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Brumous Apr 23
I'll let go of this pencil
that continues to draw this
head filled with imagination

"behead me,"
and bring the endless ache of being
an insufficient being;
in this ideal world

'filled with feelings, pens & paint,'
it irks me that I make no sense

I hate that I'm not perfect like her.
Peyton L Feb 2020
My words are a guillotine
and you willfully put your head
underneath it.
I know ******* you.
It'd be so easy.
A simple word here
a phrase there
and I'd destroy you.
Leave you doubting yourself
doubting me
and feeling guilty for it.

My hands touch you
make you plead for more.
I want to freeze sometimes
to just stop.
Maybe even to leave.
I want to leave your wondering
what you did wrong.
I want to break your heart.
Because this is what I do.
I leave things, people,
in pieces.

Only once in a blue moon
do I wish to destroy
to break
to shatter.

Sometimes,
it's not you I want to hurt
it's me.
I want to destroy myself
from the inside out.
That includes hurting you
beyond repair.
If I make you hate me
I'll have no reason not to hate myself.

You know when you're holding
something precious
like life in your hands
say
a frog
and you have the fleeting thought
to crush it between your fingers?
That's what it feels like.

That's what this feelng is,
isn't it?
Just a small thing
destined to go away.
I don't realy
wholeheartedly want to hurt you
or anyone or anything
really
I don't.

I just want to know
what you'd say
what you'd do
if I could ever make you cry
If I could completely break you.

Part of me
knows how wrong this is
how I shouldn't be wonderng about this
that wanting to **** something
or destroy it's spirit or heart
probably makes me a sociopath
but I'm not sure if I care.

I want to be compared
to a black hole.
I want to make everyone hate me
see how ugly I really am.

I want you to wish you'd never met me.

Self-destruction is a terrible thing,
isn't it?
When you've got nothing left
and you're all on your own
you have no means to go on.

I wish I didn't have you by my side,
but then again,
I never want you to leave.

I wish to God I could be taken
from this earth
but I want to stay with you forever.

Baby tell me
I'm okay.
That I'm not insane.
That you'll love me no matter what.
Because I'm scared of what I'm capable of.

I'm scared of hurting you
purposely or otherwise.

This guillotine
doesn't want your head
to be there.
It wishes you would move,
save yourself.
Pull away.

But you don't.
You stay in the blades path.
And as it goes down
so does my heart.

I wasn't created to destroy.
I wrote this in my creative writing class a little less than two years ago, and ever since I've been wondering what the hell my thought process was. Even though it's not about me, it's a concept piece, I'm still in love with it.
Colm Oct 2019
I am thunder
Silver fire
Felt like a hot tin roof beneath young feet
And scolding
Smoking like the copper wire
Paper on a guillotine
Slicing through an echo chamber
I am the terror of a plastic souls desire

That is
Until only bane of self remains
And all once again are made the same
Even when uncomfortable. It's unexplainable for sure. No words can or will ever do it justice.
nadine shane Jul 2019
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 2019
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.
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