Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
LC Apr 2021
ink flows out of my brain
through my blood vessels
to my soft fingertips.
my hands curl into fists
as I crumple a sheet of paper.
a corner lightly cuts my finger,
and the ink flows onto the page.
#escapril day 27!
July Gray Aug 2020
Do you know
How I turn my fingers down
How hard can my nails
Bite my flesh

Just hold it there
Imagine what it's like
To slice open-

There's blood
Blood is hard to hide

You're right in front of me
You're telling me you can't see
See me?

There's a scab on my wrist
There's a scab on each wrist
Maybe I deserve this
Why can't you see this

It's not healthy
It is wrong
I'm wrong

So Clearly I deserve this?

Can't you see me
You ask me how I'm doing
"That's great"

You walk away

If I clench my fists tight enough
My nails
Bite my flesh
(it's my second poem with a bad word :O)
Flesh of a lonely man
Needs make up
Wreaths on this list coming

Crossing out and ticking the boxes
We’re still holding the dust of souls
And ashen glances look like desultory glances

****** on the nursed streets
The streetlit howling winds can fly out of educated lives
We are only left educated minds changing their ways and stealing cigarettes

Feigining for the father figure
I hope we have had a good time
The night’s brighter with the vivid growth of the undernelly

Knell bells tolling, killing the bleeding
Sojourn the dress, and adjourn th court
Red crimson tresses sense the mallet of sentences marking forever

Those worst worshipping travelers of trafficking
Altruist, my forefathers are looking at us like it’s now or never
The darkeness is inevitable, but, the tunnel runs out with indomitable spirit stealing glances from the Gods of religions so decrepit
I had my luck in my pocket from these corrupt politicians, and reiterated that I’d run and reign and then run
Like the apoplectic season of the monsoons, teaming up either way
I’m glad the worker is dead
I wanna govern it all to
Elative and error in my loveless ways
I can’t get anything out of my horse and wine
July Gray Jul 2019
It gets cold at night
I close my eyes
Try to see
The loved ones who've left me
Faces growing dim
Tears creep
Down my cheek where they seldom
Fists clenched
Heart tight
For its been
Too many a night
Since I've seen
How their eyes shine

Too many to count
With one hand
Forgotten memories fade away
To return in a frightening manner
Dead people like trying to haunt me, I guess.
Arcassin B Oct 2018
by Arcassin Burnham

Sorry if I'm a little hard spoken on this poem,
But the ******* that i put up with for so many years got me
Clinching my fists and releasing my hate on the tree in the
Backyard where all the weights are, no point to recharge,
No point To be on guard,
**** this life and the people that tried to end mine,
Picking on my mental illness,
I can see the end around the corner.
Is it a crime to want to live in peace, no there no peace nowhere,
They say God doesn't put you through something you can not beat,
And while I'm torn between the fake and reality , I can not be.
mysa May 2018
get up, kid
wipe the dirt from your pants
wipe the blood from your cheeks

get up, kid
bare your teeth with your chapped lips
bare your fists with your bruised knuckles

get up, kid
scream and let your throat go raw
but don't stop
       don't stop
       don't stop

get up, kid
make me proud
KM Hanslik May 2018
. conscience of gold
never stopped me from wrapping
my heart up in the darkest of things.
don't go, tread
softly on this newly broken soil. Kiss
your palms once each before you touch
anything that resides here. Leave
your twisted metal heart at the door, it won't pass
the screenings.  I want to know what summer tastes like
I want to know how the colors rest on your tastebuds and dissolve
into your bloodstream, warm and
welcoming. Brush
the dust off old phrases
turn them over in this new light to see
how they fit.
Shelf them, along with
iron fists and barbed wire. We've no need of such
weapons in this place.
spiral-whirl Feb 2018
my heart is a shield, it shall make people heed before they fight into it,
my fists is a reliable weapon i do not wish to use, but i do,
my skin is where my weakness lies, where things can crawl all over it with or without my permission,
however my mouth is where i can strike those in the heart, its a canon i always use,
and my eyes?
my eyes.
one of the worst of them all.
my eyes can hold the warmest sun but also yield the coldest storm
our fingertip bangs
you try
an own
our fingertip bangs
ain't no secrets
Poetic T Dec 2017
They may have this moment,
          immature gestures of
  what lies beneath there misgivings,
of pushing me against the walls of
                                    my self-esteem.

They may have this moment,
           glancing words,
          reverberating, like fingertips
                      on crystal shards,
within the static frailty of
                                        my self-worth.

But my moment was when,
                            I realized I wasn't
It was all about there need for control
on a world that has none.
        And I'm no longer there's anymore.

My words of thanks, yes your quite charming!
With your systematic verses, but you need to
vary oneself.
As you sound like a repeat of
                       last nights show... And repeats get boring.
So what manner of vocabulary, abusive motions
do you want to play out?? if none please just move along...
Next page