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Lexi Snow Nov 2019
Let's see how fake you can be
Don't get me wrong
It's funny that you're trying
You're trying to be my friend
Why be my friend?
Because all yours realized that you're horrible
Oh, that *****
Oh, you didn't think I didn't know
Did you?
You didn't break our friendship fully
But you can continue playing that fake innocent person
Continue thinking that we are good
Just know, we aren't
I am just showing the world
Showing the world my tolerance
My tolerance for filth.
Recently, I was given a huge challenge and I have a huge tolerance now thanks to this challenge
Sofia Rybkina Oct 2019
I first saw my grandma knitting when I was five. 
Wool yarn flowing through her fingers, 
As if it was a fairy tale by the brothers Grimm.
Magic was happening, giving birth to another 
sweater, or another scarf, or a dress I was probably going to wear. 

 I first saw a fashion magazine at the age of eight. 
It was full of clothes, full of bright, extravagant colours, 
I was amazed by this variety of art it kept inside,
a little girl facing her nature, her passion, her desire. 

 I was twelve when I first visited Germany &
realised that fashion had never been this far from people. 
Oaf boots and cerulean sweaters I was seeing everywhere
As a complete outsider, an offspring of another world. 

It was years after that I understood. 
Clothes are what we see & beauty is what we cherish,
But, if it is filth that you carry on the inside, 
It can never be covered by a little black dress.

Tipton Poetry Journal
July, 2019
Gale L Mccoy Sep 2019
how to i remove the topper
stomped on top of my head
why do i see through
lime stained goggles
no amount of elbow grease
unscrews the top
nor clears the glass

when were these
peanut butter walls built
the thoughts like gnats and flies
pile in layers to the wall
clear away one and
another grows grotesque
like an apartment
paired with depression

all i want is a clean slate
to build a new
Sidara Jul 2019
Tomorrow always arrives
With its splendid shine
To make hearts feel alive
Filling them with its  eternal light

New days come for good hearts
For those who see the light
But not for those who steal it
As darkness  is all they have

But I don't want it to arrive
For me, tomorrow can't come
To brighten my life
As of it, I am done

Tomorrow can't come for me
For my empty heart to fill
My heart is not to be here
Rather underground with the filth

Dark is what my mind is
But my soul is not
A soul is what I miss
I don't want to know where is at
blackbiird May 2019
i still taste your sticky sweet nectar on
my lips from the time you released your
seed onto my perfect *******,
then you traced your fingertips onto
my precious flower and tasted my sweet honey, watching  it drip from your fingertips
as you plastered your mark into my sweet flower--
my breathing becoming shallow from the sensations, thoughts scattered , close to the threshold before a beautiful release of ecstasy .
A perfect deflowering carved into my memory.
redruMAndTea Apr 2019
People are utterly filthy.
Rags besmirched black and undertone red in blood, and ****,
and tears, and thrown up alcohol bought cheaper than a
***** on Seventh.
Oh, tell me about it.
I saw a dead person once.
Grime under fingernails and teeth carved in gingivitis--
filth of a body really; but still I cry for this begotten soul
until my own hands grow
disheveled in the hue of
sobbing women.
Women are always sobbing.
My good friend with fishnet tights cries and
cries when the bottle breaks and
glass becomes embedded in those brown
fingertips of hers.
What is worse?
The stench of rotting flesh mixed with Persian White
dripping from a needle three years defective,
or the scent of sobbing women soaked
lily-livered in sweat.
With an honest tongue, politely I exclaim:
I’d rather sit with the flesh of the dead man whose filth is rotting
away with the mist of dawn,
then the crying pupils of thou who breathe in
white wind from the heavens
and exhale clouds coated thick
in a thousand vile songs.
Jenna Mar 2019
Crosses on the windows
Why must you divide the view?
The outside world is not divided into sections
It is instead, one giant pane

Being objectified by humanity
It's future ***** and unclear
People may be hired to clean you,
but the major issues are stained

Beyond recognition, so filthy
I wonder if we will ever
gaze upon a clean and open
window ever again
I hope we cure Earth in the near future.
A Simillacrum Jan 2019
How clean is clean
when the cleaning began
from the floor of a sunken ship?
Barnacles grace the walls in the place
of family, or a familiar face.

When filth is a given, and given
in projection to the overtly empathetic
as a matter of course, why implore?

Because you don't implore,
you explore as an entity
reaching for a meaning.

The question becomes,
do you fight, or do you invite
the coming cessation?

Even with a gun, and a view to ****,
the power the bullet affords
would surely fail to thrill you.
The best charlatans paint your hands red,
as you're sleeping in bed, preemptively.

Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
Uninterrupted access to their own confines.
To Narcissus, the cool nod is colder than the knife.

Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
When the company you keep requires the sacrifice
of your authenticity and your reality, just leave.

It'll never get good. It'll never get great.
It'll never be worth the investment.
Marsha Oct 2018
you tarnished
the beauty
of my soul
with your
filthy touch
what once
was flawless
is now
and smudged
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