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If immortality is granted
that shall be the day I die.

For if living has no finish line,
why must I run at all?
Impunity of reality

Thou that have been purified through
deafening and blindness,
shall perish under the weight of the world
when they’re senses are emancipated.

To ******* your spawn with the lies
of success and meaning
or to shield them from injustice
is as harmful as belt upon back.
if you remove their false reality
they shall crumble
under the pressure of society
and under the knowledge they have gained.
Feb 15 · 78
halcyon
sempiternal memories
flow like a river
the resting brume on misty waters
twisting into the distant offing
the mellifluous melody of the ethereal past

like thunder above songbirds,
the illusion dissipates into a weazening
idealistic falsehood, an optimistic masquerade
the thrash of lightning onto deciduous skeletons
awakens the truth beneath

as the roaring flames erupt
the leaves effloresce to ash
the halcyon lies are swelted
into no more than gentle dust
the endless turned ephemeral
halcyon lies
burn into
ephemeral truths
Jan 30 · 764
goals of gold
Why make goals of gold
and grandeur and fame.

When we all live to die in
flesh and bone.
we live to die
gold or nothing.
Jan 27 · 1.2k
i was born me
If I was supposed to
be defined by grades on
a paper, or by words in
a dictionary

I wouldn’t have
been born human.

If I was supposed to
be confined by margins
on an essay, or by stars
on a flag.

I wouldn’t have
the ability to create.

If I was supposed to
be defined by hatred
to my name or by my
disgraceful past.

I wouldn’t have
been born me.
Jan 25 · 198
corpse into flowers
with a lead bullet dancing in my head
i’ll send the petals flying
onto the tombstone where which i lay
with shriveled lilacs dying.

dormant my figure shall wait
under the snows of winter’s rage
beneath the dirt i lay.

i will turn from flesh and bone into
daffodils and daisies.
the amelioration of my corpse will be left forgotten.

down here within my coffin
i will be left
rotten.
my flowers shall bloom
and my body will be no more than petals plucked by a lovesick fool
Jan 17 · 137
pipe bomb
Regurgitating visceral insults
and spewing out vile barbs.
A danger to all around.
A pipe bomb,
building,
inculcating,
and storing away
immense pressure
until I
e x p l o d e.
And you will see me for the destructive force I truly am.
I am mlre  dangerous than you know
Jan 13 · 268
bad habits
bad habits
the normalization of disfiguring one’s self
a daily roadblock.
a bountiful collection of poor decisions
that i’ve lined up upon my wrist.
a bile curdling hatred of my fading wounds,
they are the only ones that stay.
bad habits
they are the only ones that stay
Jan 11 · 211
give a kid a match
if you give a kid a match
they will learn to start a fire.
Jan 4 · 120
hot water rising
sitting in the shower,
pellets of rains sculpting despondent
woes.
the melting faucet,
the oppressive mist
the calescent tears.
you barely notice the water rising.
Dec 2018 · 77
unswayed
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the toxicity of my own sentiments
is viscerally disgusting,
i know I deserve death

i'm a chainsaw upon trees,
oil upon oceans,
shadow upon shade


my thoughts are grueling
and the world is yelling,
‘do not take another breath'

so once i think my last thought
and write my last stanza
the world will still turn, unswayed.
i know I deserve death
Dec 2018 · 109
concrete cries
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
Maybe.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.
I wish I could be the moon
Dec 2018 · 168
love is the novacaine
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the way to numb the pain.
love is the novocaine,
the laughing gas,
the painkillers.
the mind melters
it takes your greatest aches and lets them disintegrate.
once love leaves, it decimates.
it decimates
Dec 2018 · 58
acidic memories
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the pouring of acid into my skull,
the song of searing sadness
burns in a boastful boisterous blaze.
lonely leeches lavish my love
removing roses and riches,
and turning treasures into terror.
echoing emptiness etches erratic thoughts
and cremates the cool calmness.
wander, worthless worms
and dare to drift into a daunting dream.
alone.
all alone.
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
I’m a traveler of
your moonlight smile,
your oak tree eyes,
your warm wind voice.

The flicker of midnight forests
that light up your gaze
and reflect off your face
leave me in a daze.

I’m an explorer of
your alternative personality,
your shoreline attitude,
your sour citrus punchlines.

