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Zero Nine Sep 2017
Seldom has the shadow
Crawled over the daylight
At night, I turn it on
My high queen, the wattage
Shines her frozen orange
Upon my heated frame

You look on the darkness
See nothing but the void
Hear nothing but the cold
The old frozen silence
I hear distant echoes
Voices from within flame

Spirits call me
From dark places
Suddenly the light
Won't drive them away

Ghosts love my fragility
I'm living obscenity
Always high on kerosene
Running empty but for fumes

Of outcomes
Can't manipulate fate
Already holding roses
Can't manipulate light
I used her for her purpose
Such thing as too much?
Must be so
As my fingers turn to ice

I'm dead dreams
Ghosts love my fragility

I'm living obscenity
Always high on kerosene

Running empty but for fumes
Running for my life
The End
Eleni Sep 2017
Turning the pages
Turn the pages.
She's just another lost angel
Lost angel.
Crying angel.
Weeping devil.

So I move on, turning the pages
Would you care for her?
Or turn the pages...
She is no one.
Heart full of stories, mystical magic
Enchanting, dying
Inside her- no one.

She turns her pages
She remembers- the hatred
No one will ever know.

And she's drowning
In a sea of fools
She's crowning
Her own ghouls.

Maybe I'll stop by- some day
Turn her pages- hear her say:
'I never loved you, never loved you.'
Did you feel those dying blues
Ocean, river, dying blues.
Crashing down- the hurricane will bring you down, down, down.

Will I forgive her- my haunting mirror?
She stares at the stars in my eyes-
Say goodbye.
Say goodbye.

Haunting mirror- say goodbye.

Turn my pages
Through the ages
Cut the edges
Face the faces
Leave no traces
A thousand changes.
Anthony Perry Aug 2017
I'm a giant surviving on scraps from smaller hands, an Atlas without a known purpose living amongst Noam Chomskies and Ayne Rands, scrounging around this philosophical symphony for somthing hidden in the slaughterhouse of lambs.
Aaron LaLux Aug 2017
One of her earliest memories,
was that of being *****,
that’s right no foreplay in this poem,
right into it like what happened to her when she was torn open,

one of her earliest memories,
was not of flowers or ice cream or curious cats,
just that which was her grandfathers curious fingers,
***** by the very ones who were supposed to protect her,

painful facts of heinous acts do we have to let that linger,
can’t we just get it out into the open I mean it’s even happened to the famous,
just ask The Cranberries’ Dolores O’Riordan,
or Amy Shumer or Lady Gaga or Gabrielle Union or Madonna or Tori Amos,

or Teri Hatcher Kelly McGillis or Queen Latifah or Pamela Anderson,
or Oprah Winfrey or Fran Drescher, or Mo’Nique, AnnaLynne McCord,
or of course Kesha, Jane Fonda or Ashley Graham ****,
and these are just a fraction of the victims because most women don’t even file reports,

but it’s not just women that get ***** it happens to men too,
Tim Roth Scott Weiland R Kelly Billy Holiday to name a few,
also include Cory Feldman of course and DMX Santana & Tyler Perry too,
I mean to be honest I’ve also been touched inappropriately how about you?

Let’s bring our skeletons out of the closet so we can stop the nonsense of these monster’s abuse.

How is **** so common and constant yet the subject completely oppressed,
I guess it’s kinda exactly like what happens to those that are molested and those that ******,
young girls staying silent while screaming inside and taken advantage of by a member of their tribe,,
as the same man that married the woman that breastfed her mom touches her breast,

in other words,
the man who birthed the woman that birthed her is the one that hurts her,
her grandfather’s curious fingers find his granddaughters innocence,
and she’s not sleeping but still she’s squeezing,
her eyes closed like if she tries hard enough he’ll just disappear and evaporate,

as he fulfills his sickening sense by finding her emptiness in the losing of her innocence…

Why do those closest to us cause us the most harm,
why was this girl more comfortable telling me what had happened to her,
than telling her own family about what had happened,
maybe because the trust was gone and the love was lost because they’d betrayed her,

why does the American Dream,
sometimes feel more like a terrible nightmare,

one where you’re dreaming that you’re being attacked,
but you’re paralyzed by fear so as much as you try you can’t scream,
silenced by the violence that’s personally occurring to you,
and you’re trying to pretend you’re asleep but really all you want to do is awake from this dream…

I guess in a way we all feel sick,
because we all have things we still have to admit,
like how suicide is something a lot of us have tried to commit,
how we all feel sick of it all & don’t know the point was to any of this,

see sometimes,
when you’ve been wronged your whole life you lose sight of what right is,
and honestly I feel exactly the same way sometimes,
which is exactly the reason why I took the time to write this,

just to let you know,
that I love you,
and that I hope,
one day you'll escape all abuse,

when we are pure enough to see clearly,
when we’ve redeemed ourselves enough to earn our halos,
when we finally reach the Heavens,
someday sometime someplace somewhere over the rainbow….

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of multiple best selling poetry books
https://www.amazon.com/Aaron-La-Lux/e/B00ODPJAOK
kevin hamilton Aug 2017
shattered bones
and i was drunk
i put my phone away
to watch the ghosts
come for me
lost my voice
saying goodbye
and there was nothing
left to write
at the end of summer
when time is slowed
and nothing grows
Never ignore the spirits.
Seema Jul 2017
Stopped by an old town
To fuel up my car
Surrounded by cane fields
A figure stared from far

Almost at nightfall
Passing by the wrenched dummy
A sudden chill up my spine
Gave grumbles in my tummy

No ones around
The shack looked deserted
The figure lifted its head
But fell, as if beheaded

I screamed with a cracking voice
And sped up my car quickly
My car drove back to the same spot
Going in rounds basically

This went on till the break of dawn
While the figure gave me a meek smile
A pair of rolled up eyes
Looked through me, from a quite mile

A wink from the torn eyes
That's all I can recall
Ripped clothes, nailed to a post
Certainly it was a drastic call

People say, it's a haunted shack
Never travel alone at night
The dummy would get you
And you'll lose your sight...


©sim
Fiction
morning glory Jul 2017
In a distant memory,
I hear the words
"I love you"
echoed in an otherwise
peripheral silence.
you haven't spoken those words in years. not to me.
Alienpoet Jul 2017
The ghost who walks
In this lie
I look for an answer
An answer to why
Chained and changing
In this skin
Its weakness gives birth to pain within
The voice that haunts me it claims to be you
You start your conversation with "you hate me so much"
But I know if you did you
wouldn't talk to me you'd be out of touch
You want my attention to claw at my skin
Love is hunger it aches within
I love you but that answer is thin
Hollow, the truth swallows all I say
I pray that you find me in a better day
Somewhere in the sun
For all the grey days
Pave the way
For eternity
and I couldn't be without you this world.
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