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Ylzm Aug 13
tattoos, the mark of Cain
instinctively inducing revulsion
stirring a mix of fear and hate
and of contempt and pity

today a common mark of man
mistaking individuality for identity
abhorrence for affirmation of being
and grotesque debasement for beauty

the mark of exile, rejection, and wickedness
now of fellowship, freedom, and choice
embracing the perverse to shock as all children do
now permanently etched, defiant without understanding

perhaps it is fitting and timely now
for the world is going the way of Cain
the mark of man is yet another sign
manifesting openly for those given to see
Ylzm May 15
alien and other worldly.

bordering the grotesque and bizarre,
strangely exhilarating.

wild and uninhibited,
even orgiastic,
of a mind, as if,
not of this world;
shapes and sizes,
folds and spirals
colours and colourations.

at times,
more animal or insect,
than flower.

if a rose is Mozart,
an orchid, Stravinsky.
Brynn S Mar 29
Tear my skin piece by peace
I see the bones leaking in feast
Emmergance of the palest formation
No more turns for degradation
Peal back lids and watch them fall
A shell of a mind once stood tall

Petals of birth
They fall to the ground
Each day another
None left to surround

Lonesome I may
Given with greed
Taken the chance
Most others would flee

Break my neck
My legs as well
Transform me into art
May all others go to hell
Midge Jan 20
Deep down the theater is a mystery
Of the phantom who lives in misery
A loathsome creature, masked in shame
He lives in the shadows amidst glory and fame

He runs the opera, they must follow his order
Or else, a catastrophe will occur
Opera Ghost, forever shall haunt
Abide in you, I shall never flaunt

The world created an Angel of Hell
Taught him to **** and become cruel
But deep inside is a frightened child
Who yearns for beauty and all things mild

A troubled entity beneath all fright
The Phantom of the Opera, the Music of the Night.
John okon Dec 2018
Never have I seen the moon turn off its light at night,
Never has it leaped into my room to chat with me or for a moment of unserious trite.
Always faithful to shine,
As similar to that of a slick wine.
Running down a stranger's throat,
Swilling as he sips and slurps - those eyes of his like that of a sneaky goat.
Never have I seen the moon turn off its light at night.

As simple as thought but symbolical in every sense of night.
Blade Maiden Sep 2018
"hush dear, be safe with us"
of whimpering
"liars, don't listen, don't make a fuss"
"you can't pretend, in your head it's all about us"
My reflection
mirrored in a strangers frown
creature creeping
underneath my gown
is it me, sweeping
give to whom it belongs, this heavy crown

In your pictures
the conflict hides
through pretty gestures
beauty subsides
and love with its tiring lectures

I don't give a ****
about your empty phrases
turned down praises
Watch me pull the plug
Your insincerity amazes
as I watch you feast on a deers pluck

You're not a dog
all you do is bark
getting rid of carcasses at the bog
listen closely and hear the lark
we all get lost in the fog
see if you can catch a spark
listen closely and hear the frog
you will see me in the dark
Anya Jul 2018
Have you ever
Felt so sluggish
You think it probably for your skin
To melt and ooze off
And the muscle underneath starts to sizzle
And only the lonely bones remain
As hot as a metal rod laid out under the blistering sun
One would feel that
If he or she closed their eyes
They’d become a shapeless lump
To much of nothing to be anything
And eventually they’d just sink into the earthen floor
Eventually reaching the crust then core
Then being desintegrated
Into tiny particles
I could keep going
But I’m too tired to think anymore
Let em just close my eyes and...
The title says it all, by the way the ending is implying that the above occurres to the subject of the poem after they close their eyes.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
Apologise. Run,
run to her until your toes start bleeding and your lungs are burning,
apologise until your tongue starts to feel numb and your throat is itching,
you lied to her she was the only flower in your garden when you were watering one rose after another,
you lied to her you would take a bullet for her when you were the one dancing behind the trigger,
you lied to her she was your moon when you were like the moon, constantly changing, never the same,
so many words but nothing ever comes close to describing your cheapness and vile nature, for your whole foundation has become so grotesque and abhorrent,
you see, karma never forgets,
it will come around and sting you like a bee.
in the spirit of cheats and liars, here's a little something to make you cringe at your evil doings:
Andrew Durst Dec 2017
I think I'll fall asleep in an hour
I think I'll be dead in a week
I'm sick of bitter arrogance-
it isn't something unique.
In fact it's kind of grotesque
the way I choose to progress
it's like i'm slowly
cutting from my
and stopping
at my chest.
Do you get it yet?
Do you find it hard to understand?
Am I not what you were looking for
or do I need to be better than I am?
I'm only asking.
I think that's fair.
But then again I'm getting acquainted with
I tell myself it isn't real.
I try to believe that you care.
But all that goes out the window when
I see you are not there.
It's unusual;
the way I trip
over myself.
Therapists and teachers
always said I needed help.
But I didn't believe them.
Ignorant was how I felt.
Trapped, corner,
I was ****** with what was dealt.
Just know that I didn't keep it.
I just walked right on out.
And for every moment
I've been defeated-
at least I wasn't

someone else.
Full of stupid errors but it felt good to let this all go.
So enjoy for what it is. Thank you.
Emma Cheung Nov 2017
Ten times nightly it crawls beneath,
Five times sprightly it ruptures my peace.
Pale is its breath
When I open my legs
Waiting for it to go back inside.
Sometimes, when it sleeps, I begin to feel
Something close to love.
And slowly it moves, its endless wrath,
Extinguishing all warmth,
Coming back to its fat prey.

It opens its gall black shining eyes.

How dreadful,
The cold silence of waiting
For uncondensed hatred.
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