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i May 2014
you and i
were made by satan,
doomed since we were born,
destined to go to hell.
you will burn holes
in my skin with your mouth,
and i will not
extinguish the flames
on my skin,
demons are impatiently
waiting for our arrival
after death.
Olga Valerevna Apr 2014
You force yourself to stay within the lines you didn't draw
I'd ask you why you're doing this but cannot be so raw
Instead I'll go along with all the choices that you make
And put the pressure somewhere else until it is too late
So when the ticks and talks become a voice you do not hear
Remember then that spoken time has said, the end is near
Asylum is for everyone but not for all the same
I think you understand it too, you see the patterns change
Directly interfering with the process undergone
Will neither make it easier nor any bit less long
I wonder who I'm talking to or what I even say
I've stepped away from every sense of sense I ever made
Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I drank the alcohol, expecting something.
boy was I let down, when I got nothing.
No silly laughter, or grand horror story.
No youtube video, or easy talk for me.
Just a headache or two and a feeling of suffocation.
Just a scolding from people, and a dizzy sensation.
The bottle looked nice, and tv shows made it seem fun,
but after 3 gulps, I just felt like a street ***.
So I said goodbye to armpit beer,
and I assure no rose wine here.
*** is for pirates,
much too complicated for me.
I'm done with heartache alcohol,
as you can plainly see.
How do people even get addicted to that nasty stuff?
Conor Letham Apr 2014
When we grow older
and friendship blooms,
let that golden ring be
a shade of evergreen
and then we can say
"We didn't make us,
we were made for us."
Evergreen is everlasting and natural, the colour of gold is made as a monetary reminder, almost. It's plausible.
Adam Apr 2014
the ocean between you and me* can sometimes feel like a
gleaming apollo. it just doesn't seem real though, the
jellyfish are murderers. here, look through my
kaleidoscope. it feels like  
a lesser coming home, if you know what i mean. but
when will you come home? hopefully by the next time i see
a snow flake in her hand. because i promise that
i will break you. and i'll take you. to the
caverns, where in the dark a
dance pianist plays. and on this trip i'll be
leaving the last behind. sit tight, youre not
leaving my waiting room, like in a
silent picture, where in it,
days all seem the same.
written with song titles from numerous bands (italicized).

— The End —