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Bluebird Oct 10
So you took a bite out of your gun
Spit out the bullet and broke your teeth trying to chew the metal
You bared your teeth; twisted and shattered
But the threat was clear and your smile was sharp
Even if your canines weren't

And I know what you were trying to say
I felt your breath on my ear
And I heard you clearly when you promised me a taste
And I wondered if you were gonna break your teeth on me next
I wondered if you really were as terrible as you wanted me to believe
Or if you were just hiding
Another from my notebook. Cannot for the life of me remember the context.
Ticking time bomb friends

Will lay themselves dead

Before you can understand

What's going through their head.


Death filled minds

With death dripping hands

Might include you

In their end of life plans.


You'll see the knife wounds

Cross hatching chests

You'll see the pills

That one day will put them to rest.


Death filled minds

With death dripping hands

Might include you

In their end of life plans.


They'll show you razors,

Knives and blood.

You'll never ask why

They'll never mention it again.

You'll excuse the rope you find

Filling up corners

You'll ignore sturdy beams

With chairs underneath them.

You won't think twice

When they ask for one bullet.

Maybe you'll be the one to put it

In ticking time bomb hands.


Death ridden minds

With death dripping hands

Might include you

In their end of life plans.


It's not your fault.

How could you have known?

You've made an art out of ignoring.

You assume the blood and gore meant

nothing.

It was just a bad night.

It's not your fault.

How could you have known?

It's not like you've lost

Every other one you've known.

It's okay.

It's really not your fault.

You can never stop

Death ridden minds

With death dripping hands.

You can never help

Your ticking time bomb

Friends.
Ginger R Aug 14
Something inside is
It's almost going to
There aren't words for the pull
about to Snap

Unknown explosion
Without explanation
Not sure how to loosen the threads
it's Breaking

What to do
Who's taking the bullet
My fault my bomb it doesn't turn off

sorry
It's going to hurt me
more then it already hurts you
Music usually helps. Writing nonsense helps more.
Marri Jul 26
Have you ever washed the blood of another off of yourself?

Standing under the shower’s rain,
Rinsing, and scrubbing the blood off your face and arms.
Staining the tile where you stand;
Swirling hypnotically down the drain.

I shot you;
I’m the reason you’re dead,
And the splatter of blood across my face proves it.

The gunpowder is still under my nails,
Black as ever as if I scratched my way out of my own coffin into yours.
I’m still coughing up dirt, I swear.

I stabbed you;
I’m the reason you won’t wake up.

The blade glimmered as I twisted it into you so fluidly.  
I was afraid to pull it out,
Afraid that a piece of myself was embedded in you too.
The dagger is a shade of red and brown as if you were ***** just like me.

I killed you!
Can’t you see? You can’t.
But, I believe, no, I know you feel it somewhere.
Somehow.

This water isn’t hot enough.
It’s not scalding enough to burn the feeling of you off of me.
But the blood,
Oh, the blood.
A never ending crimson sea, a deep bleeding river of you, slowly, but surely, disappearing from existence.

I run a bath,
The shower wasn’t enough.

I’m still stained.
I’m still tainted,
I’m still bleeding into someone who isn’t me.

The water swishes as I settle in.
Back and forth, up and down,
Over and under the sides of the tub.

The water won’t stop turning red,
A deep red.

A reminder that I killed you,
That I shot you,
That I stabbed you.
That I don’t regret it,

But regret isn’t guilt.
Is it?

It’s ******.
Poetic T Jun 6
The only thing he was closed to was
             the bottle or his gun...
Caressing both gently as he lingered
on this chair..
He had thoughts of yesterday,
            The barrel still had that
         just used smell,
he sniffed the casing.

Smiling at the cold effortlessness
         for which he knew it was
going to be used once again.
As he leant back the front door opened,
             A gentleman strolled in,
turning his rooms dim lights on.
            Not even noticing me sitting
there, smiling as he walks past..
A head then pops back around.

The pistol pointing at his blank expression,
                I use the gun as a pointer showing,
him where to go.I can see in his eyes he want
to run, to do something stupid.

"Don't even think about it,
            as I wave the gun at him,
as I if I were gesturing him
                                               "No,

He sits there, calmly sweating.
              Eyes racing around his skull.
A hundred and one bad ideas of what to do...
But there is only one out come.
             Its ok, I tell him. if I were going to **** you,
I'd have put one in the back of skull outside when
you were concentrating on opening your front porch.

So we find ourselves in a predicament.

   My son found out about my past from you?
He's a version of  me, at a younger time.
But I wanted to bestow on him knowledge of
   my transgression at a moment of my choosing...

So when a parrot talks to much do you pluck its
feathers, or do you snap its neck?
       what you think!

What should I do, so many things my son now
                     thinks he knows...

Do we have an understanding here..

He nods in a hastily manner,

the next day I watch my son,
the **** of my heritage
                      go to the parrots cage,

He answers the door..

Words are spoken, Raised voices are spoken.
           Then the door slams in my sons face,
       he kicks the door,  
he has my temperament that kid.
As he drives off, I wait,
                  the parrot is flying the coop..

As he gets in to his car echoes bounce of the
surrounding as broken glass falls like broken
snow flakes. The interior now painted with
his mistake. Parrots should never talk...

I walk off, later finding my sons car.
     I smell the barrel, god that smell never
gets old.. putting it in his glove compartment.
     taking my gloves off I wonder in the house.
Asking him why there's a pistol in his car?
Running out he grabs it out, and now his prints
are on it.. lets see him betray his old man now..
Bullet May 17
Run
Run
•      •
•      •
Becomes
•       •
•       •
Life
•       •
•       •
Hold
•       •
•       •
Light
•       •
•       •
Near
•      •
•      •
Before
•     •
•     •
Bullet
•      •
•      •
Pulls
•      •
•      •
Through
•     ­ •
•      •
Run
•      •
•      •
From
•     •
•      •
The
•      •
•      •
Hues
Who is she anyway?



Crying at any movie whether it's sad or happy...

Sharing her passion for music, whether or not she has anything to do with it...

Doesn't complain because she always wants to put others first.

Goes through pain like a bullet goes through flesh.



This is who she is at her best.



Don't try to underestimate her or put her to the test.

Always know she'll win because she not only follows instinct, but her heart.

Her heart that aches was replaced with glass a while ago.

Not only did it shatter, but it turned to cold hard stone.



She was accused of being a hard-headed human.

She was told that she was selfish, arrogant, and a liar.

How could you know behind her closed doors?



When you finally let go and get the chance to pull them open;

Then you'll see...

It had absolutely nothing to do with me.
Then you'll see, it had nothing to do with me..
Oka May 6
Perhaps I'm too lonely
Or too desperate
I hoped this would work
I'm so ashamed, what did I think?
I should have been more attentive
I should have been more caring
I'm sorry I'm not 6 foot tall
I'm sorry I'm not ripped with a six pack
I'm sorry that regret is flying
straight through you like a bullet
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