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Ithaca Jun 2019
seven years passed like the phases of the moon,
since her parents had their last fight,
their marriage stained maroon.
ever since, she stayed with Daddy,
always on the run.
she learned to live a life of crime,
and to never trust anyone.
now she’s all but sixteen,
but her hands are stained in blood.
she shot the sheriff where he stood,
his crimson tears a flood.
Chris May 2019
Nero is bald,
He's also fat,
He's ugly and devilishly fast.

Nero's a killer,
Nero is here,
He's ugly and his voice is clear.

Nero is angry,
He's madly mad,
He's ugly and so, so sad.

Nero is real,
He's truly true,
He's ugly and he lives in you.
stop me
Chris May 2019
Fate is another lie
Dominated by old powers
Do,die or deny
It's your world not mine.

Freedom to the grave
No filters can be over
Lens is clear and say
Do not tell me how to behave.

Lock and load
shoot and unwind
the ache is gone
so far behind,
Complete, explode
It's what the hell,
As life erodes,
the bullets tell.

Security a ******* tale,
Normal life with normal norms
Until we're all for sale,
Until the world falls pray,

Violent til the end
No limits or laws or defense
No need to repent
Absolute catharsis began.

Red light go
drive over them
the ache is gone,
next stop deliverance,
Complete, explode,
No lie can show,
What you call-
your innocence,

Just die,
JUST DIE,
JUST DIE!!!!
It's Death Metal...whaddya expecet
Sara Kellie May 2019
With leather clad hands
and old plastic sheets
he makes up the reasons
for the people he meets.

They'll feel nothing's wrong
for he sings a sweet song
where false promises are made
with a smile from a blade.

And on a cold knife night
he'll extinguish their light
as they struggle for air,
for their pain
is longer than
the chair.
For seconds in the electric chair.
𝐕𝐕 Apr 2019
Behind a closed eye is the killer that lurks in the shadows. His name is...... STRESS. They call him the ‘the silent killer’. He finds you when you find him. He plans his attacks to prey on the young and the weak minded at night, for they are the best prey. Right before the last shadow, he slips into unconsciousness and delves into the networks of the brain. And then, that is when he begins his work.

He’s only friends with himself.

He’s out to get me,

He’s out to get you.

  You best watch yourself if you don’t wanna be caught by the bad man. You don’t wanna run into him on the way home. You wouldn’t like to know what he would do with a live body. His fingers will work his way through, destroying your mind complexion. It is all claimed. By brutal force, he will shelter your brain into solitude, hiding your brain away as a hermit to begin the ritual of slipping on the juice.

He’ll have you crawling on your knees,

your eyes will crave the desperate lust of freedom.

He’ll wrap his arms around your chest and squeeze it tight without ever stopping.

He’ll bathe you in wrinkles and steal your fountain of youth,

He’ll crawl into your brain and rot it away, drinking the juice,

He’ll alienate any living individual you socialized with.

He’ll knock down your door one day.... and **** you.

   Let out all your pretty screams and cries if you wish to alleviate two-second pains of memory burns.

  You can’t escape stress once you’re snared in his trap. His body fuses with yours the instant you are found. Your physical body becomes a walking piece of meat while your mental body is possessed by the demon named stress. There is no escape, you are trapped and there is nothing furthermore of what you can do. He'll corrupt the cells, weaken your heart, and drain your lively source that was beneficial in assuming you were vivacious. If not dead once, it wouldn't matter anyway, as he would consider you a treat.

  For you are already dead.
likewise, avoiding stress, in general, is key mates
Mikel Apr 2019
To  get hurt is to get tough
Let this pain make me man enough
It’s so easy to say, “I’m weak and lazy”
Than to fight my hell out to life-so-easy

WhenI look at the man in the mirror
I can’t look in his eyes for so much bitter
I numb myself to my utmost core
I feel nothing anymore

The facade of perfection
When in truth: filth and self-destruction
Seems so happy without the pain
Why not choose: seems in pain, but truly happy

The brave get killed, but once in his life
The coward lives, have everything, but life
Graff1980 Mar 2019
There is a fresh hole
on the threshold
of our property,
a perfectly
proper spot
where they
buried me.

Safe distance
from the old quarry,
so my corpse
doesn’t have to worry
about being
disfigured
by the bigger
mess.

What a figure
I make,
flaccid
and undressed
before death.

Nothing there that
would impress
strangers,
other then
the danger
of smelling
my rotting flesh.

So, I am safely stowed
in a small hole
in the property
that I owned
while my killers
ransack my home
in the middle of the night.
Graff1980 Feb 2019
They never closed
the closet door
or saw the foot prints
crossing the kitchen floor.

They did not notice the blood
dripping down the cabinet
drawers.

They never saw the gore
or smelled the pungent
carcass left in it.

They did not see
the sloppy streak
of crimson,
that took me
very close to them,

and as I moved
with all that swagger,
swinging a silver
stinging dagger,
they never saw it coming,

but they felt the blade
slicing in
to their fragile skin.

This is my confession,
that is where I left them
little broken bodies
sinking in
their own
blood soaked skin.
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