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why blame the devil
for the actions that were made
in the name of your creator

listening to your scriptures and parables
has only lead me astray

only those who cause harm
cause harm for those who don’t

lock away your worries
ascension is near
She has that
reptilian heart, snake eyes-
cat screeching, rabid anger.
Whenever she's close to
me, I need sedation;
another world-one with
beauty and love.
Hers is a land of
brutality and hatred.
It makes my
soul *****.
When I'm lucky enough to
escape, she finds me, and
lures me back with her
charms and spells.
Then, it's back to the
cage, waiting to be
consumed.
She quit doing drugs.
Her dope now is
control.
It's the dragon that
she rides to hell.
Thomas W Case Apr 10
Don't sing
don't shout
don't try to get out.
It's nice and warm in here,
and smells like a slave,
and the grave will come
soon, so try to be brave.
And when you're gone and
rotting, and sunk in the
ground, I'll find a new
little bird that won't
make a sound.
Don't walk, don't run
don't swim towards the sun.
Embrace the darkness, you'll
have lots of fun.
I have my gun, it's loaded
and cocked.
Make a wrong move, and
you're bound to get rocked.
Don't be sick, don't get well.
Don't smell heaven, or skip
towards hell.

Don't feel
don't think
don't talk
don't drink
don't  smoke
don't move
don't live
don't die
don't try,
you'll fail
don't breathe
don't cough, don't sneeze
don't wake up early, or
arrive too late--don't love,
don't hate.
Don't express emotions that
seem insane.
I made my safe little
world, and I like it this time,
and you're frayed on
the edges, and too prone to fly.
So come closer
my little bird and get in the cage.
I'll clip your wings with my
apathy and rage.

Don't look at the moon,
or touch the stars.
Don't play in the fields
or go near the bars
it's not safe there,
so just be afraid.
I like to play tricks
you'll be my knave,
my jack of hearts
my ace of spades;
and we'll pillage and plunder,
and live off the land,
and you'll lie here quietly
in my rotten ******* hand.
Don't quit, don't try,
just sit here
and die
and lie naked in my

mansion of filth,
my consuming wealth
my towering health,
cuz I'm full of stealth and stature
and beauty and grace,
and I'll smear it all over
your ******* little face.
Despite dealing with the face of evil, I will hold my head up high, and to quote Don Quixote, "I have no intention of burning."
zelda rangel Apr 5
how lovely it is—

sashay is acceptable and conscience is brutal
some cannot feel it, some cannot see it and some think it is futile
permissible, yes, but if one does not contain such thing
you must never trust them that much, for you can never win
Nat Lipstadt Mar 27
~for Lori Jones McCaffery~

Lori Jones McCaffery commenting on
“a new time (poetry in the time of pandemic)”^
“Tender and brutal at the same time. Like the times.”*

                                                     ­          <>
your observation, a commission, opens an incision,
bleeding out a Noah flood vision:

                                                        ­        <>

when we begin, to compare and contrast the movable tender and the unstoppable brutal, the poetry must rise to equalize the pressure of unbalanced times, the tender, and the brutal in an uneasy peaceful coexistence, at the same time, same place
                                                           ­     
                              
                              
                            
The Brutal                                              The Tender
—————                                             —————
life in the epicenter, the greatest,       in the darkened bedroom,
noisiest city, now landscape               she awakens, her hand quick
painting quiet,                                      comes to rest on my chest,
one lives/writes/eyesights thru       the quality of motion+volume
pink mask + a minimum six              of heartbeats, is it loud enough,
feet of separation,                                steady on, no need to dial 911!
a citified tableau of macro wave       she unaware that I can hear
forces in crashing collision, upon     her loud, tender exhalation
your skin’s cells                                   celebrating surviving day#?

newspaper images of Death’s            many volunteer, food delivery,
ministers applauding the newly        though I am asymptomatic
arrived mobile morgues, for 100        my request tenderly, firmly
died yesterday,                                      denied, for I meet too many
their brutal death rattles                      of the vulnerable criteria,
overwhelmed  the super-surround.   instead, offering food to me,
sound silences of                                   to deliver to me, to deliver me,
brutal emptiness of millions of           tenderly I say, no thanks,
sacrificial                                             ­    my tour of duty, almost done
                              
                                all of us isolate lambs, in day jailed,
                                for we still breathing the maybe tainted,                
                                oxygen molecules of no safe surety      

a consummate perfection,                    the same, taming words I tell  
the holy quietus of                                 my son, young father,
those no longer breathing,                   tender me necessary tasks that
they now rest up above,                        require outside journeys, say I
hid in a white cumulus                         send me into the red hot areas
cloud cover, a noise suppressing         insert me into the front line,
sky coverlet, moving across a               militarized zones, he replies,
bright blue pure background,              ”you’re too old, part and
a train of funeral caissons,                     parcel of the most vulnerable,
brutal noisy hooves clacking             better-write-you tender-poems”

daily, hourly, the statistical alerts,         why so hard, to write tender
brief résumés delivered,                         so easy of the brutal, their
drumbeating, look now!                         curses so readily supplied,
are you up to date?                                  is tenderness short supplied?

