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Anthony Mayfield Dec 2019
What do I tell
About the blue deep inside me
I smile
But inside
I'm indigo
But few know
Few can know
I can't take their pitchforks
I can't be ostracized
At least not tonight
I can't tell you
You'll find me a fool
I can't tell them
They won't comprehend
I can't tell them
He'll abandon my sins
I can't tell her
She'll see me and swerve
...Who do I tell?...
When you have something eating you up inside and need to tell someone, but nobody will believe you, what do you do?
MSunspoken Nov 2019
Hiding in the attic
I couldn’t take it anymore
The fighting was erratic
And everyone thought me a bore

Cries sounded around
Yet I was silent
The others were upset again
Sounds like one went to town

The sound of footsteps filled  the air
Like a cricket in the dead of night
Slowly making their way closer
Til I was frightened by an awful sight

A putrid smell filled the air
Liquor drank just before
This THING came to stare at me
Then there sounded a familiar roar

It found me funny
How- I know not
There was no humor in the situation at all

Walking closer
it smelled me like a rose
Then dropped to my feet
And began mumbling by my toes

There it was again
The laughter
It laughed to the air
Which filled the empty walls of my lair

I was done watching this unfold
I took my bat and smashed and smashed
I bashed every bone I could now see protruding from it

I looked to see it laughing-
I swung until I couldn’t
But that wasn’t enough

The roaring went on forever
It would never stop
I ran downstairs toward the door
And kept my legs going on, until they made me drop

Down the street
Through the park
Into the store
Right into the aisle

Before I knew it, I was home
in the attic
Listening to the roaring again

My mind, crystal clear
My mother laying there
Broken on the attic floor\
Her eyes giving me a dead stare

Using the item from the store
I sank it deep in my heart
Yet my knowledge  hurt it more
So I did it again

My life was never easy
But I always had my family
My mother may have hurt me
But I was her life

I couldn’t believe myself
How could one be so cruel
I thought she was frightening
But it doesn’t compare

I am her life
As she is mine
A common love really
That cannot be undermined

Death was a nightmare
Yet not  even real
I would die a thousand times
But my heart would be broken still

I thought I've seen monsters
Had a few experiences scored
But humans are the true haunters
And I am the most horrid
This is the second poem for the challenge! I know I haven't mentioned it before, but this poem is a perfect example for it. I love telling sequenced stories throughout my poems, it always makes them more lively (in my opinion).
Alex Sep 2019
Sworn to silence
a sacred oath
never spoke a word
exactly as told

disease ridden
death bound doctors are certain
waiting behind a red oak door
beholds the grim reaper lurking

6 decades & this vow not yet broken
dragging this imense burden
debates reveling all the unspoken
as if behind a red velvet curtian

decision to tell came much too late.
frantic gasps; hands tight on throat
contemplation actually decided fate
saliva & foam; not a single word said
unintelligible noises is all he had left
both man & secret
officially pronounced dead

Trying out something a little bit more professional. Thanks for reading!  Enjoy!
Damaris Nov 2017
I'm an angel trapped in a bubble, who is remarkably naïve.

What will happen to this angel when the bubble bleeds?

Will I fall into the depths of this horrid world or will I stand tall above the trees?


I think I will fall into the depths of my own naiveness, blind to what I see.
Something I wrote at 4 am
Hannah Zedaker Sep 2017
In the dark of night she danced in my room
Running rampant like a weary changeling.
Continuing replacing, hastening
Till she has taken all she can consume.
I can no longer see the bright blue moon,
Because my eyes are blurred from her raging.

In the calm though I see her cradling

But her message rings sharp; lingers and looms

I can no longer feel much anymore,
but the hunger she left inside of me
A, need, more want, materials will feed
My corpse brings flies, walks round with open sores.
All morals about me are forced to flee.
She ruined my life, a woman named Greed.
Eleanor Rigby Jun 2017
it's terribly humid
and this cigarette
is terribly harmful
this life is horrid
it's terribly horrid.

and i terribly die
each time
you kiss my forrid.

-- Eleanor
Not Patty Feb 2016
Twitched strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums; dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting. The stealthy dancer comes undulant with cat-like steps that cling. The smile of evil crept between her painted lids, a smile. Motionless, unintelligible, she twines her fingers into mazy lines, the scarves across her fingers twine the while.
One, two, three, four glide forth, and, to and fro, delicately and imperceptibly.
You could hear the seraphs cry in between the swift dessous topped off with a jeté.
The observers watched every move, they have no idea what the young coryphée has in store.
A crimson blade covered her legs during every hypnotizing glide and sway; a matching blade for every female in the assembly, they wouldn't move from their spots on stage. They formed a pentagram with their swords; they were each so beautiful. So mesmerizing for the crowd to be graced with such pure refinement. The lead dancer gave a gesture and that's when it happened.
The girls twirled, gravitated away from their positions. Blood covers the entire floor like the rain falling; drenching the ground, dark red blood seeps into the nice hardwood floor. A body lays dead and bled out. They compiled a dance of death and evil, every pirouette sliced into the already rotted flesh. Slabs of skin thrown across the platform, horrified viewers didn't speak. Gruesome, yet beautiful. They finished and returned to their previous, assigned places of formation and the only sound is that of the maggots eating away at the rotting flesh, swallowing bites at a time adding more to the foul smell of decay.
The eyes burned onto the stage, heat built up. No one said a word; no one knew what they were suppose to say. Is it all an act? It must be, these things don't just happen, right? A few vomited because of the gut wrenching stench that overwhelmed the room.
The dancers eyes never left the floor, she simply bowed and twirled off stage; Her legs were never visible but you could see the foot prints forming behind her, they were made from blood.
this was a dream i had ???
And I wonder now if this could've been avoided
If I've kept getting help instead of pushing it away
But I guess this is what would've happened eventually
Because I never really wanted help
I just wanted to leave this hellish world
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