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and like a pane of stained glass,
she shattered.
the mosaic of beautiful hues and shades speckle the floor.
even when she tries to fix her broken pieces,
she’s left with cuts in her hands, and blood on the glass.
the gorgeous fractals covered in crimson defeat.
covered in crimson defeat
AIA Sep 8
Don't get too close. It's dangerous.


Don't get in. It's too lonely inside.
Dedicated to our former CSO and HG.
P.S They are my two closest friends and they're leaving me now. I just realized that people come and go. Wala e ganon talaga.
Emmah Sep 4
The lightbulb on the roof
Is flickering with proof
That the mind is dangerous
It's a poison in our youth

Our thoughts are hazardous
There's war inside of us
How are we still alive?
The abyss is cavernous

That to which we strive
We know will never thrive
We're told we should surrender
We weren't destined to survive

Our wounds are feeling tender
Our hopes are getting slender
We're buying what we're told
From the catastrophe vendor

Our brains fill with mould
Our bodies grow cold
We'll die before we get old.
The title is German; it literally translates to "world-pain".
rob kistner Aug 24

from the spark of cognizance
at the dawn of awareness
through the ions of fire and conflict
forward past the dark times
beyond the ages of change
into these centuries of new growth
they have kept it

locked in their hearts
burning in their souls

the keepers of the secret

and now
on the threshold of actualization
realizations unfold

its safeguard is the catalyst
it must never be told


rob kistner © 2018
A contemplation on whether humankind needs know EVERYTHING,
or is it the seeking of secrets that moves humankind forward, and spiraling upward in our wisdom as we pursue that which we do not, or cannoy know?
If there were no secrets for we mere mortals to pursue, if everything were known, I fear the world would become either a stagnant dead place - or on the otherside, a bored and agitated world - dangerous!
Nicky Aug 9
Passion in her heart and mayhem in her mind, a dangerous combination, the two combined....
Scarlett Aug 4
And just like the ocean,
the deeper you go,
the more dangerous I am.
They treat me like cowardice
But I survive through them like parasite
They try to feed me fruit and sent me out me paradise
But I caught their whole disguise
They sent me black roses
They fed me bad doses
They give me bad diet
But still I never die yet
My sorrow is their ecstasy
My defeat is their legacy
But I will never let-them-win
I'll stand and die, legendary
I don't give a f*ck about em enemies
I do not care ‘bout their detesting things in any means
I am not fund of uttering platitudes
In stain glass attitude
Soon I'll break those chains
Coz it has cause me so much pain
And when you start making it' everyone will say
That you're walking through a mystic way
But the air severe is but a mere veneer
The cynic smile is but a wile of guile
And when you become an iconic guy,
Your enemies will say "his fame's ritualised"
And when you arranged your lines to entertain them
Your real dude will woo your rhymes like it's Shakespeare's
Coz you did the impossible; you must be sorcerous,
The venon of their mouth compared to a snake is dangerous
But all their malice and hate do not move me
Their gossips and critic will not mute me
I'll buckle my shoe and shoot for the stars
And keep-on aiming for the sky till I die
Miss Saitwal Jun 16
They bruise their pupils with the sharp roses.
They built an empire with fur and sequins.
And lived with poise and jealousy.
Burnt and alive, torn yet together.
The prudent of all, dangerous of all minds.

Survive, said the father
Believe, said the Jesus
as i'm laying down tonight
i think of how exhausting it is to wash you off my fingers
even if it's not like i ever get to hold your hand
or touch you, for that matter.
but everynight i have to wash your essence off my fingers
like trying to get rid of gasoline but always ending up
setting myself aflame. and that despite
knowing how dangerous and hazardous that **** could be
you just couldn't stop because you love the smell of gasoline
that fills up your lungs like pumps of adrenaline
right before the stench of your own burning flesh
chokes you to death. most nights, i wash you off like paint.
you can tell that i'm trying to forget what
i bled after your face appeared on the plain canvass
when my hand automatically reaches up and
perfectly colors your lips, and i couldn't help
but resemble them to pastel pink petals
of the roses growing in royal gardens
and i know i'm fooling everyone
making them believe that such expertise
is achieved because
your bottom lip have felt my gentle ****** when i
don't even know how your lips would feel when they quiver
under a curious and longing touch.
so i watch the colors spiral down the drain.
i watch my hands brush against each other
so intensely, trying to scrub the paint gone even
if it won't go away. even if the blood is clean.
even if i look clean.
how can loving you secretly be ever clean?
i'm scared it will never go away.
i am a painter in my own sense, capturing a glimpse
of something so intoxicating and aesthetically forbidden
then turning it into something tangible.
this is how painters show that their hearts
collapse with just a name
with just a glance not meant for their way.
and they paint what little of the hope
that shouldn't have been there in the first place
and every night. every single night they would aim
tirelessly to turn it into something they could allow.
something that could exist not only in my head.
something that i can call mine even if you
don't know that i am yours
and i knew this because your face
have begun to fill every blank wall
in my ******* house and i wonder how it is
possible to fall in love with someone the whole world
believes you shouldn't.
they say that when we turn our hands into fists
it is the size of our hearts.
and sometimes after the long hours of painting
i wash my paint-stained hands clean of
an abstract myriad of yellow and blue and black
and red. red for blood. red for love. red for fire.
i wash my paint-stained hands
turning them into fists
so maybe, just maybe
it will be the same
as getting rid of the colors off my young broken heart.
colors for you.
yet i always end up washing them off
with ******* gasoline.
and you still dare to call me 'smart'
i am an arsonist and a painter. i burned while i burst into colors. and you...you were the one that blurred my distinction between the two.
Amanda Jul 20
I became your hidden habit
You tried hard to conceal
You didn't think about
How being a secret made me feel

Was it easy for you
To constantly shove me aside?
No matter how you hurt me
Always came back to your side

Did you like the attention?
The hours given to you?
Enjoy blameful tears of mine
Now I'm glad we're through

Don't mistake me for a fool again
Tired of your games
Know who you really are
I'm not diving into flames
It is the things I desire that which will destroy me in the end
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