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Drunk poet Aug 2018
I don't know, I... I can't describe it
I just wish your feet didn't move you to my door
I wish the ***** didn't burn so hot in me after
that little big fight
Now my lips keep ******* my tears
on words with "had I know"
I wish the liquor store had closed before that hour
Or better still, the bottle disposed
But it happened so fast that I lost my myself to another self
My anger met jealousy, like fire unionised with gasoline
I don't know, I... I... I can't des... Or maybe do I understand now
You were the page in my diary I tore
And the coin that slip of my pocket in the rain
Well, I'll wipe my tears away
For after just one gunshot I will be there to give you my apologies
{the poet that stinks with lines⚟}
Abby Jo Oct 2017
I loaded the gun with my own happiness as the ammo
Then I handed it over to you and forced you to pull the trigger
When you did, all I felt was the pain of the shot.
You thought I died so you left me behind
But I was clinging to every short breath I managed to take
I watched you go on and find your new life without me
Day by day, the pain faded but I still bled with every movement
The hole is still present, but now it's healed up.
All that remains is a nasty scar
I did this to myself, but you were no angel
For the reason I loaded the gun was to fast forward through your unfaithfulness
I only imagined success and never the opposite
But here I am, left in the wreckage
And you're giving her a new last name.
Infedility screams behind every word I write. I just want closure.
faith Sep 2017
a gunshot was heard,
but not by her,
blood gushed out of her face like a grotesque river,
a bullet hole in the side of her head,
maybe we should put down all the technology...
before someone gets hurt...
Mike Virgl Jun 2017
She motioned for me to move
I repeated my reply
"Do you not wish for my love?"
No I do not wish for lie
"But we should be, cant you see"
No I cannot, remember?
"Please do speak, I need it for m-"

I stood off the bench we shared
She looked as she wished, naive
"Was it you for who he cared?"
I saw the white web she weaved
"You are to he, waves of sea "
Her gaze caught mine, and she sobbed
"Never seek, time kills you and m-"

And then she rushed forward and grabbed my hand
"If I cannot turn back time and have he"
"I wish to never exist"

I combed through her hair to remove the sand
"I'm afraid you never did, but only"
"In my foolish head"

And then she was gone and I was alone
Without comfort, or imagination
I walked to my place calling mothers phone
I laughed, an empty reverberation

"I'm sorry but you were right, he lost mind"
"Never chase a hope, or dream"
"Because I am put in physical binds"
I felt my head start to gleam

Giggling, I broke my phone on the ground
"How can perfection be achieved!" I said
"It cannot," I whispered without a sound
Looking up, there was a solution laid

"Goodbye," finally filled with happy tone

An explosion of peace ripped through my head
And that was all, a single piece of lead
Evidence of my answer
To impossible problems
This was fun to do but agonizing to make. It was my first time attempting to do poetic dialogue. I do not now how I feel about it yet. I thought it was at least interesting.
E Copeland Oct 2016
“I would compare falling out of love more to coming home from war. It is a slow process, but then suddenly it is gone. You prepare for months and weeks to return from war. The days seem to drag. And then you’re home and you have no idea what to do with yourself. You can spend forever fighting with the one you love, trying to make them stay, trying to remind them who they were, but then suddenly it’s over and they’re gone. And akin to loud noises seeming like gunshots, people’s voices sound too much like theirs and certain songs sound like them coming home. It is ****. And I’m not sure it ever goes away. Maybe you drown out the similar voices and you learn new songs, but one day you hear a gunshot ring out, and you’re back where you started.”
Excerpt from a book I hope I finish #1
B Young May 2016
I am Immortal
I am Invincible
I am Imemorable
I am the blackness living deep
in the bile ducts of your lungs,
I hear you whisper my name;
and I shiver.

I have neither hero nor god:
I am that I am that I am-
I learned not the word caution
I know not the meaning of a future:
I am where I am where I am-

The bullet which ricocheted off my right *** cheek and exploded through my left ******* seemed to have its own voice as it whizzed  by, winking, “The truth may set you free young man, but not until it is finished with you.”
got shot last week
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
you said to be more like you so i became a ghost too but i have taken your place as the one breaking dishes, shattered glasses refracting the cold light of morning-afters and you are silence and silence and silence and no matter how much noise i make or how many times i scream out your name into the dark you’re nowhere to be found; you’ll never come back around. you’re dead and you left me here alone on my own. i can never forgive you for this.
you have been dead for 348 days.
Tim Isabella Nov 2015
The first time you hear a gunshot in person is a coming-of-age event. Where were you when you heard it? Standing behind your dad, wearing earmuffs and protective glasses while he showed you how to brace for the recoil of a 12 guage shotgun? Going into a shooting range to learn self defense and studying everyone else because you're too nervous to ask how you're supposed to stand or how you're supposed to hold it? On the street in the dark with your friends, walking through the rough part of the neighborhood to prove how big your sack was? Blam. Bright light. Blam. Total darkness. Blam. Bright light. Three shots. A total of 2.3 seconds has gone by. You are suddenly years older, because of how much those 2.3 seconds of time ages you. Your friend's injured. Blam. Get down. Blam. Go home. 1.8 seconds. Everything is silent now. The only sound is the ringing in your ears, followed by the peeling tires of the vehicle. Smoke hangs motionless in the air. In your head, in your room later that night, in the hospital to bring one of them poorly stated "Get well soon" cards and in the graveyard to bring the other one flowers, you only hear one sound. Blam. Four years later. Training on a range with soldiers. Have the drill sergeant scream in your face that you don't know what it's like to watch your best friend take a bullet in the battlefield. Compose yourself. Two years later, walking to work through the bad part of a different city. You already know it's going to happen. This time, it's not to you, or to anyone you know, but you hear it anyways and you think of the first time. Unfortunately, it's not the first time we all like to think about, which is usually a backseat, or your parents basement, or in the school bathroom, no, this one's a bang that's much less enjoyable. We're told not to talk about it. We live in fear of it. A constant fear. You start to feel unsafe where you live. Better go by a gun.
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