don't waste your breath
telling me to get better, talk dirty to me
don't hold your breath
hoping i try to help myself.
if you're going to hold my neck
hold it a lot tighter than that,
don't forget to push down
on my windpipe with your palm,
we're wrapped up in these bedsheets
because i want you to hurt me.
i want to see the rope burn on my wrists glisten
where it's begun to tear away at my flesh
and i like to feel real tangible knots
when i'm tied up in self loathing.
i struggle to find the line between
lovesick and depressed or
being a masochist. what's the big difference.
either way i wake up with bruised
blue lips and oxygen deprivation,
and fresh linens wet with singeing liquids,
and a pain in my stomach or lungs that means
i'm still breathing slightly.
i wanted you to kill me.

Mike Virgl Sep 5

Propelled by what?
A forces driving
To cliffs edge
Thinking of something
He could never commit

However, sadly the mind
Breaks every now and then
To release a flood?
To retrieve releif?
Or to pass a test?

But we never get any answers

For after broken
The mind is gone
Orginal thought flies
Far from the mess
It enabled to prosper

Left we are
With the mans body
Hallowed out by attempt
His answers he speaks
Saying only one thing

"Never allow a series of events"
"To spiral to such a low as mine"
"To cliffs I conquerd"
"To chasms I fell"
"All for a red sunset"

No one had the heart to tell him
The sun does not shine at night...

Everythings darker in moonlight

You would gently manipulate her.
You would secretly use her.
You would have a strategy for her every move, a plan for anything she'd do.

Her weakness became your endeavor.
You dehydrated her soul.
You made her suffer just so that you could strive.
You were slowly killing her.

Screw you mankind, screw you.

Peter Balkus Aug 28

Do you like it much
killing every day,
do you really think
they'll pay you on death?

Do you enjoy
living on the war,
don't you seek for peace
happiness and bliss?

There's always a way,
even more than one,
like there's more than one book
to open a mind.

There's more than one God
to find and to love.
There's always a way,
if seems like there's none.

Can I touch your hand?
Can I hug you, please?
Don't be scared, I know,
I know how you feel.

Poem written shortly after learning from the news about today's Taliban suicide bomb attack on Afghan forces which killed 13.

Mike Virgl Aug 26

From war to war torn
The countryside lay
Another boy worn
From the front lines

His head molded grass
Cold from the day
And that gray pass
Where many men die

His fathers sound
Thrown from rampart
Flung to the ground
By gunpowder

"Father how could you?"
The lame echo
fell in lieu of
Another shot

Yet across the sea
Past no mans land
A body left be
By loving hands

Hole in an old head
Red mixed with green
A piece of lead
Found its owner

The boys weakened flame
Died by old hands
Gripping the same
Righteous, gray gun

That gun is buried
Beside that man
The last bullet
Killed the killer

Yet where is the blame?
On one or both?
They died the same
With fatherly love

Basically I had this idea from the really disgusting concept of when in a very desperate situation like slavery, or threats from a group that is sure to kill an entire family, some fathers will feel the need to kill their family, by their own hands, rather than let them die by others. In this theory his family would not have to suffer. Which makes sense but is a grotesque idea to entertain.

This poem is about a boy who was shot by his father. They were both opposing each other and were soldiers of separate armies. The father shot his son because already he could see he was suffering and his father knew it would only get worse, so he shot him to end his suffering. However, he could not deal with the guilt of his action, so he ended up shooting himself as well. I liked writing this, and i hope you guys enjoy it.

P.S: For really crazy people read each last line in each stanza and put them together for a mini poem
rom Aug 21

My back on the ground, I wonder if they are jealous of us
With our limbs, we can move around
With statures fated into static, they can only watch

To stand still and tall – to exhale the air we breathe;
Helpless when cut down,
Screams silent when we take their homes, when we trample their kind –
Are they jealous of us,
that we can speak and walk and protect our own?

Yet is there really something to be jealous of
When voices are used to injure –
to implant thoughts in minds that can spur deadly actions;
When the ability to protect is used only for our own skin –
to turn a blind eye to things that don't affect us directly (and seek comfort in its blissful ignorance);
When havoc is wreaked with every step we take – and be so unaware of it?

Have we gone tired of killing those who are sessile – of those who don't fight back that we have turned to each other?
Are we living in a world where those who aren't human are more humanlike?
Is this what humanity is all reduced to now – so preoccupied with trying to kill one another that we fail to notice the larger picture –
that we don't have to kill him, her, or them,
because when we cut them down all those years ago,
we have already killed ourselves?

In the background, they are silent but laughing. Fools, they think as we swing our swords around like toothpicks — oblivious to the groans the ground is letting.

I think so too.

Original draft written last May 27, 2017
Manda Aug 16

From all the things I'm running from,
they are killing me,
designed to test me.
Maybe it's the temper or the patient,
Whether to quit now or then,
But for as long as I know,
The matter of time,
Is always the same,
And in another part of universe,
It's okay,
to say the time is up,

The Trumpoet Aug 13

When Donald Trump opened the floodgates last year,
by basing his campaign on paranoid fear;
By embracing the zealots, the hawks, the alt-right,
he emboldened the racists to take up his fight.

When Donald Trump barks and belittles and bellows,
he ends up with strange and revolting bedfellows,
who think, 'cause they're white they can fight and can kill
which, with horror, we witnessed there in Charlottesville.

When Donald Trump won't quickly, strongly condemn
the racists and nazis, he's standing with them.
When he's vague, non-committal, or responds with delay,
he's disgusting, pathetic, and as worthless as they.

You can also see this and my other Trumpoems performed at:
Written: August 13, 2017

A cat's aggressive call,
sound of feathery wings
beating on the ground,
noise of wriggling..silence!

few grey plumes and red beak
strewn around, bear witness
to nature's own methods
conflict, resolution, surrender.

Mary Zollars Aug 13

Embers burn in a flash of light
Flying through the night
Flamboyant flames dancing
Dancing, it's the demon
The demon who follows me
Stares at me with its intense eyes
Flailing it's arms, taunting me
Taunting me in a provoking manner
Provoking me
Shoving me reaching
Holding me up by my shirt
My chest, infecting my lungs
Gripping me so tightly in its arms
Escape, I must escape I must
I must fight it
Quietly, without a word nor cry
Glaring intensely, infuriating
Fighting a battle that will go unsaid
Untold, unheard of, a tale with no writing
Battling and scarring each other
Determined to win, to defeat
To kill
We are determined to kill
One must die for the other to live
To live and grow, for our beauty to show
We must fight.
We must fight without sound
Without word of mouth nor page
Fight till one is gone
Kill so one can leave

I started with it being about asthma, but it took a darker turn to it.
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