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michael-crody
michael-crody
American welcome to the mind of 17 year old Mike crody. / The relm of which all in which he decides is possible no language is in stone. / / born in the year of the lord / 1994
Rain this hell down on me Bring the fire up to the world Feel the heat, taste the flame This is how it feels, To sense the end of the world. Here we are, the start of the war to end it all Hold your breathe You would hate to miss the fall Beauty in the, presence of chaos Trap your fear in the pit of your gut Flip the switch, fuel of emotion Feel the fear die in your chest The sky bleeds red, through black clouds Armies of hell face the will of man Tested by time, feel the might of the beast Howls of battle fill the air, Warriors cry out Minds lost in the terrors of war This is the life Of the dead.
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Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 10:15 PM UTC
While God Crys
Finally I have reached my goal I have trapped my poor old soul. Down we go, storming the hot gates, Of smoldering hell. Like a beasts jaws, clinching your throat. Into a land where God himself , looks away. We feel the heat And yet we charge until our hide tears. Just to watch kin die. To **** the coveted Heretics all, we rot in the ground. While our soul lives in hell.
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Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 8:42 AM UTC
The Dead Preist
Cold dead grasp of a decaying zombie witch. Harlot in youth, grows to a Dead diseased ***** Green teeth protrude from Dead black gums, Infected festering flesh Swollen with old blood. Run Run Run, until your bones bleed Crash to your knees, listen for the horde. Wait to be ripped to bone. Enjoy the silence, no need to scream. Rotting nostrils flare stripped of skin. Red eyes filled with blood stained pus. Yellow nails, packed with dirt Open sores, rash ridden pores, Leaking viscose fluid. Reeking with filth Foot steps quake the ground Their scent fills the air Your caught in their stare. The devil rings the bell Thirteen ‘o’ clock, Your trapped in the, Cold dead grasp of a Decaying zombie witch.
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Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
From Hell Came The Plague
Through the paralyses desert We walk. Dodging kings and cobras Rattling snakes and all the foul beasts, That thrive in this hellish waste. Ecstasy from the mannerisms of less worthy beings. Who are they to decide what an individual’s Strengths and weakness are! Mind ones tongue when speaking to, Satan’s hood. Chilling grasps of a hot dark angel’s face Hold me to earth at even the highest Of gravitating peaks. Eroded rocks once mountains, now pave our Unseen roads lost in decaying, Concrete and steal jungles made by the men They **** Unworthy are any of us To describe ourselves for never knowing Who were, only what we could have been.
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Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 11:49 AM UTC
blissful fallout
Look at us pseudo clever race of ignorance, Addicted to entertainment our only common Pleasure filled pain. We will fight to maintain An uncomfortable satisfying false reality A reality where we all are individuals controlled by Another uncontrolled individual. Through a maze of tunnels lies the mystic wastes Smoke filled shanties makeshift villages and, Dim lit ***** dens The marijuana plants in the basement Grow into the hard wood floors of the cigar rooms Of an ancient aristocrat mansion No infested with the ***** demons of the wasteland Goats amongst sheep, the bring rolled joys To dying black hearts of the innocent sinful Humans in our civilized chaos. Renaming our creators for the simple bliss of renaming a unnamed Uncreated creator.
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Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
the haze
My hearts bleeding Grasping the last threads Of my life My fingers erode Skin drying to leather My time is nigh To you I gasp, Goodbye
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Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
derek cameron
Caught in your trance Lost in your stride Trapped by the beauty of Your nylon skin Thighs to eyes Both mesmerize me Your unknown passion Encompassing force me in such An relentless state of bliss No escape from these emotions Of joy, no exit wanted
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Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 9:52 PM UTC
randy jackson from american ideal
Poems reread Words never said Your kiss lingers on my lips Your silk skin beneath my finger tips Shackled by distance my passion grows A starving beast, he knows his feast Although he knows not when The beast knows his fate The beast craves forever his mate
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Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 9:25 PM UTC
pulled hair