Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
meGaThOr Jun 2018
world is a fallen butchery of meats,
spreads meat over and over
gives no names,
the meats smoke lives,
rot or dies,
other meats appear,
other meats rot and dies,
the meats spread out like a butchery,
the meats move and dies,
the meats rot,
or dies from accidents,
other meats appear,
other meats dies,
the world is a butchery of meats,
as do not know where to lean,
invents policies, policies,
is space arrangement of meats,
a place, a flesh meat dies,
there would be no policies,
many meats a place of dead,


but the world of dead  meats
butcher the planet butcher dies.
Cardboard-Jones Jun 2018
I know better than this.
Why am I here?
This isn’t my bed.
I should be home.
I should be alone,
But I’m inside a stranger.

Whisper nothings to me.
I’m in a trance.
I’m hypnotized.
I’ve been deprived.
I am alive,
Take me all the way in.

Love, beautiful love,
Run your lips all over me,
Lie to me and I’ll believe
Everything you tell me tonight.

Lustful tempers rising high,
My hands make it to your thigh,
Temptation is driving tonight.

Leave me sweaty and numb,
Heavy and cold.
Something is wrong,
I am a pawn.
Get me out of this bed.

Darkness blankets the room,
Stealing my core.
Goldenrod eyes
Taking my life.
Her teeth are all the way in.

She smiles maliciously.
She claws me viciously.

I can’t go home….
Shadow Dragon Jun 2018
The mercy of God
saved him from
the world.

With his alleged
****** birth
flesh from
light and darkness
mixed in a
good and evil
conflict.

Flesh and meat
eaten.
A member
to pluck fruit.
Wicked lost souls
belonged to
the lower order.
cait-cait Jun 2018
when i was little ,
dad handed me a shovel and
he handed me
a dress.

he taught me how to dress myself
and then how to garden ,

to dig each hole
in soft
           flesh and soil.  

ive grown up since,
gotten taller,
and can hold
the shovel by myself ,

so
i dig graves now instead .

ive saved one for dad ,
                               and ive saved one for me.

six feet deep ,
                        it’s a bed with no blankets
and it’s
perfect ,
and
it’s mine —

and
i want to be buried in a dress
i can button
                     all
                         by myself ,

because
dad also handed me a shotgun.
you've made this bed, now lie in it!
ClawedBeauty101 Jun 2018
Within every heart, there is a chain hooked up to a wall of flesh, blood and stone.

Scars open and cut too deeply, we rather thirst and drink our own blood then eat the molded food that the guards of fire and destruction serve us.

We try so hard to escape this hell inside our minds. But it almost seems impossible and mindless.

Every day, we live in a living nightmare. We would rather die than live another second in this kingdom of depression and wrath.

There is only one law, and the law is the image of death is nothing but a dream.  

We can try our hardest to desire the blood spill and the gushing out of beaten bones and origins to spill out of our weak and limp bodies, but all we'll do is spawn back into this waste land

Tears stream down the faces of many innocent broken people; they feast on each other like beast of a large skeleton bump sight,

We're tortured until our back bone is visible, and our voices are empty and numb.

Our fingers lay in pieces of flesh on the cold mossy stone floor from making meals for these zombies like monsters.

The meals are the hearts and frightened minds of our fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters; we weep for them and wish for no comfort.

**I am the only prisoner in this Endless Fire Hell that has a window in their dang room. I can see a brighter, safer, more loving place just millions of miles away.

I often reach my hand out the window, to at least feel tiny drops of refreshing rain on my black burning skin.

I cry aloud, calling for some kind of help, but I know that calling and crying won't get me anywhere.

The rain drops are the only loving thing I have, for they heal my scar and fix my wounds, the only hopeful thing that my blurry eyes and beaten hands have ever seen and felt.

Under neither this dungeon in the sky, is a vast and cool ocean that I long to swim in the feeling of freedom and satisfaction.

Within every moment as I swim in the burning and melting lava pool, oh how the lava is stained by the blood and eyes of prisoners that have slowly melted away.

Their skin slowly ripping off their skull as they scream in a high and painful voice… Oh how I long to feel the rain. Oh how I long for it.

On one faithful day, there was a great down pour, and the rain drops starts to sing in harmony with serenity and joy, which caused the stones of bitterness that surround my window to give way and crumble and fall into the sea.

I smiled bright for the first time in 16 years. I took the chance and jumped, but then quickly grabbed hold of a left over stone, my arm stretched in pain.

How silly of me to just jump and not knowing if I’ll die and spawn back here or if the guards will see me in the ocean and band the rain from this Nether.

My Arm soon gave up its last strength as my ****** hand finally let the stone go. I could feel the rain, filling and soaking my entire body,

I crashed into the ocean, my eyes closed, and my mouth allowing the water of purity to drown me, my arms and leg motionless as I began to sink.

I would rather die in something I love, than live in something I hate...
Written on February 11, 2016, 10:37 am
**During the time I wrote this, I used the "d*mn" word... instead of dang"

Alright, this is not a poem, but more of a story... so apologies if I disappointed any of you guys with that.

I wrote this poem after an accident with my family, where I fell into deep anger and rebellion. I wrote this poem to let out the hopelessness I felt, to let out the madness I felt locked up in.  I was very distant from God, from my family, from my church. Rereading this revealed to me how much HATRED I had...  I am blessed and surprised how God or even the people I know could ever forgive me...

Another way to look at this poem is without Him, We do live in a mind state of Hell. We will go to Hell, unless we escape that Hell, which s through Jesus Christ, which I would think represents the Down Pour. And when she Died in something she Loved, there are so many people who Died PROUDLY for their faith... and I know they would die for something they love, then live in a world of Hate... and I know in a heart beat I would do it... the Prison of Hell would Represent us being trapped in this world of Sin or being trapped in sin in general and how monstrous it is.... So I guess that's another way to look at it
stopdoopy Dec 2018
The whispers of flesh on flesh
The pressure of you
The slide of fingers down my neck
The breath against a crook
The warmth radiating between us
The blood rushing
The hand on my back
The contact
stopdoopy Jun 2018
being struck by lightning
what a sentiment
we think of you as this beautiful destructive force
and you are
but is the electrocution
worth it to taste
that sticky sweet acid
or what about the
searing of flesh in a shattered pattern
branching out
reaching
just like I am to you...
Next page