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come one come all
to see the apathy
to witness tragedy
the fame and fortune
the game ends in june
the name died too soon

all those
olden titles
tales of the late
soft spoke mysteries
entitled histories
forgoten stories
because of you

burnt to the ground
yet your empire grew
you left behind a trail
how we never knew
your secrets spilt
your identites spew

gilded ashes
paved the way
you taught us to follw
not to stray
every command
every lie
we let it pass
let you get by

an unwritten song
never to be sung
your entire world
the peirced lung
your forgetting friends
youre forgotten

youre rotten.
i do not support wilbur soot or any of his actions. this was written to convey the hurt i felt, and still feel knowing how awful he truely was
everything is changing.
youve changed.

you dont talk to me now.
i cry over you every night.

sometimes i wonder if you think about me
as much as i think about you.

then i remember
you left me because it hurts

i was too much like Her.

and you replaced me.

that hurt the most.
my insistence on existence is getting out of hand
the walls are shaking
ground is breaking
its getting hard to stand
i tried talking to the glass, staring into a new land
the mirror is cracking
voices stacking
echoing demands

i wrote a thesis on my spiral
and signed it in my blood
filed it under "WHAT THE HELL"
and watched it sink into the mud
people seem to like me
tell me i seem vague
i take it as a compliment
then turn another page.
i am the strength, the saftey, the fear.
i stay close, always near.
the one they call when things go wrong
the silence hurts, their screams a song.
the body aches, battered bruised
couldve been simple, had he refused
you
all those nights ago.
but he didnt know.
i keep them alive.
let the body thrive.
system poems part 1
there was an honest man. a good man. a story teller.
he worked in the library, taught children to read, he was a kind man, a great fella.

well "once upon a time" was his motto, his stories always bled into the light.
he went to bed as it got darker, knowing he had done his stories right.

"Nevermorre calls upon you, Storyteller." called the queen of that land.
he had to leave this era, he hoped theyd understand.

as the kind, gentle man left our world, he left a story for the children to be unfurled.
the story of Nevermorre, the friends of the past, the chimer of futures, the words of the last, the darkness of sorrow, the swirling of shame, those who read, did not return quite the same...

so quiet now young ones, im here to tell
the story of Nevermorre, is mine as well.
losely based on a yaelokre song, narnia, and the book the land of stories, i want to create a world of my own and fill it with characters widely known.
when you were close
your voice would drown me
your hurtful words
the silence crowns me
i stayed quite because i knew
thats the only way i would keep you
i wept
i barely slept
i stayed awake
every stupid decision id make
i did it for you
for your praise
your time
i wish youd stayed
called us "mine"
for an old abuser
I hear
her screams
of loneliness
love—
Faint and distant
but caught
in storm.

Venus cries softly,
Like two lovely doves—
Yet her voice
torn between
the dust of
abandon hell
and the
fallen silent stars
dancing across
the midnight skies,
where it shines
her beautiful scars.

I hear
Venus screams—
Her tears drop
like rain,
fear consume
Venus’s mind.
Her storms howl
louder than
Zeus’s thunder—
Yet left unchanged,
unheard.
Her heart,
still fresh—
Yet her soul,
almost left
for dead.

I hear her screams.
Venus burns—
Still, she waits...
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