The melting aroma of black licorice
surrounds your being
and drifts from your hair
makes me feel at home.

however
you are
not my
home.
if only i had a home
Dec 2018 · 64
impasse
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
my family is an impasse,
captivity for self-growth.
like a chick without a nest,
i refuse to catch flight,
and leave our inevitable
downfall.

my home is deadlocked
a battalion of misguidance
and an army of adversaries.
i refuse to fight
and flee from our explorable
defeat.

my brain is a stalemate
a seemingly premeditated homicide
with terrific envisions of the future.
i refuse to reunite
and save my mind from its inescapable
demise.
_ impasse _
Dec 2018 · 174
chastisement
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
chastisement towards myself
for every time i falter or stutter,
for every time i can’t control
my cauldron of sizzling insanity.
i reprimand everything i ***** up
everything that do.
rebuke fills my body
whenever i wake up,
whenever i continue my worthless existence.
whenever i continue live
Dec 2018 · 73
clear
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the shorter the poem,
the clearer my mind
Dec 2018 · 70
poetic promises
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
poetic promises,
metaphorical truths,
and hypothetical honesty.

the wordsmiths easiest task.
turning lies into agreements,
and unfaithfulness into oaths.

the most sacred souls,
become unknowing hosts
to manipulative malicious varmit,

once the host is broken,
the devilish parasite moves onto another,
leaving the purest of people

damaged,
destroyed,
and
demoralized
deleterious demons
rip angelic dansels
to shreds.
Dec 2018 · 78
i'd do anything
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
i’d bow to the dirt you step on
i’d worship every atom that makes you
i’d take pay to breathe the same air as you
i'd give up my all bliss in hopes of acknowledgment.

i'd never talk to you again if it means you'd be content
i'd watch you love someone else if it means you'd smile
i'd lose my mind if it means you'd giggle
i'd bleed my last drop if it means you'd laugh.

i'd do anything,
but alas
you'd do nothing.
you wouldn’t do a thing
Dec 2018 · 170
plucking petals
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
plucking petals from the center of a daisy.
the satiny texture of life.
breathing in flowery delight.
twisting the pure ivory teardrops between my fingers.

crushing, grinding and squishing it into a paste.
the stunning flicks of winsome memories,
turned to shredded affection
and self-loathing.

the bitter toxins
still, sting wounds of battle,
however, the knowledge of that daisy's deadly sickness
will continue this painful war.

it hurts so bad,
plucking out the petals that lay around my heart,
to remove my feelings for you.
plucking              
        
                plucking

plucking            
    
               petals
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
and I will learn to tread forward

the twisting, winding, twining godforsaken roads
the endless forked paths.  
through muddy thickets,
lush undergrowth,
and soggy marshes
I wander,
and I will learn to tread forward.

the dismal, interminable, harrowing roads
the treacherous pathways
that lead straight to death.
through unforgiving fog,
cheerless sunless mountains,
and on the footprint of war
I plod,
and I will learn to tread forward.

unearthly, obscure, eerie roads
the traumatic passageways
that bring memories of the walkways before.
through the eye's rainstorms,
shrill heinous screams,
and across the self-fought battlefields,
I limp,
and I will learn to tread forward.

