I'm cursed to be the late night daydream
that floats from the back of your head
without precaution or warning
as you sweat in your bed
for you no longer know me
left me still standing but spurned
you're the one I got caught up in, spun up on and churned
into the softest of feelings, left to harden in the earth
down in the fire of it slowly, gaining self worth
but for now when you glide your hand across the my bottom of my  cheek,
I'll turn my neck slowly, feeling less weak
eye to eye as you smile
eye to eye with a thud
as you thrust your fist firmly into my guts
pulling out thoughtless words, fear of love and my own blood
please just leave enough vitals for me to whisper to you
I'm fine, I'll be ok
in 20 years tops
for now I'm just cursed
but you could make it all stop

The things I say when I pray for you
are the realest things you’ve never heard me say;
the things I proclaim when I rebuke the things of you
are the most forthright sentences that’ve ever come out of my mouth.
But when I speak to you, I say useless things,
because the realest things are left unsaid, only said in my prayers.

When I proclaim truths on you, when I proclaim truths about you,
I, myself, can’t comprehend what I’m saying;
I just let my mind be guided and directed.
But the words spoken and prayed, they never leave my secrecy.

Then again, I won’t let you in this close,
because you, yourself, are closed in;
you are closed in and your exterior is as rough to the touch as sand paper,
and you won’t open yourself up to the things I pray when I pray for you.
You won’t expose yourself to certain truths that I know,
more than you do, about you; you don’t want to.

You think they’re irrelevant, the revelations I receive,
you don’t want to hear them. But if you do,
you won’t acknowledge them; you don’t want to.
How then can I speak my mind about issues if I’m so afraid that it’ll make you blue?

How pointless it is, to pray for you but to not be able to share words of encouragement
about issues that you don’t want to acknowledge;
to not be able to walk with you through them.
I restrain my words and end up babbling about nonsense
each time you pick up the phone; two to three to four hours wasted
on arguing who has better spiritual discernment.

I don’t want it to be this way, I want to pray
out loud with you, and not be afraid of your judgement.
I want my words of wisdom to flow out naturally,
because, truly, I’m tired of cutting edges in the manners I try to not offend you.

I know you’ve got resentment;
please don’t look at me like this, seek to see my true identity.
I’m a light, I shine bright and cast out the darkness
with the light that lives in me.
I’m a warrior of love and an ambassador of the beacon of hope
that this world has yet to recognize.

And you’re just like me, co-heirs in this heritage;
so why must we go to war against each other like this?
Why must we let our pride get in the way of fruitful discussions?
This is not the right battle, this is not what we’re supposed to do.

Our battle isn’t against flesh and blood,
that is why I still pray for you.
I hope you’ll see me the way he sees me; precious and valuable.
But above all, I pray that one day I’ll be able to say
the realest things and proclaim the most forthright sentences
without being afraid of you.

November 14, 2017. I was sick of spiritually investing and fighting for people, because I felt like they don’t ever take in account my sanctified words.

Just as I was getting into my car, my breath was ripped from my lungs. On the back window bloody handprints littered the tinted glass, the viscous red slowly sliding down. An unstoppable snowball began building in the pit of my stomach. Looking around in the late, night darkness, I caught eyes with a man who stood a few yards away, in the middle of the road. His eyes were focused on where I sat behind the wheel, the door still open, allowing the chilled breeze to softly touch my skin.

“Rap. Tap. Tap, Little Bird,” his voice sounded like it had traveled via vocal chords through heavy sandpaper. He tilted his head causing messy, black hair to fall over glacier, pinpoint, eyes. A crazed smile spreading across his features. Everything about him screamed psycho.

My heart began to beat faster and faster, like a bird trying to break free from a cage, adrenaline levels rising, as he slowly took a step toward my car. The black trench coat he wore flowing behind him, the crimson covered machete he held rested on his shoulder. Sweat blanketed my skin as I looked for my keys.

“You’re going to sing your song of pain for me while I rip you apart, Bird,” he taunted.

Where are they?!   I thought in panic, I paled as it hit me, I forgot to grab them on my way out, ‘RUN!’ my mind screamed.

I sprang out of the car and ran the opposite way. But, froze in shock. Leaning against the rear bumper was the mangled body of  a girl. Her eyes had been clawed out causing rivers of red to fall down her pale cheeks from the sockets. Her bottom jaw ripped off, now laying on the asphalt, allowing her bloody tongue to hang like a decoration at a party, only this party was no birthday party, but a murder party, and I was an unwilling guest. A large gash stretched across her stomach, various organs now laid strewn around her, her intestine spilled from the wound like what you would see in a cheap zombie movie, but this was no prop and I wasn’t in a zombie movie. Her limbs bent in directions they shouldn’t bend, causing the the white jagged end of the broken bones to rise from the torn skin like mountains as thick scarlet rivers ran freely from the wounds. Blood seeped from her lifeless form, pooling around her.

A crazed laugh ripped through the air, “Don’t worry, Birdy Bird, you’ll be just like her soon!” he yelled psychotically, running at me full speed.

I sprinted down the road, my heart pounding in my ears. For what felt like days, but could have only been an hour, he chased me, twist after turn, through the dark, empty town. Fire burned in my lungs, my body sent waves of pain each pounding step I took, my mind screamed to stop and catch my breath. Using my last bit of energy, I took off into the upcoming woods that lined the city, taking shelter behind a large trunk of one of the hundreds of trees. Placing my hand over my mouth to silence my breathing, I listened for any sign of the insane man. For about twenty minutes, I listened, hearing nothing. My body relaxed, as I allowed myself to believe I had lost him.

