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Come my dear, enter the dark
Where pain is your bliss
Seduced by this ****** mark
Surrendering to a razor blade kiss

Tonight, touched by tormented lust
Lost in suffering, only to bleed
Abandoning those thoughts of trust
In the seclusion of tortured need

Breathing the sweat of desires stain
A victim to a demon without restraint
Closed inside a mind long gone insane
Where the innocence is there to taint

Come my dear, enter the dark
Where pain is your bliss
Seduced by this ****** mark
Surrendering to a razor blade kiss
Copyright © Chris Smith 2015
 Aug 2014 Kenna
Brandon
Untitled
 Aug 2014 Kenna
Brandon
The greatest love story ever known
Has yet to be told
Because you and I
Have not yet met
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Kendal Anne
When she  first discovered the last fictitious and missing piece, that absent link that could create
That would fit so very perfectly between her fastidious reality and her dream filled escape

That piece was what filled her with the alluring thoughts of setting the diamond edged blades aside
To let her bloodied and gore encrusted wrist's lay. To finally heal her disfigured and cleaved thighs

To set aside the insomniac coloured nights, filled with a nervous tick called suffering and misery
Bringing dread filled terror for next days coming, day and night it creeps into her lightless sanity

It graced her with the forgotten hope, that daisy chains and blades of grass would keep her honest
Hope she had long abandoned as she hid within the scarred tissue upon her mangled conscience

Telling her that she was now allowed to forget her aphotic and distressing amorphous past
It was filled with many an onus and distrusts that she choked on; from lack of air, her brain begins to crack

Her Mother and her Father thought she was a "lacking" kind child, those that required little needs
It reminded her that she would never again have to repress and crunch down those memories

They rise inside her throat, until she regurgitates them along with what little food she would eat
She sits in her room most nights, crying softly alone and wishing to be as thin as the models on TV

That last puzzle piece was supplying her with a vociferous need to put the bottle of pills down,
  Many had slipped their way down her esophagus, from diet to Analgesic's, they ranged wide

They were locked away in her father's medicine cabinet, so of course she was always punctilious
Puts an aspirin in place for the ones she stole, so her parents (Would they care?) were left oblivious

She tried to push that last piece in, shoving it somewhere between a wrong scene of the puzzle
So the piece was soon to be lost, destroyed within the struggle to find the perfect place

As she was losing to and was within her blithering mind, wild and frightened, filled with dismay
She then reverts to the false reality, in which she called her final escape.

The last daring and startling move, the check mate, the final set stage of the play
Where dreams become the reality, and reality becomes the dream
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Regen Williams
boy
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Regen Williams
boy
he looked at me like
there were stars in my eyes
and he wished on them whenever
the edges wrinkled with laughter

he listened to me like
there were flowers in my words
and he picked them all and put them
in a vase in his bedroom

he looked at me like
there was love in his heart
and he said that it was too much
for him to handle

so he flew away
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Anton
reverie
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Anton
gone for a dream
but it's closed
I'm stuck in between
my life and your world

laugh whirling in limbo
longing for rest
break through reality
in your dreams I will awake

time is now forgotten
betrayed,
rhyming your past
with unbearable sentences of pain

every lie that I believed
was the same mistake
embraced it
i keep hiding from my dreams
in silence whispering for help
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Jessie
Why can't somebody tell me
"I'm sorry that he's dead."
Says it all
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Nina
I
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Nina
I
i think if you cut me open i’d bleed letters, my heart beats similes and my breathing is a hyperbole. my elbows don’t quite fit anywhere, and i don’t know why that is important, but it is. i wear my heart on my sleeve almost too literally, but i always end up wearing the same outfit. that pitter-patter you keep hearing is probably just my mind running to the christmas morning that is the way your hand holds a coffee mug and how you squint your eyes when you’re really listening. if you snapped the strings of a violin, one by one, that is how i feel right now. i don’t know how not to be confused, and i also don’t know how to be comfortable. when everything should be at rest i’d rather run, and i’d prefer to snuggle up into chaos and uncertainty.
 Jul 2013 Kenna
Lydia Cooper
Oh how I wish to be a reason for

Syntax and diction.

A reason for brushstrokes

And pen marks.

I’d love to be the reason for dreams

In the days or the nights.

An inspiration, an idea.

A muse.

I want to be the  reason

You pour your heart onto paper

And blush with truth.
 Feb 2013 Kenna
Brandon
I only come back to Hello Poetry to write
when I miss getting emails of people reading the crap I wrote.

It's been awhile.

Read this.

Like this.

Comment on this.

I might comment back

I might not.

It's nothing personal.

I want notifications.

{I suppose this is Hello Poetry equivalent to Facebook liking or twitter hashtagging... ########

But let's face it

Hello Poetry is much better. }








This has not been a
Poem instead it was just
Some stupid rambling.

I apologize
For wasting some of your time
With this rambling mess.

If it is any
Consolation I am just
As bored as you are.

If you are reading
This rambling mess still instead
of moving along
Yeah...................I don't know and I don't remember writing this. I wonder if I was serious or making fun of something. Figured I'd post it. I got a kick anyway.
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