it's time to dismember,
and funny, now is when i remember,
that this is why i began writing poetry.

flip fast past these pages,
of the darkest ages,

whoever you are, flip past these pages fast,

you want to know why i cant help it but write,
because there isn't just any receptacle, all I can do is writhe,
what i want you to help handle is not my poetry,
but it is my pain that can't take a poetic coquetry.
i'd like to run too,
i'd like to scream too,
i'd like to destroy too.
i have taken enough meteor showers,
i have called enough of my inhuman powers.
i would like to now stop and this heaviness i want to drop,
and that's where i want you to help me carry,
that's what everyday i marry.

et me speak for you, let me speak for myself

you may end up saying this once i finish this large straining rant,
so why dont we not wait and have what you wanted to say; said, have it engraved in the sand.
this kid is ungrateful, oh what the **** will satisfy him, i have given him enough to cloy.
stop ******* with my head, you are far from a sweet ******* toy,
you are no teddy bear, **** it you are a fiendish thorny porcupine
cactus could be sweet and so could you but hugging you makes me whine.
you make me bleed, i should have heeded before i let you come any close,
now look at me, look at what you have done, you are a pain, you are all the world's flaws.
**** you, what the **** are you, why cant you put a leash on your **** ******* avarice,
you make me scared, you might just **** life out of my lips, when all i want is a little kiss.
i dont think you are made to be owned, so go ahead and drown yourself in some random reverie
but better tell yourself, that is all you get, and when you're done dont reach out for recovery
because you are ungrateful, and nothing will ******* satisfy you, you heart vampire,
you can't be trusted, and that's why you are alone and busted,
what is it that you were trying to do, why would you make me feel so disgusted,
you bit through my soul and watched as it powdered away like a stale ***** rusk,
god you are so grotesque, 
so why don't you go ahead and finish it with your tea, just how you love, from dawn to dusk.

now go ahead and have it said, your rant on my heart's sand, 
and write with a blade until i bleed from every strand,
i will carry and scars like they are my armor,
i will carry them with great ardor.
like how i would every thought about you,
as you drift farther, further

i might want to say this but my tears could trickle down and wash it away,
so why wouldn't i just let it outnow, let it come and let it stray,
all i did was love and love i did, everything that you gave,
yes i am ******* grotesque, but you were no rusk, you were my reason to rave,
and i knew you would loathe me, i knew you would say, i am the worst, that i am diablo,
but i always told you, i told you all, i am no king midas, everything i touch is but fiasco.
i was never ungrateful, i wouldn't even excuse myself saying it was fateful,
i couldn't distinguish, i couldn't know what i was doing, i was true to you, every bit faithful
i spoke of the weight on my chest, for i didn't know i was just being untrue to myself,
because i am the stain, i am the pain, i am the burning, fuming, deadly cigar in the shelf.
i never wanted to **** you, i came with all the warning that i could **** you,
but the i know i am the one to ******* blame, because **** this poetry and **** my true hue,
it's all about what we feel, and when that's hurt we are no longer on a ******* even keel,
and that's the point, that's why i never detached where our hearts joined,
because even if I am falling off, breaking down, i don't want your joy and peace purloined.

now go ahead and have it said, your rant on my heart's sand, 
and write with a blade until i bleed from every strand,
i will carry and scars like they are my armor,
i will carry them with great ardor.
like how i would every thought about you,
as you drift farther, further​

What does an empty poet write about emptiness?

He wrote an empty poem that screamed his pain.

No one saw it

I can't write no more, I killed the poet so I could be free.
But the void is ******* me inside into nothingness.
What should I **** next?

its 1 11 am on the 11th of 11th month,
alone i wondered if there was another devil,
i could share my newly found trivia with,