catalog the debris, organized with brutal necessary efficacy, quantify, qualify the costs, include even the tender ineffable, countdown and graph the brutal calculus of the curve infection, and you, numbed, past the point of eyes capable of what once was tender droplet tearing

highlight the unknown faraway, the tender hope of a distant apex inflection, while plotting the second derivative, the rate of change of the rate of a brutal yet trending upward *****, the ascending all-inclusive stat, infected, the rate of change of decedents, downed, descending, giving in...gowned in hospital blue, for the funeral pyre

a city of lines, crosswalks, velvet ropes, unused, unemployed, social separators, no one about to need to separate, anymore, only the living and the dead, both staying indoors, so neither in attendance, at the empty funeral services, everybody is on the out list...

the now newly indistinguishable, the irresistible collision of two one-sides polarizing poles of no longer opposites, the tender and the brutal in a single embrace, but no, not kissing, embargoed, as we are stationed from above, far, high up on the watchtower observatory, observing the contrast dye that flies so fast on people denuded grand boulevards, down narrow hospital hallways, body-lined decorated, tales of millions of lives isolatized, and don’t forget the brutalizing discovery of scores of elderly, dying alone, withering in the dark, counted, lumped in to the category of statistically irrelevant, if dead, who cares, matters not now, in the afterworld no one asks how,
                        in a fashion both tenderly and brutal,
                        what was the actual cause?
Gaurang Rai Mar 22
Twinkle twinkle, you little star,
You don’t deserve this world, by far.
For you got killed with such brutality,
By a few who can’t be questioned about their mentality.

You got dragged into something you could barely
understand,
The aftermath of which left you with a broken hand,
They dispatched you at a dump, cold and dead,
After the sadistic thought of seeking vengeance struck
their head.

Maggots had fested your body,
Rodents had bitten your leg down to bones,
How could they even fathom something so dastard,
Those men without backbones.

As you laid there in the dump,
Your eyes gouged out.
As it reflected your helplessness,
A cleaner saw it and let out a shout.

As the news spread across the nation,
Every citizen might have had a similar notion,
‘Twinkle twinkle, you little star,
You don’t deserve this world, by far!’
Twinkle,a young toddler who hailed from Aligarh, India was brutally tortured and killed by two men in a fit of rage over a petty issue. The brutality was such,it left the nation shell shocked.
Hidden behind a wall of
stony thorns,
her horns
are unmistakable.
She smiles and try's
to hide them,
but they are
ridiculously obvious.
The damage is
terminal and savage.
And the pain
is undeniable.
Her forked tongue
pokes the tepid air
and searches for
silly,
trusting victims
Marco Feb 12
The sun stood high in a spotless blue sky,
the pool water cool on my skin;
your skin shone with sweat and I seemed to forget
the nightmare that I was trapped in.

That oh so cruel sun of Greece shone on,
never once thought to pause;
it looked down at us as your hands, oh so rough,
collided with my bruised jaw.

Summer went fleeting like every new beating,
it was over soon after begun;
you pulled on my hair and threw me into despair,
and the radio, carefree, played on.
Jordan Hudson Nov 2019
Seriously tired of this
Many others that I missed
I ball up my fist
Punch a **** brick
My mind is going sick
I sit and debate on what to do next
Your **** I hate and what don't you get
You funny like a clown
I laugh and you wipe frowns
Your ******* big *** mouth
Speak too loud tell all my **** to the town
******* ***** now I gonna duct tape your mouth
**** this ****, I am out
Burn in the flames you are the same as the rest (now you)
Lethal injection in chains and bury this pest (that's you)
austin Aug 2019
Outside, it's cold as ice
But I can feel the blistering heat around my neck.
The burning grip, I can't escape
leaving me mutilated as I cease to breathe

These are the hands of a murderer
inhuman and inanimate
I thrash through the embers
in attempt to escape
the vicegrip that leaves me bleeding,
gasping,
burning amongst the flames

I am a brutalized, bleeding corpse.
Pain and indifference drips onto the floor
with every worthless step that I take
The demons have stabbed me repeatedly
I've lost every drop of humanity I had

Everything I've ever loved has been destroyed
This is not what was meant to be
It's me and my demons, and I've just lost it
Someone's going down, and it's not me

Today I will tear the hands of my demons from my brutalized, mutilated face
I will pull the devil's crushing deathgrip
from my lifeless corpse.

I shall watch the blood pour from his body,
Listen to his bones begin to shatter,
and the screeching sound of his
inhuman, brutal wretching
like the squeals of a pig.

I'll set him ablaze and watch him burn.

The devil's vice-grip hands couldn't hold me down.
I'm ready to start my mission.
I'll tie my demons to a tree
and do unto them what they've done to me

I'll tighten these chains around their neck,
Just like they tried to do to me.
I'll watch them suffer, struggle to breathe
Then I'll tighten these chains some more.

and when they think they've reached the end
I'll stab them with knives a hundred times.
Soak them in gasoline, light the match
I'll watch the flesh fall off their burning bodies.

And I'll do it with a smile on my face.

This job will not be done
until each and every one is wholly
unrecognizable,
Skulls shattered into a million pieces,
Bodies thrashed, cut up and burned

They thought they were certainly
stronger than me.
But they would soon meet their demise.
I put a bullet in all their heads
and they all hit the ground, dead.

They should have listened to what I said.
Should have ****** with someone else instead.
I put bullets in all their heads.
Now they're all ******* dead.
A brutal interpretation of claiming victory against depression.
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