But, as I stepped out from my hiding place, I ran into something, stumbling back with a gasp as the glint of a blade caught my eyes. Slowly looking up, my body shook with fear, my eyes widened in shock as the murderous man towered over me. He wore a smirk of victory, his eyes full of insanity. He let out a demented laugh, grabbing me before I could run.

“Surprise, Birdy!!”

this has been very exciting for me to do, if you'd like me to do more like this or have any ideas please tell me. And i'd love to hear what you think!!

You, the warm one with a cold heart,
The one that builds up and then tears apart,
An angel from the heaven with wicked ways,
Missing piece of the puzzle,
The player who plays.
Strength of a mountain,
As deep as an ocean.
The sky gives to you unwavering devotion.
Anger of fire,
Patient as time,
Walk on wire,
Fall out of line.
A very loud bark and a bite just as sharp,
You cut them to pieces with the voice of a harp.
Gold drips off of your silver tongue.
With a soul centuries old, and a body of young.
You, who shines brighter than the stars,
With the beauty of Venus and the bloodlust of Mars.
Your black hole reveals you, God of wrath,
Destroying all beings who invade your path.

The sweetness of your taste,
All that time gone to waste.
The essence of your taste,
Makes a bitch like me go insane.
But now the taste of your essence,
Leaves me no other option.
I'm sorry my love,
But you knew this would happen.

I never thought that you,
Would be at the edge of my blade.
But I've got to do what must be done,
I guess I have this battle won.
Now with your body, still and dead,
I can finally get this fantasy out of my head.
I now finally have your crimson red taste upon my hands.

I'm sorry it turned out like this,
But having your blood all over me makes
So damn happy.
I can't stop laughing, am I going insane?
Am I broken?
Did I really just kill my only reason to live?
Oh well, I'll meet you up there eventually...
[REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]

This is my first attempt at a more, messed up, and Yandere poem.

i wrote a letter
all the words i should've said
sealed it in blood
stamped it in red

sealed with a kiss
you know me too well
sincerely yours,
postcards from hell

Eppie 1d

raw meat rotting in the sun:
diseased, buzzing flies fly,
half-lidded, hazy eyes lie,
silence in a slack-jaw smile.
body bathing in concrete heat;
burning bare, mud-soaked feet.

i was told about god today.
never knew such a sick thing;
spilled blood makes angels scream.
i imagine i am beyond saving.

ritual dagger cuts fine,
but flesh is tough and gamy.
separate the bone marrow
from my bow and arrow.
i take the heart for safekeeping.

i want to be the dream-ender;
the soul collector;
the keeper of all worthy things.
so i pull back my arrow in the darkness
where even the angels can’t see.

Alec 1d

Depression sucks.
Am I right? Or am I right.
I can't speak.
I don't want to say anything
I want a hug and I want affection and I want attention.
But I also just want to escape and not think about anything.
Sometimes it's hard to escape with them around.

They keep me grounded when I start to get lost,
But once I'm lost they can only hope I find a way back.
They are so important to me,
But sometimes their feelings about me are hard to see.

I wish I could apologize
I wish I really knew what was happening
I wish I understood this blood-sucking Demon in my head.

It's hard to talk about really.
TBH I'm just depressed.
I'm known as "that" kid, ya know?
The one with the depressing poetry and stuff.
And yeah they are just joking when they say things like
"You can't write happy things."
But it doesn't help.
Well it doesn't help me.
But my blood-sucking Demon appreciates your comment about my writing.

I say he's blood-sucking, but I should say blood-letting.
That's one of the things he enjoys doing with me.
"Go on Alec. Pick out a sad song. Something bittersweet should be nice. If it makes you feel guilty while urging you to continue then it's perfect."
But . . . I'm not really up to it today.
"That's okay, because your body thinks differently. Laptop has pulled up a song, door is shut tight, you've opened your Nightmare Before Christmas coffin. Go in Alec. Continue."

Do I have a choice?
I wonder what would happen if I stopped now.
If I left it all here
And went to them
Or to talk to them.
If not them, then someone.
But alas, I leave for no one.

I move the paper I signed over a year ago.
"Do you promise to use alternative methods instead of hurting yourself?"
I signed it.
I thought it would help.
But the only thing it's good for is hiding my tool.

I reach down and grasp the razor.
I suck my breath through my teeth.
This is gonna hurt.
It's from a pencil sharpener.
They are so easy to take apart.
And so convenient for my blood-sucking/letting Demon.
He loves them.
I'm not sure if i love or hate them.

The melody has already begun.
The ritual has started.
I can't stop anything now.
Nothing short of someone bursting into my room to snatch it out of my hand would stop me.
But that won't happen
So i speculate for nothing.
I waver for just a moment.
I want blood, but do i want pain anymore?

It doesn't matter.
He wouldn't let me leave.
He just loves taking over my brain.
He says everyone hates me.
Family, friends, and worst of all them.
I can't disagree.
So i take the razor.
I angle it.
One of the sharp ends points down.
Sticking into my skin.
I can already feel the electricity of danger.

I slowly drag the blade down
Waiting for the blood to feed my Demon
He licks his lips in waiting
While I hiss at the sting it's bringing.
I flex to make the crimson colors blossom and bloom.
I know it will all be over soon.
Once he's had his fill
I can go back to my life
Like I was never even ill.
...But I don't know how to go back there anymore.
Any attempt at trying only increases his laughter.

Serene
Looking at you takes me back
To that paradisal garden
Where we used to pick roses

Roses are the colour of blood.

Petal by petal, life fell apart
Until there was nothing
But a thorny stem

No one wants to help you
When you are the cause of scars

So you pretend
Pretend like nothing happened
Pretend that you have no negative emotions
Pretend that Eden hasn't turned to Hell...

Until the only evidence of your soul
Lies in your eyes behind each iris

I wrap my life in crimson sheets of paper
         so nobody will notice when the blood seeps through

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