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Andrew Rueter Mar 2019
I don’t want to live as a loner
So I become an ***** donor
Words compose my heart
I develop into art
That I impart
To those looking for blood
And those looking for love
While both push me in mud
Until my insides are no more
Through the divide I soar
To implore for the end of war
But the world keeps turning
Like the people lying on gurneys
Who’s depression has them hurt me
So I try to give them my eyes
To keep them alive
But much to my surprise
They say they want to die
When the whole point is to survive
So I offer them my legs
To help move them ahead
But they just lie in bed
Wishing they were dead
So I offer my exhausted lungs
To help them breathe
To climb the ladder’s rungs
So they’ll be set free
But they don’t want my disease
And prefer to wither in the breeze
On a time killing spree
Lamenting the life they lead
To me it’s kind of funny
If I offered drugs or money
They’d be jumping like bunnies
But instead they hunt me
For telling them what they don’t want to hear
That they’re the driver and they must steer
So I offer them my ears
That ignore their fears
But since it’s not what they want
They claim I tease and taunt
Saying I’m giving them lip
Without the quips
Just the whip
In my insensitive grip
But I’m trying to give away my brain
To block the reality show refrain
That numbs their pain
Making them empty and hollow
My shell of a body will soon follow
stopdoopy Jan 2019
Coming from the mouth of hate
A deep green ink tumbling out
With those **** red petals
Having been stained by the blood
Spilling into vile words of suffering
Twisting this way and that
As if alive- slithering into place

I would plunge the dagger
Deeper still into your chest
Turning it and slicing on either side
Until I could reach in and pluck
That beating ***** from the cavity
And hold it in my hand, so tenderly
Just as I always have been with you
And then crush it in between palms
Applying more pressure until
The pain is unbearable and then
Maybe you will have felt
What you've put me through
The line about the petals is reminiscent of my poem "Unrequited Love" and both pieces are about the same person.

This one came from the feelings of when you *****- the rising bile, acrid smell, acidic bite, the retching, and the tears.
Delia Darling Jul 2018
My heartbeat's gone all wrong
A stuttering flutter of rhythmic butter
Something this *****'s been slipping on
And what is the tempo marking, dear?
Quarter note equals freakin’ infinity
It's come to my attention, I fear
I never breathed a note this long
Nylee Jun 2018
Beneath the skin,
it is all so ugly
the bones and flesh
blood flowing around
all the *****
tissue connection
delicately placed
hard to keep
healthy really.
Pills fill the stomach
chemical reaction
and there goes down.
The beauty is seen with eyes
mind constructs
its perceptions
the Outer body is
much better than what
I hide inside.
Alice Lovey Apr 2018
Alight my candles within;
I am a dark old church with an old *****.
Peeling splinters of old wood,
Echoing haunts where old stood.
Can you hear a monotonous symphony?
No, listen closely, I’m resonating polyphony
That I could and can still play.

When you alight my candles within
The chamber illuminates and warms your skin.
The once faded paintings dance colorfully
And I recite for you my heart.
Because when I am aglow,
Brightened with the love I need to start,
Nothing could quiet my song
But being alone once more in the dark.
I don’t know why my usual imagery for these things are dark empty rooms with musical instruments, but at least it’s a bit more light (get it) and positive than the last.
Shreekant Dhuri Apr 2016
Death strode tall
On his midnight stroll
Ticking names off
His unfurled scroll.

Met a man pious
Deep in solemn prayer
Calling for Salvation
To the Father up there.

Met a woman old
Singing chants and hymns
Pleading for Moksha
From this life of sin.

Met a boy kneeling
His head bowed low.
Praying for Jannah,
If He should grant him so.

Death reaped them all
Torn from blood and bone.
Took away their souls
And kept them for his own.

Met the small girl,
Her gaze reaching his.
"Any last prayer?" asked Death.
"Before I plant my kiss."

"Just tell me if the lad
Mine eyes, now his,"
"Will there be," She asked,
"A smile on his lips?"

Death turned away,
From the girl and her soul.
For her name had faded,
From the scribblings on his scroll.
The poem is a message to promote ***** donation.
Haley Elizabeth Feb 2018
How amazing is it
that human beings have the capacity to love things?
My heart, she
is a muscle,
an *****,
a symphony in my body.
Her tissue is made up of courage and strength,
but she shows me;
It's okay to be weak.
I love her,
more than I have loved anything.
Her positivity flows through my veins,
the beauty of my bloodstream.
She is the reason I think and breathe;
for that, I owe her everything.
I'm feeling especially grateful to be alive today. I decided to express my gratitude towards my heart for helping to make that possible.
Jewel Yuzon Jan 2018
In the heart of us are a set of bagpipes
that blows the beat of a drum
but is described as a hollow *****,
like one in a church that echoes deep whalesong
in the midst of a funeral.
Our mom had rules for visiting the newly departed, lest their spirits attach to ours:
Take home no food, or the dead will hunger.
Wash your clothes, or the dead will wear your skin.
Don’t go straight home, or the dead will follow.
Starved and naked, we wandered
through IKEA and nearby coffee shops
to deposit our lost and beloved friend in a final resting place
before heading home
our empty and quiet home.
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