Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
If my psychi were a body of its own
My melancholy would be the eyes
running like a broken faucet
a stream of confused
Inconsistancy
My anger would be the heart
beating deep in my chest
harder and harder as if trying to
Escape
My lonliness would be the belly
deep with hunger that seems
Infinite
My ambitions would be the bowels
a canal of waste moving downward
a perpetual flow of filth
I sift through my own feces in hopes of finding something
Tangible
worth keeping
Something worth doing until
The Inevitable punchline
to a bad, *******, joke.
In a similar vein to my previous poem, "Steve Austin" which isn't about the wrestler by the way.  Naming conventions are fun to play around with haha
Pax Mar 2017

From time to time
I feel blue
and cook my own stew.
Its bland and
taste good enough
for my stomach.

I knew from the start
that my cooking
isn't really that great
nor it's appetising.
Atleast
my milk is
sweet.
I'm not fond of sodas
dislike the fact that
it boils my
stomach.

Food, for now
they're within
reach, though
must someday
will come -
starvation is
inevitable



I cooked up a metaphor...
My life in dual meaning.
Colm Mar 2017
Can you truly dictate the direction in which you will walk?
Change the manner of your subconscious ways
And develop yourself into a new role?
What of your mind, what of your body?
Can you bend such things to a fuller health
And channel your will for the good of yourself?
Not to mention the collectiveness of this
You and your futures mutual souls
And for those of you who are yet apart
And wandering further down the path
Only wondering what the future holds
You can relax and know that it has been decided
Because the heart will want what it will want
It's inevitable
Like the same walk we all must take on the foreign shoals
Ignis Mar 2017
Look at the youth
Ever so uncouth
Yelling all the while

Look at the geezers
Asthmatic wheezers
Placing down restrictions

Our time is soon
Soon ends our noon
Teach the children our ways

Leave us be
So we may see
To find our own devices

I'd much rather
That you'd gather
And follow in our steps

Leave us alone
To find life's path on our own
Let us tend our own sails

We were never that dumb
We are not numb
In age and wisdom we improve

We will never be that dry
And yet with Time's sigh
The new are old
And repeat so bold
The words they sought to defy
Gabriel burnS Jan 2017
do not even blink;
once it's out
there's no holding back
what follows;
lids and eyelashes
keeping in check
all of this
salty bitterness,
a levy or a dam,
and I'd never rhyme your tears
with anything
Wendy Wong Jan 2017
The result is inevitable
The brittle bundle that it becomes

A strum of the banjo
A lone note
Fragile and feeble as it hums

And so the tumbleweed rolls
Its prickly claws hungry for redemption
From the ineluctable fate
The cursed dole

Among the dust-filled air and crimson sky
The lack of time is hard to deny
So with the eerie creaking of the abandoned gate

Out the tumbleweed goes
The echo of the deafening silence follows
Hope you guys like it:))
Ana S Jan 2017
"That's the thing about pain... It demands to be felt."
-John Greene

Pain is inevitable.
Just like death you can't avoid it.
There is pain in sorrow.
There is pain in beauty.
There is pain in everything.
Even if it is the happiest moment it could still hurt.
You search and search for a painless event but you'll never find it.
The definition of inevitable is unavoidable.
There is no getting around it.
It will come into your life.
No matter how hard you try to block it out.
Pain is always there.
No matter what.
CK Marrow Jan 2017
That mundane drip is so torturous.
The end is inevitable,
each second,
each breath
each drip.
Is it not beautiful?
With death comes life.
After ever winter
comes a spring.
Our expiration is approaching.

Drip drop goes the clock,
slowly ebbing away at our existence.
As humanity slowly wears away into nothingness,
we pray to any available deity,
for more wind-chill,
for one drip longer.

We are all destined to die.
We just hope
To leave more of an impression
on society
than an inevitable puddle
destined to wash away
when tomorrow comes.
Next page