The truth's a priceless prize That if you want you have to earn And pieces pure of ********** Are crystal clear once finally learned God has set this task before me To melt this house of wax And though I have been found wanting He makes up for what I lack
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Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 7:43 PM UTC
The House of Wax