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Old mould
You are cast
No more sold
You aren't antique
For you aren't unique
You are fatigued
Suffered creep
Belong to
A herd of sheep
Think deep
Your past
A waste
Recycle yourself
Dumpster you escape
Do some fission-fusion
Turn molten
New mould
Recast yourself
Be useful
Don't be useless
There is no age bar to think deep, introspect and remould yourself to be useful to the society.
Andrea Lee Bolt Dec 2020
If you can't see me
technically I'm creeping.

That's the thing about van life at the beach.
The tinting on the windows
provide a delightful treat.

Greetings, yummy surfer meat.

Why would he change out here in the open
if he didn't want to be appreciated
for the beautiful piece of art he is?

If I touch myself, I'm a creep.
But my eyes can eat the meat.

Cold. He tenses his muscles.
I'm starved so I notice

He can't see me but-
what if I'm his destiny!

Nope. He's gone.
and I creep. yeah. But he don't know what I know.
Alien Nov 2020
I mustn’t speak
or the monsters will creep
I must’ve bled
they sent vultures to keep
I wish i could speak
about what my mind leaks
bury my eyes under my cheeks
they sneak a creak
i am too scared to peek
i wish i could speak
of all that i fear
but my voice i cant hear
and so i disappear
theres a knock at the door
my heart hits the floor
my back against the wall
i still feel someone behind
there is someone in my mind
this room'ss key i can't find
everyone lied,
i must hide
the flower that died
and the child abide
though her spine
spiked with sharp edges
and still!  
she mustn’t speak.
JJ Inda Sep 2020
Suddenly
you cast upon me
doubts and flaws;
not a single virtue
as resentment creeps.
Arcassin B May 2020
by ab

Not the poster child for torture,
It's hardly enough.

Turning people crazy exposing
them to greed and madness.

I've seen all this happen when suicide comes into play.
the voices will linger , but they play no part anyway.

The mind can not take it,
Transformation ensues.

Depression creeps up on your
Shoulder and intros sadness.

Brains are like paper crumbling infrastructure.
I would not ever wish this fatal fate on another.
©abpoetry2020
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Thirty
by Michael R. Burch

Thirty crept upon me slowly
with feline caution and a slowly-twitching tail;
she waited three decades for the winds to shift;
now, claws unsheathed, she lies ready to assail
her defenseless prey.

Keywords/Tags: thirty, age, aging, maturity, time, creep, creeping, ambush, feline, predator
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Huntress
by Michael R. Burch

after Baudelaire

Lynx-eyed, cat-like and cruel, you creep
across a crevice dropping deep
into a dark and doomed domain.
Your claws are sheathed. You smile, insane.
Rain falls upon your path, and pain
pours down. Your paws are pierced. You pause
and heed the oft-lamented laws
which bid you not begin again
till night returns. You wail like wind,
the sighing of a soul for sin,
and give up hunting for a heart.
Till sunset falls again, depart,
though hate and hunger urge you—On!
Heed, hearts, your hope—the break of dawn.

Originally published by Sonnetto Poesia. Keywords/Tags: Baudelaire, cat, catlike, cruel, creep, creeping, claws, paws, talons, huntress, heart, prey, hate, hunger, alliteration, sonnet
I name you Pygmalion
because between
my skin and delusion
you have carved
an ivory woman. You
have carved her
with your eyes. But
for all your looking,
you can’t see, little
blind man, that
I have no need
of Aphrodite’s blessing.
In the strength
of my spine
and the flash
of my teeth
and the skill
of my hands, hands
you did not hew,
I hum with
power, ferociously
alive.
The only thing of mine
you will ever be king of,
King Pygmalion,
is the likeness
you sculpt
in your dreams.
4 Dec 2019
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