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C F Mar 16
I have no mercy
For you
Any longer.

I wish I did.

I won't surrender
I can't.

I've come too far
On my own journey,
Yes. I'm not a heartless villain
Like Disney.

I can feel it destroying me
I am a child of anger
Until the battle is done.

I can feel it
Burning in my veins
The rage
In my blood

You stepped too far
You pushed too far
You thought you were safe.

You thought you were

But people talk
And talk
And talk
And now I'm done.

You don't seem to understand
That you need to run

Because I know more than he does
And you're naive
If you think I won't tell him.

You can sleep for today
But tomorrow we fight.
My thoughts
Are haywire
Lying to me in

So hard to
Stay positive
When all are
Screaming so

Every step turned
Hard work a
Crumbling crass,

No pieces remain
To react
Fallen hope
Choking to cope,

With shaky breathe
You stood
What left of you?

Before vultures attack
Fragmenting pride
Altering into self crimes,

Thoughts are powerful
Can pull through
Abhorrent verve
Lying only one side
Of turf
Angelique Jan 10
product of butchered philosophy
men must suffer at the hands of those distracted
by their thirst for their self interest  
punishment is dealt at the request of politics
radical voices
which are silenced by the liberty bred into the rebel
who too fought against crimes
seeking refuge in a new land
but would not allow refuge to those
who suffered at the hands of their destruction
Kai Dec 2019
A rope swings gently in the wind
hanging from an elevated stage
an audience mills below the steps

From a gleaming metal bared window
a young women in plain clothes watches
she sits proper and straight before her fate

They come at dawn clacking with her chains
she holds her head high down the hall
as tears stream down her petite face

The steps are high as they hoist her up
ringing the rope around her fragile neck
the roughness is a promise of darkness

In the crowd she sees her children mourning
Not yet dead she smile at them sadly
and mouths “I’ll always love you”

There is an ominous thump from below
and she struggles in the air hands grasping
too light for the rope to snap her neck

Hours and hours later the crowd gone
she breathes her last breath alone
hanging for something she didn’t do
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
On a street near Don Juan
In Boca Chica's bay
Nightly music and drums unwind
To a proclavity of dismay

Little seashells aplenty
For every pious gaze
Unripen beauty so varied
Habitual buyers unfaze

Rising tension of devout sinners
Smoke and coffee breach the air
A salted heart in a mink's coat
"Toma dos ahora" ; take a pair

In Boca Chica's bay, seashells aplenty
Little seashells: its sells, it sells
May your Interpretation guide you.
lost Jul 2019
side by side,
smothered in rhyme
covered in agonizing crimes

they stand and stare,
but darling beware

for they are not the angels you sought to find,
but the demons that caused our crimes
Tess May 2019
He sits on his chair of unearned power
Time caused his temper to spoil and grow sour;
Faulting those lower in the hierarchy,
He rests, contented in his monarchy;

He wreaks havoc on anyone with dreams;
Though his entity divides at the seams
King of his castle, he sits unconcerned
Playing with fire, about to be burned

He has not learned: what goes up must come down
Breathing in water, and soon he will drown
He pushes others down to lift him up
He is bitter and decaying closeup

Written and read in a voice of deadpan:
The crimes of a diabolical man
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