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This man, oh, he fights all alone.
He’s fighting so far from home.
Every day he bears his gun, he risks his life,
Fighting in hellish worlds plagued with strife.

He’s not in this for your revolution.
He’s just here of his own volition.
He doesn’t care if things get worse.
He just wants your gold in his purse.

Each and every time he fires,
Death comes, hangs ‘round the shires.
He’s borne witness to immense misery,
But after so much, rarely is he teary.

His brothers and comrades fell all around,
But he has time for neither cry nor frown.
In the town, he’s burnt, he’s looted, he’s *****;
And, into the night, his shadow’s shifted shape.

The dogs of war, they’ve never stopped;
Even when they’re sliced or chopped.
They just go to hell, where they regroup,
Then come back as yet more troop.

Time and guilt erode this man’s visage;
He’s still haunted by infernal image.
He still remembers his prime, young days;
Oh, how he wasted his youthful phase.
It's about an African mercenary who expends all of his youth fighting meaningless bush wars in the Congo.
Ariana Sweeney May 2014
Life just throws you loops
And strange circles
  That you've traversed
Millions of times before,
  And this world
Is physically rotating in
  It's most tedious way possible
Day in and day out,
  And the funniest part of all
Is that the definition of
  INSANITY
Is "doing the same thing over and over again
  and expecting different results"
According to Einstein.

          We're all crazy.
          Just taste a small droplet
          Of pretentious poison
          And take it
          Because it's embodiment
          Is everyone.
CP May 2014
Don't talk to me of love
Don't talk to me of love
I want none
This illusion of the above is crap
The words have lost their meaning
They're just stealing what we push on them

Don't talk to me of love
Oh would you like a dove to fly above?
Well ****
This word love, doesn't work like that
That is all just crap
Don't talk to me of doves and roses
Roses are a symbol of love they say
Quite right it has thorns all over it
And it quickly withers

Don't talk to me of love
Placing our hopes in others
What are these lovers going to do for you?
They all just fall through

This love you speak of needs glue
It's shattered and broken  
It's cynical and tired
And you know what - it's fired!

Don't talk to me of love
Talk to me of self love
Talk to me of friendship and family
Don't talk to me of superficial love
The coupled, masqueraded facade we all seem so willing to participate in
Put it in the bin

Don't talk to me of love
wes parham May 2014
It always feels like
I'm the one reaching
your way.
You Can't Spell ProblemWithout “Me“, Right?
Abbigail Jan 2014
We both knew I wasn't a safe choice.
I tried to warn you of the way I built myself
to be alone,
To be resistant to a changing heart
and cynical about romantic love.

You knew I was a bad idea when I couldn't keep a straight face
when you asked me seriously how I felt about you.
Why did you ask me how I felt about you?
You should have known I wasn't like that anymore.

You knew that what I fear most in the world is being attached.
Please don't get attached.
Why did you get attached?

We even made jokes of the way I'd never tell you that I liked you,
even when you'd say it all the time.

You saw the risk I posed to you, yet all you knew
was that you liked the way I looked in shorts
and the way I liked beer and being loud as much as you did,
And how I liked to kiss to City & Colour
and the way I made you feel when I awed in your music.

You shouldn't have believed me
when I said I wanted to be with you.
Not because I didn't want to,
But because you know how I change my mind.
Sara May 2014
with loss comes pain
and unfortunate gain
of freedom you did not desire

with hurt comes grief
and reluctant belief
that love must always expire
Shane Oltingir May 2014
Wonderland has an alleyway you know,
said Alice to her grandson of three.
It's not all shoes, and ships, and ceiling wax,
unbirthdays and cups of tea.

Where the white rabbit is on time for once.
From South Africa he ran,
To be tried before the red queen -
for shooting Mary Ann.

It's where the buildings are not simply filled
with cakes and cups of tea;
They explode - not from happiness -
but planes and TNT.

Where we need not paint the roses red
nor support the white knights plight.
For recently he lost his head -
Now they're painting England white...
Shane Oltingir May 2014
I met an artist yesterday,

sat in solitary silence,

In the shadowy corner of an affluent bar.

And cloaked he was,

by babble of students,

Boasting of wealth and test results.



molested In the attire of a catholic school,

His cigarettes born from bible pages;

and -- Inebriated from the blood of Christ --

surrounded by empty glass apostles,

He paints the papers,

In a masterful stroke --

Of pointilistic precision --

In a viscous hash oil

That he had melted on a crucifix.



The artist drunk, and drunk

He drowned himself,

Deafened by his liver

Drowning in a sea of expensive whiskey --

It was a miracle that he could walk on it.



And began to rack

the coke he'd wrapped

in a losing lottery ticket --

In plain sight of those

'sophisticated' enough

To use a bathroom cubicle.

And hoovered the diamond shards into his nostril,

Through a rolled up scrap of paper --

A letter for an Oxford Interview

he could not afford to get to.
Sara May 2014
And they call it puppy love
just like a trojan horse
a gift sent from above
only, in the end, to be torched

You long to be longed for
desire to be desired
it's the illness with no cure
a 'strength' to take you higher

Advertised by society
it promises you everything
abundant in variety
an agreement sealed with a ring

There's a reason they call it 'falling'
As what goes up must come down
so don't tell me you had no warning
when love leaves you dead on the ground
Daniel Samuelson May 2014
Love is a public hanging.
I build a beautiful platform
with eloquence
***** the instrument of my demise.

Fully conscious of my impending end
wrap the rope around my throat
she screams the guilty verdict
and soon I dangle,
twitching in the desert breeze.

I'm an immortal criminal, and I never learn,
a perpetual repeat offender.
I’ll soon be swinging from the gallows once again…
it's just a matter of time.
Everything I build seems to fall apart...
Hence begins the transition from
the hopeless romantic
to
the sadly jaded cynic,
the ******-off lovelorn pessimist.
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