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Apr 2013 · 2.2k
It's About Cannibalism
R W Apr 2013
The blood seeps between my teeth;
it's sweet,
like Your words.
How dare You tell me to die?
I could easily **** You,
**** You,
like Them.
How'd you like that,
to stop being a You
and be
in the Them?
So, shove off.

It's a wonder we're not all dead
yet.

You blame Satan for "us",
"my kind"?
If that were true,
why do I spare You;
You who judge
and taunt,
and all I do is live.
Satan had nothing to do with me.
But, this is not about angels and God.
This is about Cannibalism.
*From the perspective of a male cannibal, about 28 years of age, who is being publicly chastised for being a cannibal. He's fed up with people using religion as an excuse for his actions. He wants people to recognize his actions as his own, instead of reverting to Satan. The issue has stopped being about his actions, and now about what religion is to blame. A religious and social statement, and a loud one at that.*
(2013)
Jan 2013 · 324
I Want You To Die
R W Jan 2013
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouy­oudontidontidopleasesomeonehelpiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouil­oveyouiloveyouyouruinedmeiloveyouilovehimyoutouchmeimlonelyineedh­elpfromsomeoneandiloveyoubutilovehimandhedoesntlovemenadnietherdo­youyouneverdidihateyouihateyouihateyouihateyoubutdoiordoesmyheart­.

icantdothis.icantaffordtoopentoyou.andneverwilliagain.imstupid­.stupidgirl.shouldveknown.ishouldveknown..

and then i
To James.
(2013)
Jan 2013 · 466
Feeling Again
R W Jan 2013
It overwhelms, swallowing up my life. My eyes grow dreary from the computer screen, so I give up and retreat to my room.
I put on my music; songs not listened to for years.
Mistake.
Sitting down, I slowly press up the volume, pushing the earphones deeper and deeper into my ears until they can go no farther. I can hardly hear my own voice as I sing along to these songs; ghosts from my past.
His face flashes by.
No.
I have no defenses.
Yes.
I let him in.
Mistake.
WHY must you do this.
You show up at all the wrong times?!
My voice hurts just typing this.
I want to scream it at your face.
I bury myself in the music.
Close my eyes, begin to sing.
First, my old favourites, the ones I loved the most. Fun to sing, fun to hear.
Then the ones with pain..
The ones I used to lock my heartbreak into.
I feel my heart rip open.
Blood drips from the wound. Your face. My tears. My screams. My pain. My life.
I scream into the songs.
I feel you walking away.
I see your heart turning from me, against your will.
I want to cry,
But it comes out in my voice.
The things you said hurt me all over again.
I hate you.
I love you.
I miss you.
This is wrong.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I don't know you.
I don't know me.
I know you.
I don't know.
Sitting down,
eyes closed,
heart open.
My voice jumps
and crescendos
and cracks
with every tear I scream.
I am in my past.
These songs.

These songs were better left untouched.
I was better
when I didn't know
how to cry
through my voice.
To James, and Sam.
(2013)
Jan 2013 · 514
Truth
R W Jan 2013
Waiting by the door;
footsteps echo.
A stranger's heart
beats nervously in my throat.
It's not mine, no,
how can it be?
It's filled with
lies; lies of my life
flashing before my two cold eyes.
Happy times and places
now shredded beyond repair.

Trusting, trusting.
You asked me to trust you.
Years ago you could have said this
but no. You lied.
The beings I trusted
are nothing but lies.

Lies; lies fill my life.
You are not so.
I loved you at first
but now, now I must go.
Leave you to lie
to my brothers and sisters.
They will leave too
when they hear of
this tragedy you bestow us
through our lives.

Where, then, are they hiding?
Peel back the masks
and there they are waiting.
Like fire to ice
it melts in a rush.

Find this is a dream.
You all stay real.
But no.
Never a dream-state.
The worst ones
are only ever
real.
*This is from the perspective of a man who, while eavesdropping on his parents, finds out he's adopted. I imagined a sort of foster home situation, this man being in his twenties, and he has several "brothers" and "sisters" living in the house with him, although he has no idea any of them are adopted, including himself.*
(2012)
R W Nov 2012
Maybe my heart's not as strong.
Maybe that's why I fall for guys too easy.

Maybe my mental blocks on emotions weaken over time.
Maybe that's why I feel too much when simple pain hits.

Maybe I should tell him I love him.
Maybe that's why this hurts.

Maybe I should tell him later.
Maybe that's why nothing ever gets solved.

Maybe I won't tell him and he can go on not knowing and it will be simple again.
Maybe that's why he'll never understand.

Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Yes.
(2012)

— The End —