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I felt hatred deep through my veins,
It burnt my skin
Planting the seed of vengeance
‘How dare you’
Your words flashed in my mind.
You tear open my wounds
With your pitiful words,
You **** me every time,
You breathe my name.
You confess your love,
That chokes me every night.
You’re the poison that I ingested,
Voluntarily, naïve little thing.
You strangle me with your words,
Stifling the smothered screams.
You gnash my skin
With your ****** teeth,
You tear open my insecurities,
Piece my piece I pay the price
Of surrendering to the devil.
You call me lovingly,
‘Little pet’,
You expect me to swallow your lies,
The shackles of your tribulations.
You whisper sweet nothings,
Of how I’ll ‘join the great majority’,
And you’ll hunt again,
A prey to torture,
A sacrifice.
How can I let you?
You broke my soul,
Tarnished my body,
For your sickening self;
You reduced me to ashes
For what?
I wait for you to return.
You’re asleep,
Are you tired from inflicting torture?
Oh how sad, aren’t you the victim here.
I sneak up to your lithe form,
You breathe my name,
Is it a silent prayer, darling?
I plunged the knife deep into your heart,
The *****, he doesn’t feel.
Your eyes open, you’re shocked,
You didn’t expect betrayal.
The predator, soaked in blood,
Calls out again, the last time,
Losing his breath, sweating profusely.
‘Die, pet’
Nice retraction, right?
The Hunter dies pleading the hunted,
Ragged breath, such music to my ears.
You die, a meaningless death,
You succumb to that knife you use to ****,
**** the others, **** me.
You die, a sobbing mess,
Too cold for life.
Brumous Jun 2021
uoy ot gnis I
seuh derettahs fo yballul a
htrow dna ytilaudividni fo snoitcarfer

kni gniyrc neeb ev'uoy
em revo lla deraems
ynnuf s'ti, das os gnikool


                           
I sing to you
a lullaby of shattered hues
refractions of individuality and worth

you've been crying ink
smeared all over me
looking so sad, it's funny

'sit scriptor aspiret invicem'

       Should we?
              we already are.
                     Each other we paint;
                                  "blood from thee."
original look here -> https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4362712/one/
I don't think
Brumous Jun 2021
one
uoy ot gnis I
seuh derettahs fo yballul a
htrow dna ytilaudividni fo snoitcarfer

kni gniyrc neeb ev'uoy
em revo lla deraems
ynnuf s'ti, das os gnikool

mecivni teripsa rotpircs tis

                            ?ew dluohS
                 ;era ydaerla ew
          tniap ew rehto hcaE
eeht morf doolb
Renee Jul 2021
A raccoon, gray tail still intact, head askew across the highway
Left to decompose on the county road, under spring’s thawing sun.
A sadness swells my throat, a differing of points of view
Where wild used to be, the raccoon mistakes concrete for dirt
Headlights for predator eyes, glowing in the complete night
Crushed undertire, underfoot, underpaw—
Sweep his carcass off that once-grass gravel
The fields of wildflowers and sideoats grama
Given way to industrialism, to a streak of urbanization
So far out in the sticks that even the animals do not know
Where the country ends and the city now begins.
J Mar 2021
acting is a lot easier than people let you believe.
First you pick a person,
some sort of simple, easy, fun-loving personality
some range of phrases for said personality
mixed in with reactions of course, and
BAM
you got the gist.
my character is funny in the way that they're sort of me.
I'm very fake.
I've got this habit, you see, this habit of smiling and laughing.
"it's fine, it's funny we're laughing."
I'm the therapist, they come to me, I help.
I collect shards and paste them together
abandoning my own flayed pieces,
ignoring my own shattered self.
But that's okay!
See that's okay!!
Because J!
J!
J doesn't mind being stepped on!
OH ** **!
J DOESN'T MIND BEING USED AND TORMENTED!
NO NO CONTINUE PLEASE!
J doesn't MIND only being talked to when others need something!
Please, go ON!
Because J!
J WILL LET YOU?
and why?
maybe it's the separation anxiety
or abandonment issues
or the fear of being alone in a general way
or a fear of being hated
maybe it's because J is so ****** use to being treated like a
******* DOORMAT!
that it doesn't even phase them anymore
it doesn't even matter anymore
it's part of the normal world
day-to-day life!
. . .
I smile a lot.
I laugh a lot.
More than most.
More than I should.
Some would argue that it's simply too much
am I trying too hard with it?
is it somehow obvious?
. . .
I left my first period to the bathroom. and proceeded to
sit down on the hate this word
and yet i couldn't cry?
WHY?
someone else was in the bathroom.
I wanted NEEDED some sort of a break
and yet J
and yet I
I could not give myself leniency.
Even alone
even if the person there didn't matter.
So when she left, a shed I still could not cry
and i split skin instead.
I had planned it for a while
nowhere near deep enough of course
couldn't be caught bleeding all around the school.
I had my blades in the bag,
I tucked them into my pocket.
some of the juice splattered itself onto tile floor
onto blue jeans
onto hate this word paper
wrapping itself around my arms,
pleading with me to please, please stop.
but who the **** cares
because
. . .
I smile a lot.
Trojan Mar 2021
One, two, three
Silver coins
Silver scales

Four, five, six
They go down
One by one

Seven, eight, nine
In a bucket
Plucking them out

Ten, eleven, twelve
Blood and pleadings, cries
Squeezing wounds and lies
December, 2020
Grace Haak Mar 2021
To start your mornings with
blood on your hands
smearing across pages
is
incriminating
and inspiring
And you must know
if you were to slice open
my veins would also
spill black fountain ink
If you were to sever my tongue
my hands would speak
for me
Go ahead and gouge my eyes
I can still see
And when I die I desire
to be cut as a cadaver
All the words visible
under paper-white skin
so they will know, too.
I do not aspire to be a skeleton
with brittle bones
I want blood
to pour with every pinprick
of a pilot pen pressed
on a page
But blood makes people squirm
Blood makes people gag
so I intend to
leave this world
with a crime scene behind me.
Let them shake and shudder
for they know not
the life they’ve lost
They live in fear of papercuts
and I carve myself open
again and again
And I will continue to
until I bleed out
and my ink dries up
If it sounds violent it’s
because it has to be
The world could use a
few more bloodstains
Makes it more uncomfortable
Makes it more interesting.
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