don't be parasitic, darling
we'll be fine, you're on my mind
i told you i dont need you,
and i've promised you i'd never lie
but there's no doubt, it must be true
i want a life alone, without you
,dont be parasitic, darling
you'll be perfect alone
you'll see it's easier that way
that's why it's harder to stay
even if it's perfect
we'll be more perfect alone
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 5:46 PM UTC
i'll write you a poem ,not because i want the poem
but because i want the poem removed
like cancer ,like a tumor
it consumes me ,slowly
i draw in ink through my eyes ink through my eyes.
desperation thick in my veins
'get it out' it consumes me;
there is a poem inside me;
,i need it out
it is as
a desease;it affects
;every aspect of my mind
it will not sleep
it does not sleep when i sleep
it consumes me it whispers it screams;
'let me out'
and i pull the ink
through my eyes
put the pen to my page,
tear 'poetry' out from my mind
and lay it down in all honesty
to die
thrown to the relentless;
truth, and the critics
the poem will die
no deeper meaning
the addiction returns;
there is a poem inside me;
i need it out,
it consumes me.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
i turned pain
into a game
and played you
'till it turned around
and i got caught
on the board.
now what do i do
what do i do
no clear path forward
no straight path through
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 1:46 AM UTC
Things in this world are too tangible
I see them all through the eyes
of a god of death; a date
writing itself on a small slip of paper
and pressing itself into my hand
love, I want to feel without consequence,
bruise the truth with my lies and let the blood
whisper "forever" beneath my skin.
I'm sick of this strain of terror
I never even knew hate until I was branded with it
you took your white-hot palm and placed it over my lips,
closed your eyes and recited the endless crimes
of a wanted criminal who wore my face
but whom I'd never known
and when the silence rotted, you turned your head
and wept as a victim.
You murderer. You examined me for scars
left me for dead without a heartbeat
named it "suicide" as an act of faith.
With indifference as a blade, you cut me
but the paper skin peeled back to nothing
and I demand no satisfaction, no pound of flesh;
in the future there will be no ghosts to mourn;
only the changed or the cruel will haunt us
And you, you are both,
demon of acclaimed justice, you rancor deity,
you who refutes any claim of vindictiveness
but feels "manipulation" as a sort of emotion
and understands "abandonment" to be a kind of justifiable punishment
for having dropped short of perfection
and come up instead as
merely human.
To forgive is divine.
We are failures of gods, you and I
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 12:02 AM UTC
i found a map/ that seemed similar to a lot of things,
your face was one of them/
but a small postscript in the corner
/screamed at me;
“don't look for her.”
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:54 PM UTC
You will see me tonight,
although your dreams are warded
against love and nightmares
I am the constant; the timeless;
the moon that waxes
and wanes in your thoughts;
I am here; I will not leave;
you shall not be abandoned;
i am the lie you've been fed;
[and the truth with which
you've been poisoned]
i am the facade of reality;
i am the one you have buried;
i am here;
i am timeless;
i died with eternity;
i died like so much snow swept away
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:45 PM UTC
it's kind of like antharax; vanity;
it's in the air in your eyes in your lungs in your walls
someone else put it there
you're breathing it in and you're not even aware
it's killing you, you know
and the only reason you're reading this now
is because something drew you in.
maybe it's because this is typewritten
...
hell knows if it were in my handwriting
you wouldn't have gotten past the third letter
but back to the killing
back to the dying
the vanity that someone has put in the air and is filling your lungs,
it's curable.
all you have to do is realize
;
this poem is not about you.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 11:29 PM UTC
im tired of faking
i wanna get up in the morning
and feel honestly alone
not like this
not looking without seeing
not hearing without knowing
this poem *****
its two in the morning
and i'm tired
what the hell is a triplet
these lines without meaning
so vague
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 4:44 AM UTC
What is love; useless;
you write delicately
as if words could carry emotion
amidst their vowels.
It sounds awkward;
the letters weigh down my tongue
With their blunt and jagged
syllables;
It is not real poetry;
It is the realest poetry.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
O scream, you'll find no salvation,
(you have not sinned,
there is no sin)
There is no 'salvation';
no hope for the angels;
no hope for the ******
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 5:32 PM UTC