I am ready to open throats
And yours will be the first
I sink my teeth into
I'll tear out those lies
You spew about me
And spit them in the dirt
Like the bile they are
Play with the wolf
And see how fast I can turn
Come at me again
And I'll show you
How much blood
I'm willing to spill
**** off from me
From turning my friends
Against me
Or I swear to god
You won't have a throat to speak from
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
I have teeth
And I will ******* bite
I am done being the animal
Kicked into the corner
I will be the wolf
That takes no ****
I am out for blood
And the moment you test me
I will sink my teeth
Into your yielding throat
You are a snake
And I will break you
The next time you so much
As look at me
Don't believe me?
Come find out.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC
The dark universe opens up
To a blooming galaxy
Spanning light years across the space
From my brain to my heart
A mix of understanding and enigmatic thoughts
A paradox in what I thought was
Simple to comprehend
Only the future will tell
So here I go
One foot
In front of
The other
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
I'm so ******* bitter
And it's festering like an abcess
And I must express it
I'm so ******* bitter
Because you made a promise
Got me to believe again
That love was vibrant and worth
Giving one more try
You Painted me a picture of forever
And left me with a tragic water damaged
Oil painting that I can never
Forget
The colors blending together
And now they're an amalgamation
Of greys and blacks
And now I can't remember
When they were something beautiful
I'm so ******* bitter
Because as soon as I needed you
The one time I really needed you
You decided you'd rather forever
Be never
I'm so ******* bitter
Because of you
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 11:34 PM UTC
It was the first time in a long time.
I had resigned myself to being locked in my fortress, alone, but safe.
Then you came.
You were a friend at first, and then you were more, and I opened my shackled doors.
Things were good. They were hard sometimes, but they were good.
You wandered my castle for a time, acquainting yourself with the parts of me you could reach. Sometimes you hurt me when you were hurting, but I didn't blame you. Because I loved you.
After more time had passed, I allowed you into my throne room.
Told you what had been lurking in my depths, the fears I felt and how the mortar of my structure was crumbling. I let you into my very core. I thought you could help.
You seemed to grow slowly hostile after I told you. My halls weren't filled with the usual warmth. Then I brought you to the throne room when my stone began crumbling and my throne began splintering, you agonized on how the splintered wood affected you, instead of giving me the support beams I needed to stay together. The wood of my legs split, and I was hurting, and I needed you most. I still bore your weight when you hurt, but my breaking, jagged wood was... Too much for you. Though before I began crumbling, you had told me you would endure anything, for you loved me.
But then you left.
My throne was broken, the stone of my castle shuddering without support; I was falling. I supported you in your loneliness, cradled you by my hearth when life was too much. But when I began crumbling, you decided my halls were not for you any longer. You would not help maintain that which sheltered you through brutal storms, that which always promised you a safe place to stay. You left.
And it hurt at first.
But then I was angry. My fire flared, knowing you told others that my crumbing bricks weren't really breaking, that I was an insult to those that truly needed help, even when you knew that the bombardments of my crisis shattered my walls, broke my throne. You would have people look at my cracked stone and jagged wood and think it a ploy for pity, even as I struggled to keep myself standing in the vicious storm that raged on.
I allow close friends to wander my halls after you left, and they help rebuild. Place mortar between the cracks of my walls, clean the cobwebs away from my corners.
I will not allow them to enter my throne room. Not yet. It will take time. I will rebuild my broken throne, my hands will bleed from the splinters, but I will prove you wrong.
I will be the King I was meant to be, I will show you how wrong you were about me.
I want you to know what treasure you left behind. What you took for granted.
My walls are fortified, my dear friends maintain it for me, and I hold them by the warmth of my hearth. I will support them as I did you, for they are grateful and help keep me standing.
Not like you.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
A fragile little thing. Xylophone ribs that heaved as coral reefs beneath a hurricane, and a prominent spine, a mountain range down a plain of pale white. Mountain range cutting against a pale plain in sharp and jagged ridges, a volatile and fearful structure, shifting with the quakes that came from the planet's heart, a flighty beat. Gashes in the land, deep fissures in his earth from tremors of stress in his core, bringing more fractures and gashes in the delicate white frame. Two brown moons, always wide and full. He was a dying planet, orbitting a dying star that pounded within, a ticking bomb awaiting a cataclysm; and such a force came to the withered shell of a planet. A supernova burst forth, and the fragile planet crumbled into nothing, thin fragile bones blowing away as dust among the stars, along with his brown moons and plains of sickly white. This was a death, and a beginning, too.
From the dust of his bones he reformed, the gashes of his tremors and quakes becoming hills and gentle ridges upon the healthy soil of his new skin. His spine no longer an unforgiving range of sharp bones and discomfort, now settled comfortably beneath his earth. A true structure to be relied upon, one that will not bend beneath force. His brown moons are warm and quiet, calming the tidal waves and vicious tremors that once stormed in his core and tore fissures upon his coasts. A living planet, one that could give hospitality and withstand forces unknown. It took a supernova, a death so loud all the solar system tembled in its wake; but from that, he was reborn. Greater than the sickly planet and fragile core, he became a system of stars and comets, constellations in beauty marks upon a thriving expanse of healed skin, a new being, strong and resilient.
Do not be afraid of the end, because more often than we may realize, it is a beginning; the one we have always needed.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC