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don't waste your breath
telling me to get better, talk ***** 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 ******* in self loathing.
i struggle to find the line between
lovesick and depressed or
being a *******. 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 **** me.
Mike Virgl Sep 2017
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.

***** you mankind, ***** you.
Mike Virgl Aug 2017
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 to
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 **** an entire family, some fathers will feel the need to **** 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
Manda Aug 2017
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,
Now.
The Trumpoet Aug 2017
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 ****
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: www.trumpoet.com.
Link: https://youtu.be/QUZhVRLADSY
Written: August 13, 2017
K Balachandran Aug 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 E Zollars Aug 2017
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
Silently
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 ****
We are determined to ****
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
**** so one can leave
I started with it being about asthma, but it took a darker turn to it.
KRRW Aug 2017
Batong niluluto, tinutunaw, tinuturok
Dahong sinisinghot, hinihithit, pinapausok
Dukhang nahuhumaling, hinuhuli, pinapatay
Mayamang sinungaling, tumatakas, kumakampay


#ChangeIsComing ngunit wala namang binago
Ang mahirap ay tumba, ang mayaman ay nagtago
Inosenteng nadadamay, diniktan ng karatula
Bangkay na nakahandusay, hindi na bibigyang hustisya.


Halina,
doon sa bago kong tahanan
Ang tawag ay kulungan
ngunit marami do'ng libangan.


Pinuno,
leader ako ng sindikato
Kung tawagi'y bilanggo
ngunit sinusunod ang luho.


Mga alipin ko'y parak
Mg bataan ko ay trapo
Pamilya'y bilyonaryo
Ang negosyo'y protektado.


Unlimited supply—'yan ang tunay kong pangako
Subok kong mga suki, wala pa rin namang nagbago
Tuloy lang ang bentahan, dito tayo sa taas
Ngunit tatandaan: kikitilin lahat ng Hudas.


Ako'y panginoon at walang katalo-talo
Agimat ko ay tsapa, baril ang gamit kong rosaryo
Ako ang humuhuli sa sarili kong buntot
Ang mahina **** kokote ay aking pinapaikot.
Written
27 September 2016


Genre
Rap  | Spoken Poetry | Literactivism

Copyright
© Khayri R.R. Woulfe. All rights reserved.
matilda shaye Jul 2017
it's the middle of the night
and I won't rest until I get
the chance to change everything
and jump into another body
I've got chlorine in my hair
I've got scars on my skin
I'm only trying to keep my
head above all this water
the end means I stop looking back
you know how skies look different
when you're at a ****** gas station?
I think that's kind of the same as how
your love always seemed sweeter
when it was nearly killing me
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