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At some point tears turn into anger
And I am sick and tired of crying and crying
Just ready to punch someone out.
Thomas Feb 2018
Filled with self resentment
Arrogantly blaming others for your concept

Win one battle
Like a fool you think you’ve won the war
With false confidence you once again…
Dip the chalice for just one sip
One sip becomes two
Two becomes six then six becomes never enough

You regroup for a breath
To prove you can evade it’s grasp
So you challenge the storm alone
For another round…

Just like all the times before
Your arrogance is the noose
Before you can swallow that next breath
Your neck is locked in it’s grip

Tidal wave after tidal wave crashes over you
Dragging you down and further down
Allowing you come up for just enough air
So you won’t completely drown

Smashing those that love you
Against the rocks of your lies
By now you’re so consumed
Their screams don’t make a sound

The demon is now your guide
A vicious voice of incoherent reason
With no conscience or consideration
Using your fear as fuel
Possessing you body and soul
With every breath
Self-pity and anger are his tool
Shattering the Myth of all that you were
Until your death
Once in thoughting so profound,
exhilarated with a bottle found. . .
. . .slake'd it up yet still I got it,
passed-out drunk, woke up, forgot it?

Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
Our future would be nicer
If he wasn't such a liar
At least could play the role
And be less politician
And less a bad magician
If he only had a soul.

He’s drunk with his power
Which is growing by the hour
He’s really on a roll.
He believes he is king
And we don’t mean a thing
Because he has no soul.

He has voters he can step on
Now we’ve given him a weapon
It was obvious in the polls
So many to ****
Destroying them at will
Like a creature with no soul.

Now his approval is sagging
His supporters are gagging
As they try swallowing him whole.
He’s sure none can top him
And no one can stop him
Because he has no soul.

He won’t be satisfied
’Till all Democrats have died
Or get by shoveling coal.
We’d appeal to his heart
If he had one at the start
And if he only had a soul.
Sing along, folks. You know the tune, you just never knew the words until I re-wrote them. Modernized, as it were.
K Balachandran Mar 2015
An olive branch, hurriedly raised,
sparsely leaved, sans any grace
sadly a belated thought she had,
a wingless bird's attempt to soar,
a withered symbol of an inept pair's
egomaniacal overdrive, a betrayal
in the name of a love lost it's soul
prickly floats down, as he watches
it swirls and turns on the turgid flow
a storm water drain keeps no memories.

Along with it a love, utterly vapid
too goes down, breathing it's last.

— The End —