Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
If loving her wasn't a crime,
Why do I still feel like I'm doing time?
Am I a prisoner of my own desires?
Thomas W Case Aug 2020
*** until the heart stops seems like the logical answer.
Death in sweat drenched ecstasy,
and preferably with
the nubile young Sherriff's wife.
Now, if she's not around, his sister
or Mother would do just fine.
Small town tasty freeze
serves as the last meal.
What a way to go,
behind some greasy cheeseburger
and chocolate shake.  Sheriff said the
budget wouldn't cover the French fries.
I don't care much about myself,
it's mama I'm worried about.
it will just break her heart...I ain't no good.
I hope I can see her if I can get to heaven.
Mama's the best in the world.
neth jones Aug 2020
down to the river
to wash my hands free
of another sots mud

i relieve my lies in the bushes
i shrug acts
           lax from my shoulders
bathe off soft data

merely a being
and that is all

solved
Hennessy 5260 Jul 2020
So you accidentally cheated,
***** a young girl to death,
Preying on other's wives
Stole your employer's cash

Committed several atrocities,
You were all smiles till you got caught,
Someone got to your head,
It's witchcraft

So you play the victim
The demons were at play
Beg for forgiveness
While you blame it on the devil.
the united states of america pays its due
the united states of america pays its crime
crime pays its due in america
crime pays its crime in america
america is a country of crime
america is a country of america
america the country,america the united states,america the blessing

america is the country of the united states
america is the country that pays its blessing
the united states is the united states of america
the united states is the united states of america the blessing
crime pays,crime pays in the united states
america the america is america the blessing
america the america is america the country

america the america is america the crime
america the america is america the united states
america the america is america the country of crime
a due country is a due blessing
a due country is a due america
crime pays its blessing
crime pays its due
my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words like gracious,extravaganza,etc… this poem is about crime pays its due in america. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.
Poetic T May 2020
I ran down the shore
as the knifes crested near me,
               never reaching the shore
that I stood upon.

For I don't want to drown,
          I want to breath.
crimson stillness isn't my
                                   sunset..

So I run, out of breath..
  but the shore line is further now..

No waves will wash over me this day..
kiran goswami May 2020
There was a ****** in my nation today,
There was a ****** in my nation yesterday.
But unlike the other time, my nation did not cry.
It did not bang the doors of justice,
My nation did not try.
The criminals sat on thrones and proved themselves innocent.
The innocent became guilty as they had only a few pennies and no more cent.
I did not see people cry,
I did not hear the pain
I did read the news where they said, 'The murderer fled by a train.'
I could not see the people hugging,
I could not see love,
but in my nation, I saw a dead, white-feathered dove.
The peace in my nation died,
the girl in my nation died.
The people in power laughed while the nation cried.
I saw the flag of my nation but all I saw was white.
I saw my nation's condition
but all I could do was to write.
So, I will tell you how there was a ****** in my nation yesterday,
and there was a ****** in my nation today.
Carlo C Gomez May 2020
I steel myself for the familiar
--the dark cylinders
of half-smoked cigarettes,
I can feel it in my lungs.

"Magic begins with blood," you said.
"Don't get stuck on a dream."

That could never be.
I dream of someone new each time.

"For me, I'm your sorrow
calling in your dreams.
For me, I'm your shadow
howling in the streets."

My hands, they close
around the throat,
until that whispered plea
becomes a silent sonnet.

"You'll be happier in your grave."
Next page