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What is truth?
Many have asked
Few have known
The pain the darkness
That we live for.
This world is pretty
It’s things are new
I hate this world
And That’s my view.
I run away
And seek my peace
Inside my head
Where no one sees.
I’ll play the part
I’ll hide my fears
I’ll say I’m normal
But hate my peers.
I love this lie
That we won’t die
That all our actions
Are happy cries.
What they call “cool”
I’ll call cruel
I live in you
And thats the truth.
Im always there
For you to soothe
Your pain and hate
What makes me great.
And you’re in me
Your deadly fate
You know this lie
And so does he.
You hide away
So he won’t see
But don’t you remember
The garden, the snake?
You were naked
Your innocence taken
Just keep telling yourself
That all will change
And maybe then
You’ll find a way.
All things corrupt
and men don’t feel
I tell you what
Let’s make a deal.
Don’t worry about it
This one’s not rotten
Remember Abe
The one thats dead
Because of you
There’s Enough said.
The carpenter?
He also died
And then you laughed
While his mom cried.
Its a cycle
A endless chain
Of death and pain
And fruitless gain.
You killed them all
You felt no shame
From bloody Calvary
To bombs in Spain.
Now I’m not saying
I hate you all
I live in you
Don’t feel ashamed.
Everyone wants me
And I need them
For every murderer
Needs a friend.
Who am I?
Your feelings bend
My name is Anger
And I’m your friend
hue Aug 7
Once, my momma told me to be vigorous
She teached me how to fight with manner
She told me how to argue in righteous
She told me not to be hungry in power.

Once, my momma told me how to be a great man
She teached me how to do chores
She teached me everything in the long run
She was my hero, my saviour that I adore.

My momma, was there through my whole existence
She teached and tell me everything I need to know
She became my mother and father without difference
She was there everytime I get older and to get a blow.

Once, I miss her vanilla pie so I run back home
Feeling excited—I rush inside through the door
I have a big smile, but in a while my body became a stone
I saw it with my two eyes my mother was lying on the floor.

I snapped out and came back from my reverie
I was about to come closer when I saw my hands dripping with blood
Suddenly I saw a mirror with a reflection of me
I was holding a gun and a smile curved into my lips before I hear a thud.

I woke up, in a small filthy cell
I realized I am a prisoner
Time flies so fast I couldn't tell
I remembered I was a murderer.
ar Jul 29
To the man who digs graves,
do not do it in the light of day
unless you want your secrets revealed.

To the man who digs graves,
do not miscalculate the placement
unless you want someone to find out.

To the man who digs graves,
do not turn the tables on me
unless all will know of your misdeeds.

To the man who digs graves,
do not tape your victims mouths shut
unless you know they are dead.

To the man who digs craves
do not run
unless you what the police to find you.

To the men who digs graves,
do not leave evidence
unless you want to start digging your grave.

To the man who digs graves,
do not heed my warnings,
unless it's too late.

Now, start digging.
Aryana Stray Jul 14
A planted seed will grow,
Unmasking its true identity.
Absorbed into the madness,
That empathy can't accept.

The bludgeoned trophy you keep mantled,
Ascended by antlers for the pecking birds.
Intricately adorning a delicate creation,
To showcase to the world.

Brought along for your hobby,
Game that stands on two legs.
The foulness of recollection,
Tastes awfully familiar.

Honored bodies devoured whole.
Devoured bodies honored whole.

The messenger in the forest,
Manifests closer each time,
Unbeknownst my dissociation,
Drenched in another cold sweat.

Constructed a new form of practice,
Sophistication that leaves no trace,
Attracts all and what is connected.
Cut from the same cloth.
Onomatopiyya Jun 14
It's killing me
To try not to think of you

It's killing me
To undo things i used to do with you

It's killing me
To try not to miss you
Did i kill you too?
Taking root inside hearts,
poisoning people, manipulating their pulse.

Time after time, their visions gets blur,
they don't know what they are doing
that all they do is not their own.

Hearts of gold, jewelery emblossoming their minds. Flowers made by money, adorning their heads, they'd do anything to get that extra cash.

When they lose everything they have,
they break, they wither, they melt down crying bitterly. They counted their lives on money, leaned on them,
made out of them, that when they lose it all, all they do is to break down and sob.

An ongoing murderer, not yet caught,
embraced even, they wear it like a gown. It will not be long till they fall
down, down, down.
do give me some feedback! Would love to have some corrections and learn more!
Randy Johnson May 24
Five minutes after I left, four people were shot in a pharmacy.
If I had been there for an extra five minutes, one of the victims would've been me.
A maniac shot four people over a tray of pain pills.
Two of his victims lived but the other two were killed.
He probably thought he'd get off scott free but he did not.
He wasn't even able to get out of town before being caught.
That punk shot those people five years ago today.
Now he's rotting in prison, he's being made to pay.
The cops arrested him and put him behind bars and that's where he belongs.
He valued pills more than four innocent people, what he did was so wrong.
DEDICATED TO THE FOUR PEOPLE WHO WERE SHOT AT THE DOWN HOME PHARMACY IN BEAN STATION, TENNESSEE.
Eva Crown Mar 9
good morning america
it’s midnight, and I’m awake
which means it’s morning
and I’m ready to work
another 12 hours straight
without seeing a bit of sunlight
it’s a good day when there’s no day
in sight
I appreciate the dark more
no cicadas, no brash crowing, none
of that unfiltered nature, only
the cautious rustle of dead leaves
muffled boots on concrete
as I approach the next house
to say good morning.
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