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nadine Jul 5
i fancy
using flamboyant words.

"you make me feel like ****"
shifts into
"you have left me
in such a state of perplexity
that even i can
absolutely not comprehend."

"i am heartbroken"
turns into
"the existence of pain and longing
makes itself wont
to the confines of my heart,
making a home out of it.”

"i hate you"
morphs into
"a surfeit of sentiments
fill the pail to the brim,
i could only make sense
of abhorrence clinging onto my head."

every time
i wear my heart on my sleeve,
misery emerges
from the shadows
and torments me --
i cannot be
liberated from
the never-ending loop of misfortunes.

i yearn that these
bitter emotions
diminish into nothingness
until not even an iota of thought
could mar me.

i yearn that these
senseless cluster of letters
find their way back to you--
just as it should be.
mercury retrograde
Pyrrha Feb 12
Love starts out with the illusion of a perfect, delicate, gentle rose
And then it's a guillotine
A heavy blade to strike you without a cause or warning
A guillotine
To execute the ending of something that has come into tainted hands
Brandon Conway Nov 2018
Hunched over in this Bastille dwelling
cobbling out words stitching to a page
day after ----------------------------------                              
            day after ------------------------              
                        day after--------------
                                      day ------

The last bottle of Bordeaux Rouge shatters
and pools on the ***** floor, frantically I
bow down and touch lips to dirt and wine
**** until my sore cheeks flush with blood
stumble back to              the makers bench
carefully carve                  initials marking
days gone by and          by days gone by
at night I lay my head upon the guillotine
hoping to wake drenched in red in a basket
this self revolution will some day pass
Aa Harvey Jul 2018
Revolution: Part one.

The first French King sentenced to death,
Must have a new execution invented;
So that this day shall be forever remembered.
The execution of your King, this invention of evil;
This is how he will finally meet his end and go to the Devil.

The man behind the mask, the executioner;
Will lead us to change to a new world order.

A declaration of civil war, to stop the oppression,
Has lead France to say, we must fight to stop the aggression.
We must be revolting and begin the revolution;
To put an end to the executions.

The fall of the guillotine, for a life time spent,
Writing the encyclopedia, which lead to his death.
There is no place for God, in an encyclopedia of Man;
This writing is illegal, you are blasphemous!  *******!
So the time has come, to take your last breath.
Remember when you see the guillotine... don't lose your head.

Until it's chopped off and ends up in the basket;
Another case of basket case madness.
No fiction necessary, for us to live here on Earth;
But this execution, you surely don't deserve.
So the poets leave France, before the revolution;
All of them heading, back to England.

These prison bars to entrap the young.
Taken prisoner for writing a book.
Follow their rules; free thinking is wrong.
The encyclopedia is evidence enough.

Man is born free and grows to imprison himself;
Then he must follow the orders, of somebody else.
Frances revolutionaries, said let it be, let it be;
But the nation is ruled, by the monarchy.

Imprisoned for what they think, the poets and the artists;
But there are no walls, in the prison inside their heads.
Begin the revolution and make us all classless,
Because they’re chained by society,
For the thoughts that they think.

A fight for equality, a modern day philosophy.
Man is born to think for himself; a revolution is on the way.
Liberty!  Liberation for one free state;
A jaded nation must make a change.

Revolution began, after the fall of the blade;
Now the guillotine of power will stop us being slaves.
Preaching revolution, we must free ourselves of these manacles.
Preaching liberation for the masses
And freedom for the individual.

This new guillotine, the machine of death,
Makes the severed head fall into the basket,
As they take your last breath;
But they can't take your words, from the books you have written.
So fight the power!
Revolution!  Revolution!

We must have a revolution, that is televised.
Che Guevara, Malcolm X, me, myself and I.
All of us willing to join the fight;
All of knowing our view is right.

(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Samantha Dec 2017
One, two, three, four,
Look who's here at the door!
Five, six, seven, eight,
I hope it's them, they're pretty late-
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
Their coat goes up on the shelves.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,
I hope they see a guillotine.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty,
Now they're here, I'll hurt them plenty.

