The feelings I feel are filled with blue
The sight that stops them is seeing you
And out of all the sounds and shapes
It is for you that my heart aches



At the brink of disaster I see you stand
The rain falls, almost in strands
My heart is cold, just like the rain
I just can’t seem to hide my pain



A bullet drives through her head
Now she lays, idle and dead
I now fall to both my knees
But God won’t answer my begs and pleads
first poem
I Chase a Rat  
I want It Dead

I Didn't catch it
It went under my bed

BUT I WANT IT DEAD! DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!

Then I saw you walking
Wearing RED

I Stand and Turn
Without a Feeling of Dread

I Stare You In The Eyes
"Shall I Kill You Instead?"
in a Mexican orange
the sombrero will strike a word
here hamstrings sing above
their bright colors allure
and mariachi moon
dance with the setting sun
does whisper god's words
now these eyes shall blaze  
the rapture to fulfill a dream
Kayla 6d
I always told myself
I would take a bullet for you
And you would take a bullet for me
But now I know that if I ever had taken a bullet for you
You wouldn't have pushed me away and take the bulllet for me
Because you shot me
You shot me with your own bullet
Violence. It's said to be an act of destruction,
destroying things depending not on if they deserve to die,
But I, with my life in one eye,
And my conscience in the other I cannot see way another to create, for by
Viewing my life vicariously while viciously vying I'm lying more like biding my time until my untimely demise showing  how softly for an answer we cry
Lying to ourselves and reaching out to the rich in a restriction of our dignity, yes I
Am ashamed of my actions and an answer to my arrogance found have I not, yet by and by
My desire to die is drowned down by the deficit of desire in my heart, hearing not my heated hurting reverence, at the end of this sentence, nothing may seem awry.
However my senses are wearing closer to nothing,
My spine is not detecting, and find I not comforting
The gentle sweep of your hand on my skin, sin brewing within me, seeing and saving my heart from my eyes a time
Of trying, yes, I see it, a life that could've been mine,
Through fault of my own my thoughts fall towards home,
Barely living in a beginning of ending my own.



As time tells me nay, not my nights filled to the brink within me I say
Give me my gentle, my generous, my grieving over my great mistake, yet away
Are my kin, although heaven may not thee, the actions of they
Compared to those of my own, their intention grown not from the seed of dismay,
Yet dismay they convey.
My tears mimic fears from my earliest day
A shrew of hatred shoots through my eye as I sigh to my side in an intake, I cry, "just send me away".
I don't know how often my soul's shrieks are heard, through the night of my consciences cracked walls, my skin sits undeterred, yet anyway
I feel less than adequate, of course, worthless and wondering through my tinted eyes remorse, but try still I may.
The ravens black wing will not withdraw my patience or wither one's restlessness, for on another day
My brother live would be, my conscience clean would be, my wife not mine would be, as a vision of which of they
Survive me could, if pieces fit as they fall away in my chords of chaos dismembering my dismay.
He killed her with mere words

Saying everything in poetry

He eventually lost ink

And she started to write her own

Bleeding with her own blood

Dying in black
Nothing meant in poetry could describe her fate
Steve Jun 6
The bridled city of taboos has bright lights and sleepless nights, blood stained murderers alley, the den of thieves, illegitimate conceived bastards, mischief and sex gorge the air, strange prostitution and troubled gamblers, the city burns angry with bright red ambers, whiskey stained carpets and icy malt liquor stares, thick cigars conceive children of ash, deranged eyes of supernatural madness like burning glass, the prowler, the stalker, audible mumbling outlined in chalk, 44 magnums, psychedelic cannibals, our bodies paint the street, screaming mothers cry, your sons buried 6 feet deep, pills and hash, crack rocks stuffed in socks, od's and priests, og's and freshly bleeding meat, the jungle cries, unimaginable struggles of our conceptual being, ignore the vice, schizophrenic minds, atomic clowns, drinking wine off the devils horn, incredulous depictions of murdering Christ, our sacrilegious hell, welcome to our life
I can't say I missed you,
but I'm glad you're back half of the time.
In those moments when your lips tense
in focus on a new murder mystery novel,
you're convinced you know the killer
and I'm convinced you'll kill me in the night,
so we lie awake, side by side.
A shared cold so we're sniffling
I was sick but we couldn't help kissing
I'm beyond infatuated,
have always been emotional,
but with you I really lose my mind.
Lily May 29
I have so many ideas swirling through my
Head, I never know which ones to write
Down, which ones to commit to memory,
Which ones to care for like my child.
So many of my thoughts I abort, and
For different reasons.  
Maybe this idea will slowly corrupt my mind,
Maybe it will harm someone else.  
Maybe it will be worthless in time,
Maybe it is already too old.
Yet what should I do with these
Thoughts I’ve aborted?
Just because I’ve discarded them,
Doesn’t mean they’re entirely forgotten.
Does a mother ever forget an aborted child?
Does she forget the feeling of the child in her womb,
The raging hormones, the night of conception?
Of course not.
My ideas are the same,
Still there in the back of my mind,
Wanting to be alive,
Breathing, Functioning.
If you had an idea that would stop
World hunger, create world peace,
Find the cure to cancer, or
Stop humans from harming the earth,
Would you kill it?
Then why would you do the same to
A child who could have those ideas?
This poem contains some of my personal opinions about abortion; you are entitled to your own opinions, whatever they may be, and I respect them.
Matilda May 28
Tyre marks,
The only proof she ever existed,
One black lock of hair,
A tooth on the hotel bathroom floor,
Tiny blood splatters on the mirror,
Finger print smudges on the motorway diner glass,
Boot prints on the child’s drive way,
An open window,
An empty pink coat hanger.
800, 000 children are reported to be missing each year. Statistically, that means 2, 000 children are being abducted today.
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