Gray Jun 2
A gentle breeze sways the fragile branch.
The hoard of dead leaves pours in like an avalanche.
Slowly they fall, slowly they plunged.
One green leaf is regrettably expunged.
He lays alone, he sets isolated.  
The sturdy oak is devastated.

A brutal breeze shakes the puny limb.
The sight of the leaves departing would make anyone feel grim.
Quickly they descend, hastily they lunge.
Another green leaf is regrettably expunged.
Both lay alone, both lay separated.
The sturdy oak is devastated.
awknight Apr 25
The pen in your hand
spills the blood you wish
your eyes could.
Sitting, staring into the
white abyss. Thinking,
stab them in the throat,
dear. Watch the blood spill
from their lifeless iris. Don’t
be so kind as to close their lids.
They should see you,
we all should see you.
awknight Apr 25
Don’t speak. It is not
real. Nothing, is real.
Real until you hold it
inside, hold it until
you cannot breathe.
Kill it. Strangle me.
The thoughts alone
drive me to solitude,
stuck in the meadows
of my mind.
Flooding. The green is
turned to red.
A bath of blood,
a cleansing of the pure.
No staff is needed here.
No god.

Welcome to the real world,
BW Mar 13
Don't you dare
manipulate me
or I swear I will fuck you up so much
You will end up killing yourself

Would you want to see me, wrist slit in a tub?

I would not, but I would be indifferent.
How is it my fault? It only shows you
value death more than life.
Come on pick up the phone.
Stop being silly ok, I didn't want you to actually do that.
Look, stop being stupid, it's nothing.
Pick up. B?
Are you ok? I am sorry, I didn't actually mean it like that.
B? Come on, stop being a silly kitten.I love you.
Pick up the phone, please!!
B are you alright? Do you want me to come down? Please, talk.

They found her, they told me. Wrist slit in a tub.
Her lips were crimson, her hair like a black dahlia.
Her body bathing in blood,
Bright red as the girl I first met, who fell in love,
the same girl I pushed down
the cliff of death never to come back.
M Feb 5
Ruining her was a part of the plan.
It was a part of his prose that he
so deliberately wrote down.

   Ruining her was merely a
  fraction of his deepened
attraction and rooted nature
that was of his own accord.

One look, one simple taste
was enough for him to determine
his destructive path.

  She had no say in such a plan,
for she wasn't aware of such intentions
that would soon ruin her,
everything she stood for,
and the innocence and
compassion that
she prided herself in.

That vanity and that admiration
for her compassionate
conceit is what
drew him to her.  

  That's what he wanted.
A passionate conceit because
he so coldly lacked one.
He desired to have it, to
possess what was hers.

He wrapped his digits
around the
width of such vanity,
stroking it with
brutal gentleness,
and then
he ripped it apart,
tainting and corrupting it
until that very conceit
was tarnished.

   Ruined and stained,
  that's what she was.

That's what he wanted.
He could taste it on his tongue,
lapping up at the censure
flavor of power.

It was bitter and prudent,
and he expected nothing

That varnished and
sour taste was merely a
reminder of what he had done,
of what he was relishing in.

  He was cunningly honest.
  He was vehemently kind.
  He was brutally gentle.
Where is my crutch
Simplistic comfort?

I'm drunk
And in need
Of sleep

And broken

I have stolen
Not shaved
Embraced my domain

For I am sane
In control
And lucid

Where the rats hide
I will find
And purify

They are weak
I am strong
Becoming brutal in remembrance

Though to some
I'm a tool
And they are right
There is no point to this anger
Other than that without it
I would feel nothing

I’m sick of this absence
The way it hums in my thoughts
The same way silence buzzes in my ears
Nothing is never truly quiet
The softness is a ruse

But anger is brutal and honest about it
It breaks through the nothingness
Screams over the humming
Drowns everything out
It is all-consuming

And what I feel
Will finally be
the concept is that people can send me three words and I try to write a poem with them
The heart remembers

It knows the pain
It remembers
It does not forgive
The heart is brutal like that
It can hold you by a string
Yet the love has a toll
A dent
One that can't be repaired
Mohamed Nasir Jan 14
While they were gone
she was raped
he or they left her dead
her young life was torn
her small body was ruined
her flimsy body was shamed
her new life was shredded
her tiny body was stained
her puny body was ravaged
her life was gone
from them forever
while the were gone
while ask God Almighty
for strength in their faith
resolved and steadfastness
in the face of adversity
is this their answer
or is this the test
they've to suffer.
My heart goes to little Zainab. She was a 10 year old girl who was raped and killed while her parents went for pilgrimage to Mecca.
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