I will always learn to tread forward.
-
I'm trying to tread forward.
Dec 2018 · 91
scarify
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
I am no longer aware if this is
a raspy cry for help,
addictive scarification,
or a self-******'s first taste of happiness,
or maybe its the feeble attempt of control I long to have
Dec 2018 · 243
vulture
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
And through the hills and down to the valley to find a place to nest
the warblers,
the songbirds,
and the wrens alike.
Feathered avians here and there with a song they’ve known since childhood.
They chirp and they flutter,
but I shriek and sputter.
They tweet and call,
but I cackle and fall.
When face to face with flocks of gorgeous birds and their equally breathtaking tunes,
I’m often left to wonder
why I turned out so grim.
Was it the way I was born?
The nest I grew up in?
Or was I never supposed to be
the agile, effortless creature
everyone wished me to be?
I am an ****, revolting, thing
and that explains why nobody loves me.
How could anyone love a beast like me?
Dec 2018 · 48
my life is like a train
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
My life is like a train
It shutters and twists
It screeches and howls
From place to place.
From country to city.
It tries to escape the path made for it, but it will never be free.
It feels as though it just wanders alone.  
It feels as though it will never be over.
It feels as though it’s going too fast.
On and on it goes.
It sees countless people
But does anyone stay?
No.
nobody peoples
Nov 2018 · 195
hellish mental purgatory
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
a cognitive dissonance
a mental static
an emotional monsoon
an undistinguishable amalgamation of uncertainty and ambiguity
the subdued symphony of my severing sanity
plays a deafening, intrusive beat
in the background of my life’s outrageous orchestra.  
i’ll never escape my own hellish purgatory,
my mind.
my mind.
Nov 2018 · 270
the contraption‘s gear
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
the hapless cries of my long-lost self
i’ve left so far in the past.
the unsightly girl,
who couldn’t stand up.
the pitiful love-struck gear,
turning round and round without a care in the world,
little did she know that within the upcoming years she’d begin to finally question her place in this infinite machine.
this infinitely,
never ending,
turning
contraption.
she is the contraption’s gear
Nov 2018 · 651
desaturation
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
out of all the beautiful, vibrant, vivid colors
i am a bland, dull, uninspired hue
between the words in a book,
withered, dehydration grass,
or the color of a summer hare.
however, i’ve been told that i was once creative,
rain twisted oil spilled on cement,
poppies in a mid-afternoon sun,
or the tone of a summer goldfinch.
i wonder if it was the sun’s rays that desaturated my existence
i am the product of years worth of desaturation.
Nov 2018 · 1.7k
pawn
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
on the chessboard of life,
i am no more than a ****.
a fruitless tree in an astoundingly vast orchid.
a candle that lacks a wick, a flame that never flickers.
a hypothetical being without a purpose or plan.
the hypocritical brute, who is fattened on self-grandeur and sick off narcissistic thoughts.
in the dictionary of life
i am no more than a punctuation mark,
a mere dot on a piece of paper,
trying to clarify the stew of words, flung together by an equally trifling author.
i am nothing
Nov 2018 · 689
dripping gasoline
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
the drip drip drop
of my leaking love
the tune of emptying emotions.
the longing in my heart,
the lonely in my chest,
spilling into a solemn lake beneath me.
like gasoline, it sits cool,
nothing
seems to
happen,
but as soon as that puddle sparks
i can feel myself burning ablaze.
the drip drip drop
of my melting, burning love
the cackle of a lost battle.
the cackle
the crackle
of a fierce raging fire
Nov 2018 · 650
tangerine sunset
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
the cream-colored sky
mixing with tangerine essence
a circular fire flickers at the bottom of a darkening horizon
mellow gusts twirl the earth’s luscious fibers
the tang of serenity fills the heavens
whilst the shadowy darkness emerges, ready to swallow the land whole.
—^—•^^—
I marvel at the wonder of these tangerine sunsets
Nov 2018 · 396
creatures
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
-
In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
They lie dormant for day, weeks, months, years just watching.
And that is how they will stay unless you dare to close your eyes.

They’ll drag you away,
gut you,
and hang your remains to dry.
They will gouge your eyes,
smash your skull,
and break your bones.
They get intoxicated by your screams of agony,
high off your pain,
and drunk on your anguish

In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.

-
Their name?
Fear.
Nov 2018 · 876
the tombstone’s worth
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
the tombstone.
the shallow marker of death.
a block of stone that calls itself meaningful.
a pitiful rock that lays above the corpses of the long forgotten.
tombstones are a worthless waste of space,
only left because respect is desired long after death.
Nov 2018 · 402
romantic fuzz
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
Romantic fuzz.
In the aching void that washes through my brain.
Incomprehensible feelings,
that mess with my mind.
***** with my relationships.
And drown out the clarity.
If only I could pull it all together,
and make out what the static buzzing is trying to tell me.
the gritty hum of my frantic mind
tells me what to say
Nov 2018 · 4.3k
i have lost control
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
control is a rich red hue,
control is warm, and deep.
it’s a destructive power,
and a stinging force.
a delicate line
between pain and serenity.

control is a rich red hue,
control tastes metallic.
like a cog in a machine,
and it comes around like clockwork.
a jagged dash
between insanity and knowledge

control is a rich red hue,
control melts like wax.
it evaporates within seconds,
and it dries within moments.
a recalcitrant scratch
between delusion and control
control is the sand dunes left behind once the red lakes dry up.
Nov 2018 · 106
white lies
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
Little white lies paint the clouds in the sky.
Turning the sunset into cloud cover.
Turning the melting colors into a blank, empty canvas.
And in that blank canvas
you are left to only wonder what is behind
your little white lies
Nov 2018 · 71
prism
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
a phenomenal, extraordinary prism
the refraction of white light,
turning something into nothing.
i wish i was a prism,
for at least then i could create
artistic pictures
and breathtaking visuals.
but no matter what i create,
i am still meaningless
Nov 2018 · 243
four-dimensional feelings
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
four-dimensional thoughts.
senseless thoughts.
the kind of emotions you’ve never experienced.
the kind of thoughts that make the leaves change colors before your eyes
the kind of thoughts that make the tide drift away and never return.
the kind of thoughts that drive the most stable people insane.
the feeling you get when staring at the bottomless sky.
the feeling you get when faced with bottomless love.
four-dimensional feelings
can anybody understand these four dimentional feelings?
Oct 2018 · 353
drift away
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Death is
Running
Into
Flaming
Trees

