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Thomas David Jul 11
The burning tongues that preached throughout their days
Still dance at dusk.
From buried mem’ries rises golden blaze
Through cloudy husk.
Those ancient prayers converted into flames,
Illumined sighs,
Flung forth from death to color fam’ly names
As fireflies.

You will worship

At the cemetery cross of a mother

Who couldn't spare you a tear

Even if you were her own.



You will hang yourself

From the cross

& Not even God

Or Bohumil himself

Could spare a tear

For one as small as you.



The razor blades you've sewn

Inside your sleeves

Will be forgotten

Till the next bitter winter

Will make your blood drip

And fall


You must worship

Till the bleeding stops

Till your heart beats slowly


Till they tell you

You aren't as pure as you should be


And admit that maybe

You're inclined to tragedy
Raven Feels Jun 19
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, no white the rest just black:\

reason to a reason faith held one capture
applauded reaches to fallen devils may fracture

prisoners of grace in ten hells same
on cedars that know no angel to not shame

one beat on the downtown line
once in twenty life times

stars align hailing pain
scars betrayed the blood of a shed stain

haunt a child of a pure soul no more
shadows chased for a find of bullet core

if money were on trees
then lands are leaf free

look the eye no lie
to a scratched unhidden cry

poison spreads a four feet stare
is it even of those a matter of fair

royal flushed they think a game under the rugs shipped
rushed hearts a lifeless drink on mindless sipped

ashes called out happy hour not shredded unlit
double vision as grown as useless as toxic as it

dropped corpses the live left to ache
hurt silenced been forever drowned on stake

worst of a future misery
crusted crumble like nothingness a cemetery

thunder smells
plaster lacked on dwells

I may not blurt wounds
because these things are
not nursed doomed

I know the knuckles of the cursor when I see
an everlasting torture painting smudges dancing in same place selfishly

The grooves of a grave.
The gruesome gurgle of the ground.
Green masks my grotesque face.
Saggy skin, abandoned by life.
A soul's vacant shell,
under newly upturned soil.
Svetoslav Apr 21
Olive juice hovers
summoning ivory mist
closing fiery lips
missanthrope Mar 26
not even my favorite people
may seek their rest in peace,
when their tombs are encircled
by this endless,
the bustle of an aimlessly industrious life
that is no better than death.

unmute the video
mute yourselves
Cole Strangeee Oct 2020
I was wondering along the cemetery my family is buried in.
My mom told my a few headstones down from my grandparents was a baby girl who died at one month and one day old. Named Rebecca. My heart stopped.
I thought of you.
My “freshman year of college” when we fell in love.
At the time we weren’t together, you loved Heather why should I have told you?
I was pregnant the first Christmas we faught, yelling in a target parking lot. I begged you to love me and you left me in the snow crying.
I wasn’t going to tell you.
At New Years you came to meet me- but it wasn’t me you wanted. You told me you loved me so you could **** me and leave me before midnight.
I remember kissing one of my best friends instead that night at midnight.
I told her that I thought I was pregnant. She kissed me and told me it would be okay.
I never got to meet you, I only got the greeting of your demise.
But I always felt you were a girl.
I was right with my instinct when I found out about your brother.
I just hope my little girl wherever you are, you are safe and happy. I asked Rebecca to stick around, I told her it’s okay if she wanted to follow me too.
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