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how far would you let me go? how
deeply would you let me delve?

you might be tempted but
you don’t know
the thoughts i have
about you and the tip of
my very sharpest knife

and how pretty you
would look in red

how flush my
would make your cheeks and
your veins and
your heart

the woe that is sleek inside the
softer parts of my skill
and the gorgeous, most sacred
metallic inner parts of you

you are bleeding on
porcelain statues of gods
and somehow that
seems nothing
short of completely appropriate

zeus and i share a bottle of
wine in your memory
Merry Oct 12
I’m just a postmodern bush poet
Roaming and roving rusty roads
Writing, wordsmithing, amid yellow grass
Fondling the various ******* of Mother Nature
The hills and mountains, all her nooks and crannies
Looking at peeled potato sheeps
Dreaming about what great stews they would make
Listening to a bit of AC/DC
With no wuckin’ furries
Getting eyed by work dogs
With no sense of self-preservation
Telling me I’m going to die all the same
As those rotting roos lying in the dirt
Sodomised by cars just like mine
Their pink, esoteric entrails getting pecked out
By the crows I call my friends
Sophia Sep 22
I want roses to grow inside my lungs
Its okay if their thorns ***** my sides, and the blood pools inside my chest
Its okay so long as
I can ***** rose petals
And choke on their ever growing vines.
Keiri Jul 30
Crawling into my layer.
Hungry for more.
Go ahead, make your prayer.
And beg your God t'ill you're sore.

For my eyes are drenching.
And there's a hole in my chest.
I'll always be watching.
Waiting, lurking to **** you my guest.

Blood will be drooping and clench
Into the screams that are made.
Covered by my sweet revenge,
Please let them be fooled by my façade.

And my eyes twitching hard.
Sore dry and red.
As it all gets discard.
When I'm not being fed.

My fingers scratching my face.
My mouth drooling with war.
And a lady in white lace.
Who had been stolen from far.

The typical muddy nails.
The well timed rhymes.
The screams that prevail.
The horror mirrors the dark times.

Oh, it's that cinematic feel,
Of when Dracula emerges.
The devil and his deal.
The night got so gorgious.

And the taste of the brains.
That are reaching my troat.
No more personal gains.
No more original quotes.

It's that creepy nights cough,
And a horror be feared.
As the jumpscare was just bluff.
Yet I thrilled as they dared.

It's that creepy night upon my eyes.
Big swollen black eyes on both sides.
Oh I know this is goodbye.
That alone I have abide.

It's the zombie feel when your eyes want to shut.
You're forcing you through this movie with fright.
With the creep, the witch or the nut.
Say goodbye to your sleep tonight.

For you won't sleep for a while anymore.
Oh the joys of a horror, making your eyes sore.
Yeah, I srsly made a poem about not being able to sleep, due to a horror movie, therefor becoming the horror myself.... enjoy.
Anastasia Jul 16
She didn't quite have a clear understanding of what she had come home to
Her parents lying on the floor
Jagged bits of the shattered mirror
And a bloodred carpet
Her older sister upstairs in the bathtub
With reflective glass in her wrists
She stepped outside
It was too much
She'd have to live with her aunt
She didn't want to
The weeds that grew around her house leaned against her ankles
Queen Anne's Lace to her thighs
Dandelions tickled her feet as she walked
She stood in front of the bridge
And thought


She decided


She called her boyfriend
He rushed over
And held her in his arms
As she tried to cry
Tried to feel emotion
He called the cops for her
She told him about her aunt
He almost cried
He held her tighter
With me
He said
She said yes
And finally cried
A story. I don't know. I'm just feeling... sad.
For your fresh flesh,
I have a craving
I find it best
When you're still breathing

I'm wanting you...
Squirming in my teeth
No humans were harmed in the making of this poem... hopefully.
Anastasia Jul 11
In the ashes
On white roses
"Paint them red,"
She said
"Or it's off with your head"
The Queen of Roses
Lying her her rose bed
Dripping blood
From a severed head
Slowly painting
The roses red
Oh, Alice.
FRITZ Jul 10

smile and drop the facade

tune into your suffering and lie to yourself

he's lying                         (watch his lips move)

take whats mine

take the pulse under my skin

**** it all away

                                                           ­ i just need one more day


half pack of cigarettes no wrapper

next to the body of a man fallen from his masturbators

walls plastered with the back of his head and a

dead body saturating in excrement

gun on the floor one casing spent

wasn't long ago he sat there smoking

one burning red fountain is sick 96¢.

the hole they put him in cost

4000 rounds.


open your mouth and ignore the

scorched mounds dissipating into the wind

your whisper your breath your flesh

go they all go

c'est la vie.
R18+ I guess.
Lux Falls Jul 4
Bones pierce through my toughened but weary flesh
Barbwire nerves tighten them together like twine around a Thanksgiving swine
But this isn’t a celebration or a one-off spectacle
This is what breathing is like
This is living.

Warmth is welts, sweat and tears.
Forbidden sleep, I cry and beg for relief.
I find solace in a cold bath
And pray for cooler weather.
The cold is screaming bones, stiff and keeping me drowned in bed.
Forbidden to move, I cry and beg for mercy.
I find solace in fire
And pray for warmer weather.

In the calm waters that all swim in, I am battling a rip
I wave for help,
They wave back, happily, as if saying hello.
Keep treading water
Just keep going and good God, I think he’s still there
Watching me fight the urge to stop and drown, submerge myself and let it be.
All this time, I’ve been trying to get out of a bed, the bath, or my chair.

I have spared loved ones agony, friends have left.
There isn’t any fun watching a carcass decay on the side of the road
Magnesium is there for me now
Codeine and I catch up around once a week
I have dates with my shower
And a blanket that embraces me.

Get up now, enough of that
Put some pants on, it’s time to see Them.
Brush your hair, fight your fingers to tie it up.
Defy the grinding of your bones and walk out that door.

They will ask how you do you feel
What has happened since last week

Did you make it out your front door
Out of bed
How does that make you feel?
Did you go out last Saturday?
Did the torrent of anxiety swell up again
Another face
Same question
My problems are common

People your age don’t do this.

The bone-pierced meat is ripped again
Pulling away from my spine
Becoming tragic wings few can see.

The last coat is the one all see and notice and judge the most
Skin shrink-wrapped around my barbed-wire nerves and meaty flesh
Where touch is soft and electric
And scars are chapters of stories
Mine are charred onto my bones and tattooed onto my skin
It looks like others with soft hair, freckles and spots
Yet it has encased me in a tomb
Being showcased in the museum of life
And as everyone passes by
No one knows what’s going on
But really, no one wants to know.
My mouth is moving yet I am silent
But really, I’m screaming.
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