Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I am o     bsess       ive
I can't C o    ntr    ol
my
        self

I
          feel                     li       k        e
a      m                  o         nster
I   don          't                                                   w   A    n          t
t o                
           h     u     r   t             you

you

You are the one keeping me from crying
You are the one keeping me from dying


So thank you...




l o v e  m e
I feel like not all poems need to have advanced vocabulary to get a good point across. Such as this one. The word usage is quite blunt, but the lines of the paper are used to an advantage to represent the decent into madness. It is quite confusing, but, it is supposed to be.
No people can handle this ****.
Barely those who lives through this.
All purpose seems the life in flesh;
Is horrid at its best.
A twisted sitcom show.
That’s no less then cruel jokes.
many times in deepest holes.
eyes glorify the rope.
Or mind glorifies rope.
Who knows anymore.
One realizes loneliness is where the sick is born.
One realizes loneliness is how aching hearts shall mourn.
Yet again these thoughts of red,
beg that one please will tend.
With sharp swords and gore.
Of Blades piercing flesh
Of sharp swords and gore
until limbs be torn.
Surgical mesh be drenched.
This stomach is so sore.
Destruction absorbed.
Self infliction is adored.
........................................
in that wretched mirror.
It is so crystal clear.
This face  needs disfigured
This face needs to be Seared
An urge to burn the face,
as well as to cut.
Perform practices precise.
To tame the craves;
for blades
that thrusts.
Fugly as the **** duckling.
If his feathers he began plucking.
repulsive ravishing disgust.
Spit at reflections for good luck.
Anger and vile succumb as it does.
In all ways that it can be done,
This self harm now one knows and loves.
Black seems white feathers of doves.
...........................................................
Insi­de black demented places.
Lurk do entities of hatred.
Laugh in masks like a masterpiece painted.
Unfazed as if one is sedated.
Forever this chaos.
in pureness created.
Dead be these roses.
in violet vases.
........................................................
To remain cloaked in magic states.
Still many strife always remains.
At times it seems the blind are divine.
Dilated be these eyes.
Shall needles pierce eyeballs to disdain.
Urning to spray the eyes with mace.
Keep the hArd drugs in the brain.  coursing through collapsed and thin veins.
Keeping the *** from being laced.
Without intoxicates still insane.
Only hopelessness and endless pain.
At a young age came,
demented strange days.
Paranoid in fear;
With destructive paths near.
malevolent demeanors have now appeared.
......................................................
For so long felt so helpless.
Life in all forms is selfish.
As despair impairs.
One becomes more selfless.
Remain thy light in darkness black.
While psychosis viciously attacks.
***** back
Owning a craft.
Obsessed with knives and plastic wrap.
Unorthodox ways.
Leaving blood that rains.
Up for many nights and days
Owning a craft.
This world is sad
left perception oh so mad.
One of  my longer poems, it will be used as lyrics for my project
D E S T R O Y
THE
ONE

WHO
INHIBITS
YOUR

EXPRESSIONS.

BE.

JUST BE.

TEAR A HELLISH PORTAL UP YOUR ****.

SHRED YOUR RIBS INTO 8 PIECES.

BREAK EVERY WALL UNTIL THE KNUCKLES BREAK.

ASSAIL THE MIND WITH IMAGERY.

REACH INTO THE ****** AND MAKE HER INTO A
**** GOOD PUPPET AND WEAR HER.

CATACLYSMIC ****** AND SHARE YOUR BLOOD.

KISS YOUR SKIN WITH RAZORS OOZE BONE MARROW

AND

AND
AND
AND

HANG YOURSELF FROM A **** NOOSE.
SNAP THAT NECK.
LEFT TO RIGHT.
***** AND CRUMBLE.

TEAR THAT SKIN.

Be.

