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my words are not meant to compete
my words are for me to creep
from the depths of my madness

- katrina ******
instagram: @wordsbykatrina
twitter: @_wordsbykatrina
Mind Matterer Dec 2018
The clench of your teeth and fist,
Digging into your gums and wrist.

Your limbs, throat and chest tightened,
Feeling angry, engulfed, and terribly frightened.

Your eyes have gone fuzzy and dark.
Your face, frail and stark.

Confusion fills the air,
As you’ve caused such a scare.

This is what occurs,
When you feel an attack,
Stealthily creeping
Up and behind your back.
Kathleen M Dec 2018
You're a dumb dude
Secretly filming the ****
You do shady *** **** and write poems about it
35 and writing like your 15
With poems like yours it's not hard to be mean 
Your just a man out of his prime bent on the obsene
The cops coming to your house clearly didn't freak you out
So maybe I'll tell your mom what your all about.

You **** and I hate everything about you. Stop writing poems about me.
A ****** little poem about a creepy guy I was seeing, he did some shady **** and I had to get the cop's involved. I found out the other day that he has been writing poems about me and posting them to social media. So this is my response. I may post this series to his social media depending on how I feel about it, I probably won't but I might.
Eyes burn into the back of my head,
watching my every move.
How am I just now noticing this?

To think that I was once doing the same,
only I would try not to be as obvious.
It takes great skill to master what I do.

Be careful where you are,
you never know who is watching you.
Creeping around corners and over hedges.

I look in the windows of everything you own,
waiting for the moment you realize I am there.
I love to watch you squirm under my gaze.

On the other end of the spectrum,
is something I would rather not be on.
It is nothing short of unpleasant.

Could you leave me alone?
I would rather like to hear myself think.
Though not much thinking will be had.

You get closer with every step,
hoping to catch me in your grasp.
You shall not win at this game.

I get closer to you everyday,
yet you seem to slip further away.
An enigma I cannot have.

I dance this dance with you,
but nothing seems to keep you ensnared.
Will you ever become mine?

This never-ending cycle of cat and mouse,
is something I have grown accustomed to.
Please, let us end this soon.

I shall never grow tired of the day,
where we dance face to face.
Instead of from across the way.

You are my treasure,
and I am your prize.
Until the day we meet, my shadowed friend.
J B Moore Nov 2018
I feel like a creep, a stalker, a freak,
It wouldn’t be so if I moved my feet.
If I could walk over and say hello
And tell her the things I’d like her to know.
The time would be neat, pleasantly sweet.
It could be so if I would just speak.

I watch at a distance, scared I’ll seem weak.
It wouldn’t be so if I took the leap
Of faith, and with courage, gave her a smile,
Bridging the sea between our two isles.
Our eyes they would meet, such a pleasant treat.
It could be so when I dream as I sleep.

I feel like a freak, a stalker, a creep.
I wish it weren’t so, but I’m in too deep.

11/24/18 12:55a
Down the road
a child walks,
to a home
his mother knocks.

A house so old,
tired and grey,
a wafting scent,
of decay.

A house with eyes
a house that hungers,
a place of nightmares,
horrid wonders.

With a push
his mother sends him,
into the dark,
dismal grim.

She leaves that place,
all alone,
a distant cry in the air fades
a distant moan slows.

The house has eaten
the house will dine,
on the rest,
in the waiting line.

On Halloween
these parents roam,
with naughty children
to this hungry,
haunted home,
to give bad children a lesson,
to be taught.
dedicated to the house on the other side of  the road.
Seanathon Oct 2018
Dedication has a name
It was on your ID
But I couldn't see
Because it was too dark
And I didn't want to be a creep
Honda Grillllll

MARIE J Oct 2018
It is so hard to sleep.
I can still remember.
Moments like that,
i don't want to go back.
My body,
it is like a dying tree.
My eyes,
It's like every night is a sunrise.
My life,
it's almost resting.
But suddenly,
Someone creeps in.
It gives me curiosity,
to find out something.
My brain is not dead, yet.
But it is also, in those moments,
I suddenly gave in.
I was too tired,
of everything.
And so I leave.
But you did not care.
Goodbye, creep.
stopdoopy Oct 2018
The air, saturated with a putrid smell.

Foul, like a dumpster in summertime.

They're monsters, skulking around in the Dead of Night.

Leaving, a sickness in their wake.

You're revolting.

The way you take.

Gnashing your teeth.

Trying, to pluck out little hearts.

Attempting, to creep up thighs.

Don't touch me, with those slimy fingers.

Go before you die, rotting beast.

We are not a cemetery.
A piece about how horrible men can be, also partially based off the Depeche Mode song "The Dead of Night" because I absolutely love it and thought it was about something completely different than what it's actually about.
At once you feel it! Stop! Perform an about turn
Something behind you! Into your back its eyes burn
You shiver and shake; rub the hairs on your arms
No-one there but the goose bumps; the sweat on your palms

Carry on walking. Swift; humming out loud
Desperate now to find yourself deep in a crowd
You are sure you can hear it. A breath. A refrain
Who is it? Who follows you home once again

It has happened before. In fact quite a few nights
A shadow appears in the glow of streetlights
It is gone by the time you shuffle up; when you dare
Where’d it go? Did I see it? Was it ever even there?

Put it down to exhaustion. A trick of your mind
The tiredness. The *****. The **** daily grind
The work. Family; stress. It is driving you mad
Makes you see things not there. You’re so ****** sad

We all have our demons. Horrors; creatures run wild
Dreamed up monsters we’ve nurtured since we were a child
But monsters don’t exist here. Bold; out in real life
They are fantasies! Just stories. Imaginations run rife

Silly idiot. You’re ******; get a sodding grip
And you laugh at your crazy as you feel yourself trip
Something was there! It got you! Hear a grunt or a bark
It drags you kicking and screaming deep into the dark

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
We've all got them....but are they real or imagined?
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