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AsianTapWater Aug 2019
Drones fly through the hivebatch,
Watching those disgusting lowbloods
Go on with their day.

Burgundy, bronze, gold.
Lowblood, lowblood, and yet another lowblood.
How dreadfully boring this place is.

Why don’t we change things up a bit?
Why don’t we hear those little ones scream?

Missile after missile
Is shot from my ship.
Scream after scream
Is let out by the children.

Something fun!

Why don’t we take a picture
To remember this day?

Scarlet flames dance around
Ashes that were once bodies.

I grab my palmhusk
And take a selfie.

Ψish you Ψere here!
I replayed Hiveswap: Act 1 yesterday. Here’s a poem inspired by Trizza Tethis’s selfie at the end of the act.

When is Act 2 coming out???
piper m Jan 2019
Gray skin creeps in slowly
through the open door
Hold your breath, tread carefully
Who are you looking for?

Tell you what you want to hear
Leave the truth behind
Tell you what you need to hear
Words come with a price

Stare at you straight through stained glass
Smiles fade away...

for those of you who know homestuck. any advice for the next few lines? a w.i.p.
Samuel Nov 2017
The beginning and the end
But not for me.
What was the day
That lost date
Of my birth
Tainted by grey and orange?
It’s gone, the date
When I saw the mailbox
And its red flipper dealy.
There is just
Samuel Nov 2017
Cut, slice, saw.
Crush, smash, grind.
****, stab, pierce.
Make them fall,
all in all.
Samuel Nov 2017
She is the mother of us all,
were she not grown.
Her son but a brother, a brat,
the world not moved
for her words fell on no one.

She fought and fussed,
wasting away in sociality,
and now she is trapped.
Aware and complacent,
she no longer burns.
Samuel Nov 2017
She lives in her books,
seeking fiction where there is truth.
“I’ll make it mine!” she cries,
seeking friendship in lie.
To be renowned, respected, revered
is her wish.
No longer depreciated, despised, detested.

“I’ll help you all!” she cries,
wanting to force what she cannot.
If only she’d stop and think,
maybe then she’d earn it.
Their trust.
Samuel Nov 2017
Tick-tock, I hate your clock.
Ding-****, the dreadful throng,
bulbous and bland
just like your head.
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