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Elizabeth Zenk Sep 2018
Downing glasses of boiling hot milk.
That must be why they are passed out.
Ignore the yelling that sprints through my innocent ears.
Hug your stuffed rabbit,
and go to bed.
Let the words escape through your head.
Their shouts and screams will manifest in your dreams.
There is no monster in your closet,
instead, the monster lives in your heart
it will tear everything apart.
Leaving you with a ragged blue bunny,
a stack of money,
and a plan to flee from this place.
nihiliti Jun 2018
god's plucking petals from the sun again
and his sister's spinning something new;
beads and burs into silver strings
as only gods may do

the Great Aunt sings sordid smells
like scents spilled from the jewels
of little men of the stone tools
no magic for mortal fools, no

the Wizened Father flirts with Death
just to scorn his mother, the Lover
and she in turn ***** his skin off
just to feel it burn going down

the Kettle Kids quip about adult ****
that ought be kept out of the room
such nonsense makes goodly gods grim
and sentences us all to doom

rebellion!--cast down idols in scorn
lashes! many and long as millennia
spent idle in heaven's tomb
break the **** of spirit stew
that cesspool what begot these fools
burning stakes into hearts awake
with the fire of bothersome issues
destroyers and usurpers, curse them!
cut them down two sizes smeared
cream their corpses into copses
of deep and dark and buried fears
forget, forget, good children
about whatever you may hear
coming from the brimstone basement
we locked up just for you, dear

we teach our children unknowable fear
A dark star over a dark sea.
nihiliti Jun 2018
guilty guillotine
cut the cordiality
decapitate my capital
bereft of debt but dead

sins cashed out
at the redoubt
the readout states
he served the state medium-well
high stakes games
never play out
prime timely

passed the ball before his
(half)time trials in the hall
of Hades' heroes
trophy case cages commemorative
accompanying accommodations
on company A's dime
dyed (c)ammo/comedy gold

commies died in red tape
holding back third wave
tsunamis made by little boys
and fat cats in league
of farms with the pigs
beating b(l)ack the blue
in the faces of pro-testing
human lives in danger of
aborting the right to ask
who's right?

do not collect/make cents/money ☞

unmarked graves
poor marks/low grade
explosive yields in fields of
gilded grain against woods
buying forests by the tree
swaying serenely, at peace
like only broken bodies can be
felled for freedom from failed
harvests, too costly
inflating lives now worthless

revolutionary's revolting; reminding readers
read the red print
for Jesus wept
'cause Lazarus died again
and this timestamp
demarcates the end
of resurrected american dreams
democracy demands your undecapitated capitulation

live free™ or die
"United we'll fail, divided we'll fall / We're ******, but you're making it worse"
Umi Apr 2018
The earth's people are corrupted,
Listen to what I have to confess!
If there are emotions behind their motives, they will search and look into things which they should have been better off unseen, forgotten,
If their wish is to become alike a demon, they will dye their hand red,
If their desire leads them to be angel like, they will dye their hand in innocence and purity of the good deeds in order to achieve this goal,
The sweet poison of a lie's flavour is very sweet, likely to be consumed by those who are afraid to confront the cruel, harsh truth,
Bound in constant change, the true nature of a human remains, within the depths of their soul, somewhere deep inside, sealed away,
Admire the moon, as the remains, called corpse rots under stardust,
Does its reflected light begin to wander ? We will see, here at eternity,
After all, this natural satelite, becomes more distant due to tidal effects, leaving us behind, even if it is simply small steps it has taken,
Being forgiven from the endless purgatory, the suffering one may call
"Living" within the transience of this planet which comes to ruin through their greedy hands, desires to make more income and wealth
Drawn out in long shadows, through winding fate amongst strings,
After all, this is a pure stream of sadness.

Poetic T Feb 2018
Rumours fly like dead carcasses,
             infecting those who they land upon.

But no one realizes that they were bitten, corrupted
             burrowing beneath conscious thought.

Seeding the larvae of what would seed within
            the canals of corrupted reflections.

Never realising that every thought was laid
            well before they knew and hatched diseased.
jennifer delong Jan 2018
Chaos among us
It's scary everywhere

It's not gonna change
anytime soon
It's to ****** up
we should have took
control when we had
a chance

Now look at this mess
Government is a joke
It's makes me wonder
what would be different
could there have been peace

Would neighbors be there
for one another
Could we awake with
Smiles on our face
Our food is corrupted
Our lives surveillanced

Are we to late
that is my question

© Jennifer Delong 1/20/19
It's a mess
James Court Dec 2017
Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).

Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.

All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.

"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!

She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.
Don't judge me, I was really high when I wrote this.
alexa Dec 2017
and i
are the crash
and bang
of two cars
going 150 miles per hour
on the open road
that is represented by our hearts
have you ever heard of the phrase
your eyes are bigger than your stomach
well, imagine that

but with us.
our hearts are too big
for our eyes to see
how corrupted this little thing is

and that is destroying us
not based on a true story.
Vale Luna Jul 2017
I think
The fact that I haven't
Written a poem
In nearly two weeks
Is causing me
To lose touch
With reality.

It's a funny word, isn't it?
But I lost sense
Of what was real
The same day I lost you
But let's not talk
About you
I'm sick of writing
About you
I'm fed up
With every one of my ******* poems
Including the word
Maybe that's why I stopped writing!
You were in my life enough
And I got sick
Of putting you in my poetry
My heart

So you see
I've lost track now, haven't I?
I was on about
Losing reality
And then…
Oh never mind that
I just…
I lost what was real
The same day I lost my sanity
And it's been
So long now
That I'm not sure
I'll ever get it back

But there was a question
How do I know
That I'm losing touch with reality
When I haven't known what was real
In such a long time?
Good question.
It's just a
I suppose
The only thing humans
Were ever really capable of is
The only thing that is
To people
I guess
Because emotions
Often feel more logical than logic
Even when I act on them

Does that not make sense?
I can never be sure
My pencil always races
Faster than my brain can dash
My thoughts forgot
How to run
After you stopped being my coach
You pushed me
To work harder
Be better
So what happened?
What happened to make you leave?
Why did you…
Why did YOU
**** “you
I can't stand that word!
Why can't YOU
Leave my mind?!
Leave my paper?!
Leave my poems!
Just leave it blank!
Instead of writing this wretched word
Over and over
Maybe I'll just leave it blank!

Is it worth losing myself?
To leave the pages empty?
Is it worth losing my real-eh-tee?
I haven't written a poem
In nearly two weeks
And it feels like
I'm going numb
The only real thing I had left
Were my feelings
And now
They seem to be melting away
All the same
As my ability
To write
A real
I feel like I'm losing my mind...
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