No use counting any more,
It's just making my brain quite sore.
I simply had to tell you more
Of they who turned life into war.
Made happy thinking quite a chore,
Right at my face they swore and swore.
Everything nice, hidden in a drawer,
Or scattered everywhere, all over the floor.
May someday beach up upon the shore,
May I fall asleep without a snore.
A person who may or may not exist.
andrew joseph Oct 2017
I want you to hurt me
I want you to bring me pain
I want you to make me angry and sad and jealous
I want you to make me feel every emotion that I hide away from in the midst of the night, every emotion that makes me cringe and pray I was never born
I want you to chop off my head with the guillotine of confusion
and cause it to explode with the pain of constant headache
I want you to make my eyes bleed with tears of pain of seeing things I cannot bare to see
I want you to rip them out of my sockets with a swift glance of lust and squeeze them until I am not able to see a sliver of light in the darkest room
I want you to rip my ears off with silence and shred them with scissors of obliviousness
I want you to take my lips and burn them in the fire of loneliness and watch them wither as the skin crackles longing for an ounce of moisture
I want you to take my heart and stab it with the damnation of solitude leaving it broken and in pieces in the pits of a dungeon
never to be rescued, never to be put together and set free for all eternity
I want you to tie my hands behind my back with a rope of thorns
as my wrist bleed and struggle to simply touch the beauties of the world they long for
I want you to cement my feet into the ground until they go numb and turn black falling off where I once stood leaving to grow old where I lay to decay into nothing but dust and last only as a painful memory to the person who had to sweep me up
I want you to hurt me
I want you to bring me pain
I want you to make me angry and sad and jealous
I want you to make me feel every emotion that I hide away from in the midst of the night, every emotion that makes me cringe and pray I was never born
But when you ask me what I want
All you’ll hear is that I want you to love me
Diandra Pratama Jul 2016
When the night falls,
I am at my best.

I could topple from the sky for a saunter amongst the wingless owls arbitrarily.
Carrying my futile attempt on serving the sun with a contempt glance,
As I let my imagination run free like nine jockeys in one horse race.

When the night falls,
I am the captain of my own ship.

I could set my course straight to my hiding place without any further ado;
Where I'd sail to where dreams and phantasies collide until the clock strikes two.

But most importantly,
When the night falls, life isn't like crossing a palisade or walking through a horrible gale;
Life isn't like a perpetual movement of climbing up the rickety stairs or losing a bet to the middleman.

Life isn't as stilted as when I stood dead on the yawnful street or as boisterous as the crowds watching King Louis guillotined to death.

Because there is only peace.

The skies may be the blackest black; the air may be the emptiest space,
but none like the night
where I can sit and stare,
and watch as the moon and the stars
shine my way.
Drake Brayer May 2016
The clock is ticking slowly
Its hands are counting down
The fires light below me
On dry land I start to drown

The deadline is drawing near
Its gleaming blade so clean
A razor's edge to the bite of fear
An echo within a waking dream

Its burnished steel is shining
Its varnished edge so keen
The silent fall oncoming
Its visage is so serene

The finale will be stunning
The death will be obscene
Once time is finished running
Silence will reign supreme
Tanner Angelo Nov 2015
You remember the afternoon
The little lass was found
Asleep without her teddy
Forever on the ground
Not much right is ever
Made from such a wrong
The boys put him away to stay
I can't recall how long

Workers the next day
Discussed it on their coffee break
In the wake of tragedy
Folks got lots of noise to make
"You heard the search is over?
A coffin door is open
Is nothing sacred any more?
What's left here to place hope in?"

The poets wrote some poems
The news was nothing new
The inmates got their three
                  free meals a day

A chef came close to starving
A dealer had a deal to do
'Cause on the outside there

To keep a roof above one's head
To house the killer too
A room, no board, a bed,
           his, free to lay

Honest people sleep on streets
Does this not seem wrong to you?!
Cry for justice, cry for Her,
           join me when I say...

Bring                              Bring
Bring                              Bring
Back                                Back
The                                   The
Guillotine              Guillotine
rebuttal i received: an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. worn out old saying. the victim of homicide dies, but truly it is the friends and family who lose an eye apiece upon hearing word of what's been done, is it not? it's really not an eye for an eye situation when that whole family has been made blind with grief. and now they pay the taxes to feed him. i've never been to jail and i don't really want to but it doesn't sound so bad, think of all the time for reading and writing and practicing whistling. an eye for an eye makes the world realize how nice it really is to see.
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