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Brandi Clark May 18
I hear a voice
Screaching noise
Is it in or outside my head?
Is it mad?
Is it sad?
Is it my brain
Or my heart that's dead?

Well ill cut it out
Slice it up
Take it out to the back
To the streets
To the thugs
Pass it off as ****.

Can you feel me?
Can you hear me now?

Ill shine my shoes
and get my coat
They'll never know
Ill be on top
Be a rock
Be the star of the show.

Am I experiencing reality yet?

Well this is what
Staying up til 5 am does
Ive got an itch that I cant scratch
Im covered in membrane and dust.

Sharpin my knife
Dont think twice
Ill disect the top layer
Take out the bad
Leave the good
But then there is
Nothing there
At all.

Try to put
It back in
But it doesn't fit
So ill serve it on a hot plate
Let you take it all in.

How's it taste?
Whats it like?
Don't ask the price.
Is it hot?
Does it burn?
Does it stick to your tounge?
You can't afford it anyway.
You cant afford it anyway.
Johnnyqu33r May 18
Feet first into the cosmic sea
Swelling and crashing over
All our buildings and dreams
Forever is a children's fable
Sit and watch me start to fade

Green spec on the wonder bread
And totally unnoticed she'll spread
Until every slice is perfectly saturated
And eventually tossed into the trash
And eventually tossed into a landfill

Feet first into the cosmic sea
Where we do go when breathing ceases
Deceased and tossed into the trash
And eventually tossed into a landfill
With all the other promises of forever
Just a thought, kind of negative, but... It's poetry.
I lost my daydreams for a while.
The bounce, the charm, the myrth, the smile.
All locked within the sleeping child
That I buried deep in the wild.

And yet, my fantasies resumed.
The undecayed body exhumed.
My girlhood rose from her repose,
The bright side of life to expose.
Perhaps, upon reflection, I may be getting a little better?
Natalie Apr 13
Skin dislodged
A bone in the wrong place
Just the wrong size
Can't we see what's underneath?

Cold, empty air
Wind winds through the tunnels
And here and there and there
You can see the ****** funnels
deadhead Apr 11
you know when you think of
paper cuts, you can vividly
remember how they feel?
well, that's how it feels
when i think about you.
and in a morbidly sick,
twisted way, i just can't
get enough of the feeling.
Corrinne Shadow Nov 2020
Don't talk to me about your love,
I've never seen a drop of it.
Don't talk to me about the climb,
I'll never reach the top of it.
Don't talk to me about the flowers
You've been prattling on for ****** hours!
Don't talk to me as if I don't know
That "rain will make the flowers grow".

Don't talk to me about your dance
I don't even have a dress.
Don't talk to me about your friends
I beg of you, give it a rest!
Don't talk to me about the sky
Mine has only ever been gray.
And if you try to talk about "healing"
I'll MAKE you go away!

This whole world that you create,
It's gorgeous, I must say it's great:
A beautiful cake on a pretty plate.
Welp, guess that means I'm second-rate!
Your poems are all meant to titillate
You titter and twitter and domesticate
These themes that even optimists could hate
I'll never be able to felicitate
You enough for the work that you narrate.
My morbid tones you must negate,
And to fix my soul: eviscerate!
You all are fine but some douchette will not shut up about how morbid and dreary my poems are. I regret ever having shown her.
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