Darken this verse,
with sour intentions.
I can’t crave
this, your imperfection.
And like ticks,
you’ll feed relentless,
not ever absolute.
Such weak examples,
disgraceful role models.
Decrepit, this soul
can find it.
The only truth.
I will die.

…And that’s what I want to see
The next time a poetry competition is held
The best ones shall be considered FREE
Simply
To leave chance alive for those who never win
To keep a little hope kindling for those who can’t
A competition for the worst attempt, I’ll call it
Not in a humiliating way, maybe
The stars will shine during the day
And I’ll hand them frowns and shades of grey
”Better luck next time, you’re a pro I must say”
8 lines full of grammatical errors and senseless garbage
In its awkward sway, shall steal the day
Eh, the ratings will sky rocket
-MOST VIEWED THREAD IN THE HISTORY OF-
Simply
I hate putting this here as a memoir
But sue me if I stand for those who can’t
I’ll give them feet and you can take a ****
On a hillside 900 miles from nowhere
Because you’re an awesome poet and you can pen lines
Like a quadruple PH.D with an immaculate *******
So maybe they will call you a winner
The next time a poetry competition is held
I will brand you a sinner
For stealing some horrible poet’s trophy
Simply

Thoughts running rampit create a storm of uncertainties in my mind.

A place to hide from their constant rattling is all I hope to find.

Uneventfully I travel in circles always begining  at the same place where I end.

This chaotic loop is something that can't be broken, at best I hope that it will bend

These chains that bind me come from nightmares black as coal.

Trapped in a downward spiral, quickly it is spinning out of control.

How can you escape when it is your own memories locking you in a cage.

Taunting my soul, breaking me down with the everlasting war that they wage.

I am
Bloated.
Stuffed.
Full to the brim
with feelings.

I am
Alone.
Deserted.
Nowhere near my home
tears streaming.

I am
Shivering.
Cold.
Left out
no warmth to help.

I am
Crumbling.
Caving.
Falling apart
with no-one but myself.

I am
Losing.
Failing.
Giving in
it must stop now.

I am*
Going.
Leaving.
The departure gates open
Final Bow.

Stretched skin
stuck through with
hollow, hypoallergenic needles.
Pneumatic ink guns have plunged
****** between my veins,
I'll never be the same
modified and adapted
some find it attractive
others find it pointless,
foul, and disgraceful
but I'll keep on changing
my flesh because it reminds me
of life, you can't get out
unaltered and it's
painful