Just be.
I'm not encouraging suicide btw. This is a poem of a mad mindset, fuelled by rage and resent. Some of it is words said to me, as if it were some unethical commander. Some is just thoughts. Some is graphic imagery. But all of it is disturbing.
Noel Billiter Dec 2018
While on my  way to a friends gathering
I came across some boys walking
they spoke to me said I was pretty
I shied away from complimentary
they tore my dress ithat day
As I screamed  my little screams
covered my mouth no one could hear me
I bled my soul that day, no recovery
hands and parts in and all over me

Forcing and thrusting against my body
Shoving and pulling holding me down
After they finished left me there to bleed
Some nights I relive this haunting memory
Echos of voices ******* my dreams
this is the day I lost my virginity

I tell my story It serves as a warning
To all the happy sweet nice innocent girls
Don’t be so **** trusting of what you hear
Not all  compliments from boys are sincere
Stop wanting thier approval and attention
Be aware if this very painful lesson
quinn silverman Nov 2018
the antiques sitting here
collecting dust in their crevices
the forever cycle of fake smiles
placed on the plastered
eyes shoved in the hollowness of it
inanimate but still deserving of feelings
so i cry when i look at them
waiting for a whisper
waiting for them to say
“remember that time when..”

but i envy them
not to be cursed with a soul
because humanity is pitiful
finding empathy in the inanimate
feeling lonely enough to think an
old chair is sad,
jealous of replacement
i envy the antiques
quinn silverman Nov 2018
forcing your invitation
beyond my lap
are we too fuckable?
stuffed and posed, i’m pretty now
permission to stare at my weak mouth
worthless, worthless
internal assurance,
only proven with sad pap-smears  
so the sound track is a belt unbuckling

dragging it ****** across my face
dripping *****.
rot covers the bridge of my nose
smiling, pleased at your product
and Satan grabbing at my cage
supporting my head,
scratching at the pretty ankles
searching beneath this gushing blood
getting off from the sound of it
quinn silverman Nov 2018
boney bodies bending
broken boys
malnourished after flourishing
in the sweet sand she’s licking
herself into epiphany
****** hum, and the flavor was sour

going through the motions
***** fluidity then her mouth opens
bruises on wealthy knees
i am sweaty and i shriek i am laughing and then i shriek again
an intersection of trauma and pleasure
what did it mean to u?

i don’t wanna wake up pathetic, but every morning i find my will power wet with drew
sitting in the yard like a child’s toy
writingbpp Oct 2018
All is good
Someone else will do it
There’s no urgency
Isn’t that nice
Oh that’s too bad
I’ll get to it later
Ugh, is she asking for money?
Just look away
Isn’t that inconvenient
Hmmm, not now
It can’t be that bad
Another sad story
Just so far away
It’s not real, not fleshy

But let me tell you just how fleshy it is…
Let me tell you how he spat up his insides
All blood and foam and green-yellow bile
How he vomited all hope from his saggy-skinned chest

It was such an easy operation
And your $20 could have saved him
No joke

But instead he withered away
Waiting…
And then he died…

And you still have your 20 bucks
You still went about your day
A day of stress and worry and convenience, no doubt
And I was left with tears, and a body to ship
Years ago, I lived overseas. A good friend, who lived in abject poverty and had no family around, needed a simple but urgent and life saving operation. All the money I had (which was not a lot)  was not enough, so I wrote to friends and family back home and asked them to help. Of the 40 or so people I wrote to, only the 3 people closest to me responded at all, and they sent a totally of $120. It was not enough. My friend died an **** death. I had never asked any of these people for anything before, and each and everyone of them had more than enough money to give. Many years later, it still haunts me, angers me and saddens me.
quinn silverman Sep 2018
dark tendrils flirt with her eyes
people pass her ****
she daydreams of throats split open
you think she’s pretty
smiling to herself

using her ***
to get you excited
it’s better when the blood is flowing
at her dinner table
long fingers confident
pouring a pitiful glass of wine
creeping up your thighs
touching herself,
fantasizing of what you’ll look like

you catch yourself whining
attracted to this fear
teeth biting the broken lip
yes, this is good
scratching at the pretty ankles
searching beneath this gushing blood

loving the smell of it
dripping
blood pools under her french tips
mouth aching in ecstasy
licking her poison lips
she loves the feeling of this
“i could get used to this”
James Lloyd Aug 2018
Hear their voices loud
Passing lights, disturbing hall
Abstractly correct
haiku
Next page