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Anna Dec 2018
The small hands of a child
Are innocent
Reaching for fake animals
Or candy bars.
But his mother
Says he shouldn’t have been here
His father
Never kisses him.
He has nothing to reach for.
A child can be born without innocence.
Small hands can do more
Than reach for fake animals
Or candy bars.
A tiny killer, he is.
Alan S Bailey Mar 2018
You hold me in your arms and caress
My hair, I feel so soft as a feather, I grasp
At your short dark hair...so light and smooth.
Until you are kissing my neck, you move
Along so graceful, playful-wild-all that you do.
You hold me so close, I feel as if I am lost
In the world of natural love, like there is
A never-ending supply, gold from the skies above.

In time I am rocked back and forth between
The ebbing tide like a flow of water from the sea
Is holding me. It keeps me in a form of motion
Not unlike I am a boat and your arms are the sea.
Visuals aren't needed, this is all I feel and all I see.
We are sitting there in the green green grass,
It's a beautiful warm day, all sunshine and soft rain,
As if it was brought about from a world so divine.
We will forever be in this place...we'll always stay.
It's always 1989...always 1989...
too be honest,

you turn me on.

i'm hooked.

i'm high.

feelings,
believing...

you're in love with me.
-WRR
Poetic T Sep 2017
She was the venom I wanted, collecting within mind.
My thoughts corrupted by that slithering smile.
But all I wanted was that look dissolving my will,
her bite corrupting my weakened will.
Her voice corroding my resolution of that smile.

Looks that could give a ****** to those of weak inclination.
Her touch would climb upon contemplation and weaken
the perception of all falling within her gaze.
She was the poison that I wanted corrupting my sweat.
Have you ever kissed something so sweet that you
go blind, the look that erodes my will...

I wanted to touch every moment, but my senses
were being influenced by her hypnotic glares.
She gave a reflection of love, but they were eroding
my senses of what was safe. But I couldn't touch,
because she was the venom on my brain.
I wanted to touch, but her sweet venom numbed my brain

Looks that could give a ****** to those of weak inclination.
Her touch would climb upon contemplation and weaken
the perception of all falling within her gaze.
She was the poison that I wanted corrupting my sweat.
Have you ever kissed something so sweet that you
go blind, the look that erodes my will but I'm fine...
My homage to poison Alice Cooper
Joshua Haines May 2017
They said they had to **** my dreams
because I didn't have enough zeroes.
In other words, Mr. Doe, you were
                     lied to by your heroes;
money isn't everything,
but not having it is being invisible.
You can work sixty hour weeks,
but only earn ways to be miserable.

My parents paying four-fifty, monthly
-- which is not a lot of money; we had
to eat out of cans and delude ourselves
into thinking it was funny. Sorry, Does;
                              sorry for your woes --
but America is the big hunter, and your
                            death is how it grows.

We were not equal; no account because
                   we had no account. Asked by
our family members if we bought junk
                      in a large amount. I'm sorry
to disappoint myself -- but I
                                         cannot afford
                                                   to lose.
I am the result of a flawed America
                                     that has learned
                                                to abuse.
Andy Randell Apr 2017
Chained by fatigue to the stairs
Of the shrug shouldered parliament
Encapsulated by the coat of the
Hunters that sleep in snow
That sulfur in the ash
Holds many of them in its
Malicious muzzle with the
Indifference of politicians
That both bite and swallow only to
Bloat their collective belly
And will lash at each other
With suicidal ferocity and the
Only reward they foam for is
Reverence of ******* couched
In heavy leather wheelchairs
Venting smoke like the volcanic
Seismic violence and flick the
Cinders into the valley with which
They open only to feel distain towards
While we in sleep close out eyes further still
and further and further still
neha Nov 2016
i want the soft rain,
the boy next door,
the candles on the cake,
the beating boombox,
the dance numbers,
and the happy ending.
cliché AF, but can't deny that i want it.
Last weeks grocery bag
In one hand
French fries in the other
Its been a rough day
Then I see him again
He looks like a Jesse
Or he could be a Ray
Flash back to those 80's boys
It's him again
But he's a new face
At the local supermarket
The second time around
Hey, it's your face again
He remembers me
Nice to see you again
He see's I grabbed the same
He asks how I am today
I ask about the hours
Then sorry & respond...
"No bumbershoot?"
I know nothing about him
But he knows I have a friend
Who bailed on me
He's responds
Like he knows & understands
His tone tells it all
As if he's saying
(What an *******)
He continues,
"The festival is a whole weeks pay."
I say,"Agree."
He's young & tall
Just how I like em
Blonde in a casual gloomy hoody
Glasses to top it off
Just to see green
The beauty of the world
He speaks deep & pleasing
His energy is secure & confident
I swear he's a Cancer
Maybe even a Virgo
His vibe
Reveals he knows a thing or two
I'd love to find out
To get to know
This IGA boy
Blue Jacket Brunette
Catches Your Eye.
Mind Already Set
He's Quiet He's Shy.
Nothing Could Go Wrong
I Know Him
He's Strong
Though He Might Not Stick Around For Long.
He's An Unexplainable Mystery
His Smile Brings Me Joy.
Based On All Our History
He Is My 80's Boy.
Phoebe Seraphine Aug 2016
spit into my mouth
then *******

brush my hair for hours

date me
don’t ****

buy me Chinese for under $10
move in the next day

name a planet after me
call me Venus

listen to bebop & splatter
paint between every
crown & crevice
sore & slit

trip acid
puke

then dream
of my face

he never walks
in a straight line

his essence like
ripe leather
oil paints  
& the faint
metallic scent
of *******
Inspired by Jean-Michel Basquiat
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