Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Melodrama whispers in your ear like a soft hiss
His voice incredibly quiet
He grabs a hold of your neck
Digging his filthy fingernails in your skin

Don’t scream
     Don’t speak

Staring into his painfully blue eyes longing for an ounce of humanity
Finding none, only sleepless nights and suffering
Melodrama stealthily retrieves a silver antique dagger
HOLDING onto it tightly, too tightly
His hands begin to ooze red
Worst of all,
     he laughed
He laughed, At the pain he was inflicting on himself
Infatuated with the ambivalent stinging
This time he holds the dagger to your neck
The chilling metal carving your flesh
His matted, jet black hair tickles your neck
Please no
     You beg.
I’m terribly sorry. But I cannot stop, he whispers

With a slight grin filled with selfishness
He drags the dagger along her porcelain skin, lifting the life out of her
Her limp body falls to the floor.
Melodrama let’s out a wail.
     What have I done? How could I be this selfish?
Oh no, oh no!

His slim body collapses next to her, cradling her body in his arms
No. He cries. Tracing his hands over her wounds
Fixating his attention on the turning doorknob
His heart drops, panic overcoming him
The husband, walks nonchalantly into the horrific room
Asking one not-so-simple question.
     What are we going to do with the body?
Yet another dark poem. This is a personified emotion piece. My emotion was melodrama. Completed on 10/2/20.
Once upon a dreadful Tuesday night
a sorrowful girl was full of fright
her meek hands grasp the ropes
fiddling them, her mind overdriven by hopes
the single black ties cut into her skin
watching from above he began to form a grin
a growing evil from within  
the lawless power unsettled like gin
it drizzled above her, pouring onto the rough ropes
talking slanders above her, destroying her hopes.
Completed on 9/25/20. The first line is inspired by my favorite poet Edger Allan Poe.
Stylus of an old gramophone gets stuck
Repeats same line of a song
As if it were a parrot
Parrot flies away
Gramophone is outdated
Replacement stylus not available
Poor gramophone doomed forever
If you don't understand, don't blame me. I already told you!
LRF Sep 25
We shot early
before the earth
thawed completely
from the late winter frosts.

Instead of tentative tendrils
we were bold:
thick stems, verdant foliage.

We grew rushing,
always up
from the vines encircled low.
We spoke of
reaching beyond
our purple blooms
flush with one another’s.

Blame the seed sower:
not far enough below, not sturdy enough roots.
Or the wires we slipped,
when we would not be trained against the lattice.
But we know the weight
of another like us
was too much
for a stalk so flimsy
in a garden bed so starved.
September, 2020
Pedro Sep 8
Raise your hand
chant the anthem
be one more
in a crowd of gentlemen
go forth and march
topple the gods
cover the world in the dark
and fire the shots
killing all of those
who dare to fight
for the sun is set
and the night is nigh
so cover your face
go under and hide
'cause unfortunately, child
they won...
oh heavens, they won!
The dream of democracy is dead and the corpse rots in the open... I fear for this wretched land we call home!
He was so young and so doomed.
A boy.
Only 16.
He’d slay his angels and slow dance with his demons,
But he loved with all of his shattered heart,
And that?
Well that was what made him mine.
Wendy Nipas Jul 2
I hate it with a passion
Authentic speaking, thoughts and deeds
Are almost out of fashion
It is as if a curse has come
Upon the human mind
To keep us empty from within
To keep us dumb and blind
The thinker is now ridiculed
His thought process is ’queer’
His presence has become a pest
They wished he’d disappear
Just keep it light, don’t think too much
And don’t try to be real
Don’t tell the truth, it will upset
Who knows how one might feel?
Don’t stir up things, don’t question none
Don’t teach, do not inform
We like it shallow, it’s more fun
And that should be the norm
We’ll talk about the trivial things
Like fashion, the weather, and food
But not the troubles in the world
It won’t do any good.
Let’s focus on our pretty selves
We’ll stay well fed and groomed
Let no one try to scare you off
By saying we’ll be doomed.

Wendy Nipas
Jace Joseph May 31
A rabbit hops happily

               In this lively forest,
                  ­       Right into a trap

                                Now surely doomed.

But only the rabbit's at fault

For moving too fast,

And oh so confidently

The rabbit is snared.
To be honest, I feel pretty broken inside
I live with a woman who’s out of her mind.
What’s right is wrong, what’s wrong is right,
The moon is the sun, the day is the night.

She screams and she shouts,
She wallows and pouts,
Her mockery’s vicious,
Her memories? Fictitious.

Nothing in life is as it would seem.
I wake up and feel like I’m still in a dream.
A nightmare of dreary existence, of pain,
Of suffering from the voices in my brain.

With her condescension she sends me reeling
Her temper takes hours, no, days in its healing.
She tells me I’m awful, ungrateful, I’m rude,
That I have to change my bad attitude…

I have not said a word.
But she still hasn’t heard.
I say nothing, I’m doomed.
If I speak I’m entombed.

My very existence just sets off a bomb.
Is this what you want?
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
I would call this poem "Happy Mother's Day" but I don't want people to click on it thinking it's something sweet.
Next page