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Farah Taskin Dec 2023
SEE, how in their eyes nightmares
how in their minds frustration builds the nest
in their misfortunes, life can't unfold its wings
David Hilburn Jan 2023
Letting the ivy roam...
Moonlight serenade, to a begun favor:
Sense in a gentler breeze, the thought to own
A grace, a fastidious space, for a little face...

Pink, the through and due, irony we seldom
Stink and prosper, the alienation we souled?
Together in legend, we tell a tale to a God's question:
Letting the ivy see, is a redress of futures, fools?

Paces and setting a catch, of futures in the light?
A wavering kiss, and the doles of redemption
Have their solemn kin, taken to remembering a night?
My name is a person, order and truth, to another selection...

Of hearts or the ivy...
Spare to fore, we conceive a notion
Made to tailor, a secret, an irony sighed...
Like the bird it was, a concern that lead to devotion...

Ivy sleeps, shadows play...
In the breeds we assume are, the peace of decency...
That has awoken, and seen the sun come, for why...?
Persuade a kind from dread, our fruit is a gift of agony...?

Building halts; continuing salt...
When has a legend presumed finish, of soon's reasons?
The tow of exception, is a wind to defer to a copious fall?
Looking ivy in the eye, asking nix for not, a needs seasons?

The fight is brutal, letting ivy is like a breath between friends
Aching at the completed hour, the duty of they and strange smiles
Set in similar pasts to a redefining must, that only with help, lends
A role no greater than now, a whisper that ended a world's defiled?

Ivy wants your life for a silence...
Ivy has the stomach to turn direction into beauty...
Ivy seemingly aloof, to worth to realize a gift is fast, to the chin...
Ivy knows you, like a taken privilege on the other side of saying we...
Never who'd but been the playing too. Does Rapunzel look better than Rumpelstiltskin in this mirror, Franklin...? Do they talk to themselves?
Alienpoet Dec 2022
I am so nasty
people stand aghast
I am so bad
you feel a draft
on a summers day
murderous glances pave the way
I am sick, I am ill
babe with every hero it’s a battle of wills

I am so abrasive
I am like invasive surgery
I am so evil I burn bibles and call it purgatory
the devil herself could learn from me
I want pounds of flesh so burn with me

I am deathly shade
stalking the sun
I am the nightmare
in the night you run
I am evil
I told you to die
but chances are you’re petrified

I am so dishevelled
I make Darth Sidious look sprightly
Sith Lords can’t fight me
With just one flick of my fingers
death lingers
I am psychologically deranged
so psychopathically strange
you wondered if I was ever sane
I just got back from Frankenstein’s lab
I killed the hulk yes I am that strong and bad
I framed Sherlock Holmes
and made him into an ****** addict
cause all my plays our that strategic
I even cheat death
in fact I own Azrael’s blade
I am villain the one you crave.
m May 2022
god you self-righteous, idealistic ****
I don’t like your old poetry
it all feels too cheesey— and it’s overly emotional
write something fresh, publish something better
get the anger out (you can’t bottle it up)
if you’re going to explode then do it through a pen
or at least, leave yourself out of it
there’s so much wrong in this world
write about that
I know you have at least 10 poems
angry, political ones
just sitting in your notes app
waiting to be jolted to life
pull the lever, Dr. Frankenstein
This Monster Kills Fascists.
Idk, just something random. I think I’m back. I’ll post those angry poems eventually. I’m very upset with the current state of the world, especially in America. I cry almost every day. But it’s okay. I’ll live. (To be clear, I am a liberal and I understand the need to “vote blue no matter who”. I voted for Biden. However, I am heavily critical of the Biden administration. I am also extremely frustrated with the Supreme Court, which when you think about it, is 45’s fault.)
Andrew Rueter Oct 2021
Get out of the bed
I can’t shock you to life
you’re not Frankenstein’s monster
because you’re no longer Frankenstein’s
after townspeople pitched a fork in the road
and spun you like a windmill
you chose the path of hellfire
burning from the death of innocence.
Thomas W Case Feb 2021
I've been so lonely
as of late.
I set out to
create a mate.
Oh, who am I
kidding, I'm not
a poet, I'm a doctor,
truth be told,
more of an alchemist.
Going to graveyards
for body parts, all
in the name of
science, I swear....
to create life....boy did
I **** this one up
This is written from the point of view of doctor Frankenstein. It's his attempted poetry and is confession of his botched experiment.
Man Nov 2020
boyhood hid nothing
the snow only recently, laid to rest
to hang like rhime
but adolescence gave it a new lense
breathed in new breath
and animated the rotten corpse
to be so in shock, sickening awe
as to shriek out
"𝘐𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴!"
Coop Lee Oct 2015
dad is in the garage.
days into spark-light and piles of polyethylene
soon, he says.
as grandaddy laughs,
rattling the icebox for more beer.

dad’s homemade android:
  the thing.
like a doll polished
& grinning, it
dances for us in the kitchen.

the dog barks, chained in the backyard.

the thing,
do-si-dos for a laugh, catches a glimpse
of the trees beyond the yard,
circuits popping into a limp heap of pieces.
left to mold-over in the garage.

the days.
the rain.
the cats tiptoeing along the edge of fences
across the street.
the dog barking, chained, &
beneath a truck.

dad is in hysterics.
dad is in the garage,
weeks in and his soaked red knuckles.
mom is drinking with grandaddy.
they rattle the icebox.
  the dog.

the dog dances for us in the kitchen,
reboots and sits.
it digs a pit all night and buries three cats there.
it sleeps on the mound.
it never barks.
it waits there in the backyard, still
& staring into the trees.
  the trees.
previously published in Paper Darts Lit. Mag.
Unpolished Ink Jul 2020
Did you ever think
When you created a life
The monster was you
One to think about! Big Penny dreadful fan!
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