Colossal violence revels in the midst of hostility
Ingenius methods of hipocrisy roams our land
Dressed in superior clothings of mighty brands.
Nihilistic approaches for humanity's growth
Thats how things are done
As the blood red luminant shadows of the crescent moon strucked the heart of masochistic reapers of youthful innocence.
The bitterness of peace and joy did not satiate the evil's hoggish needs
So with their monstrous jaws and claws they haunted everything that screams life and hope
Until all of the land was left with little to no resemblance of what it was before
For now, the little town for which kids seek toys to play
And where adults find palpable joy in the simplicity of their humble abodes
Is now nothing but a mere reminder of how that ghost town was
Where the **** stench of death and prejudicial entities of mankind lodges.
Sometimes I wonder how it would feel if I slit my throat.
How would the cold blade feel against my skin as it cuts through my flesh while it breaks all those restrained sadness I chose not to show.
How would it feel like if I die?
I wonder if my family would miss me, if they would mourn over my loss and whisper me the words I so longed to hear or would they despise my dumb recklessness and 'madness'.
Would they finally understand me?
I wonder if my friends would remember me, cry at my wake.
Rekindle the memories and the laughter we made.
How would it feel if I say my final goodbye?
I wonder if death would give me the life I wish I had when I was still breathing.
this isn't poetry
but just like poetry
it is a mix of reality
and of beauty.
this is but a question
of a teenager
asking for help.
"What is your stand? Should UN State Members accept refugees? Why?"
if ever you have any stand on this topic pleaseeeee message me or something, thaaanks a lot!
i love travelling at night
makes me feel like i could write
pieces of melodies that could make me
hold on tight
at every wonder that's in sight.
riding on a bus
with the wind caressing my cheeks
in a cold welcome
made me feel
as if everything was real.
the noise of every sound from people
felt like a beautiful hymn
the city lights
and broken tainted windows
captivated the heart
of a starved artist
whose poetry is still
doomed to nothingness
for she was no one but an artist
in the shape of a youngster
with a messed up poetry.
What would they say if they
could read my mind?
Would they pity or wont they just mind?
They say that i was pretty,
heck if that is true.
Lies, liars thats all that i knew.
idiocacy and scars.
Tainted shadows and
Children die and parents mourn,
when i die would you cry for me too?
Just because you cant see it doesnt mean its not there, the words he sang had never been more true.
and pained silence,
thats all that i am,
a bundled up horde of misery covered in a glossy wrap.
Don't tell me I'm pretty
Tell me that I'm passionate
That I have drive
Tell me that I make you laugh
That I know how to make your day better
Don't tell me I seem nice
Tell me that I'm kind and compassionate
Tell me that I'm not afraid to dream and to dream big
Don't tell me I'm perfect
Tell me the you love me despite my flaws
That you want to spend the rest of your life with me
Don't tell me I'm beautiful
Tell me that you'll be faithful and forever true