Anguish
Wrecking
Anyone
You knew
I wrote this as my heart screamed in pain.
I found this poem from months ago while looking for the truth I left behind.
Oct 2018 · 143
wanhope
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Oh, how frivolous death truly is.
I no longer fear the quietus that will one day consume me.
Death is no more than the punctuation on the end of our tragic tale.
It's no more than a remedy for humanity.
Humanity is the grossest display of intelligence.
The most grotesque example of curiosity.
To call our species remarkable would be a scourge upon the word.
We taint the very things we love,
and incubate hate.
I take great umbrage in knowing my meaningless existence was spent as a human.
The contumely we have towards ourselves is enough to shed light on how excessively horrible we really are.
I am engulfed in wanhope,
infected with despair.
>>>
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
the girl who stirs the fog.
the whispy liquid air that swirls around her feet.
the cold caresses her dew covered cheeks.
the evening’s drooping cloud cover whispers in her ears.
the mellow sting of autumn's wind laps away her tears.
the misty vapor pivots around her gait.
she drifts delicately across the open plain,
was it her thoughts that brought her here?
or was it the simple joy of inhaling cold frost and exhaling warm smoke?
the world may next know about the girl who stirs the fog.
~
Oct 2018 · 753
shining
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
if the sun chose not to rise,
would you blame the stars because they continue shining?
Or would you blame the world because it continues spinning.
Oct 2018 · 572
dizzier and dizzier
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
her body was a prison, she could not escape from.
a life sentence of hideousness.
each mark on her body perpetuating her to
spin and whirl
and dizzier and dizzier and dizzier she got.
even though she was sickened by this feeling,
at least she couldn't focus on the all things she hated about herself.
at least nausea distracted her from her hideous face.
Oct 2018 · 171
—^—^————
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
My heart becomes undiscovered lands
a fragile ecosystem.
And all of this heartbreak make up a whirlwind of invasive species.
Creating havoc in my world.
My tears become rivers,
my rage form mountains,
my emptiness creates valleys.
If you monitored my hearts beats you'd see every crag, aerie, or tree.
You'd see how this emotional torment ruins me.
my heartbeat creates volcanoes, ready to erupt
Oct 2018 · 144
stillness
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
I crave the silence that used to be a disease.
I miss the feelings of stillness that would make my empty head pound.
The quaking nothingnesses would make the bravest men cower.
I crave the silence I used to hate.
The misophonia brings me to tears.
Because when the world won’t stop whirling,
the people won’t stop shouting,
you realize how great the quiet really was.
You realize how beautiful the silence is.
Oct 2018 · 110
burdens of love
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Oh, how I miss the sweet burdens of love
that used to hold me hostage.
I wish I could feel my racing heart,
my rising shame,
and terrific jealousy.
I long for the way my face would go red,
and miss the time I had a reason to get out of bed.
I wish I could find one person to love
and for them to love me back.
Oct 2018 · 129
beautiful yet
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
i've
                    shattered
my finest mirror      
so   that
   maybe   my  
fragmented                      
                     reflection
will look
more      normal  .
am
i    
beautiful yet
    ?
: )
am i beautiful yet?
Oct 2018 · 93
misfortune
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
magpies and mirrors,
crows and cats.
all the bad luck goes to me.
i shatter and carve into every mirror i see
i've walked past all the black cats running free
i've talked with the birds of death and doom
and watched as my seeds of misfortune bloom.
-
Oct 2018 · 923
gorgeous death
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
A monotonous sky, coupled with scarce dainty raindrops.
The breeze that flicks my hair behind my shoulders with a grace I couldn’t replicate.
A singular sun stained leaf flutters to the ground.
It’s marigold hue stands brilliantly against the road below.
The Earth is now stained with the sweet reminder that everyone will either leave or die.
the death of someone you never truly knew,
is enough to make you wonder,
will my death be like this?
Oct 2018 · 82
i am no poet
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
i am no poet,
i write with no meaning.
not every word has a point.
i don't ooze with passion
or drip with description.
i am no poet.
just a girl pretending to be.
a young teen pretending to be a poet
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