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Dylan 3d
There I was just sat and loaded
ready to be self-exploded
when a little birdie called me
he did not proceed to stall me
instead begged harm to befall me.
He was getting me so flustered
while his tiny wings just fluttered
he did not seem to receive
as I begged him to relieve me
of the pain, he would not cease me.
i once again begged him to go
but no weakness did he show
he had set off to just guilt me
and with torment, he had filled me
'til he convinced my gun to **** me.
With no confidence in relief
and the only thought in me grief
i decided to be exploded
with the gun that was still loaded
i pulled the trigger and then floated.
Yancey 5d

laying down at night thinking

wondering if it’s worth it to think about

hoping it’s not all what it seems

wishing for the moon to hurry

bringing The tide up past my feet

waking me hopefully

another life still me

dreaming dreams

crawling out of bed

no recollection of anything

how do I know

how do I know I’m not someone else’s dream

again and again being woke

seems like it took all night

but really just a few seconds

is this it

the end

why would it be different

just a glimpse

a lifetime in a moment

mine or yours

is it over

if I’m there but here

shouldn’t I feel it

is it right to say I’m mine

when ours makes more sense

did not compose
in silence.
Silence composed him
into a symphony
flocked by clefs
and mobbed by notes
melting the clouds of sin
into raindrops of kin.

Van Gogh
did not paint
in silence.
Silence painted him
into a mural
with swirling clouds
brightly blazing
in the evening fields
of amber pain.

did not write
in silence.
Silence wrote him
into a fiction
deeper than the misery
of his midnight dreary
deeper than the fathomage
of his kingdom by the sea.
Hello Daisies Dec 2018
I long to write
Beautiful things
Like Shakespeare
And elegant ballgowns
Something with more meaning
Then simply feeling down

I long to write
Of romeo and Juliet
Symbolic and deeper then most see
Oh thou arent very good with writing

I long to write
Like egar allen poe
Or any inspiration i claim to love
But instead i write of the dead things
That roam through my mind stirring

Pound pound pounding
My mind is  constantly aching
She's but a young child
Cry cry crying
For attention she seeks but it keeps dying

Plays and music will not be wrote
Of the things i write
For they are not artistic
They are but a jumbled mess
Never knowing where to place
Line or

Now I'm rambling
On and on and on
She goes sad and chaotic
Whispering obscenities
And screaming repetitive words and pleas

I adore the poems and songs
That at face value seem
Like they are about love for another
When truly they ring about darkness

Oh sweet child
Your love keeps thy so warm
But it's breaking into a storm
I watch you try to sleep
Why do you weep?
Dost thou not realize thy beauty?
Stab thy heart into shreds
For i cannot breath without the
But i cannot smile when thy fills my blood with led

Sweet little girl
You have made no sense
Get on your knees and repent
For you will never be

My head was filled with so very mamy words this morning i had to get them all out
Tiana Marie Oct 2018
I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It was so red and so dark
and so pure that I feared
one simple touch from my unclean
hands would contaminate it.

I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It was the richest thing I had
ever seen and if I could've
I would've ****** it up
and kept in a locket.

I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It ran from your bald head
out onto the cement floor
and I cried over your body
laying there cold and dead.

I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
I cried over you while I
watched you die but my
tears were not from your loss
of life but from the fact that I was
not the one to cause it.
Thera Lance Sep 2018
Quote that black bird for me,
Cause I don’t have the time.
I’m too busy deciding
Whether great snowfalls will end it all
Or ***** of fire this time.
And I attempt to parody Poe and Robert Frost and probably fail miserably.
Jenay Jarvis Aug 2018
I fall into puddles.

Inky with resolution.
Sunk down like
Lesser comets.

A new age,
Thickens the throat.
Drifting into lights,

This atmosphere below,
An anomalous abyss.
Bethan Roberts Aug 2018
If you travel the coast as the air gets much colder
You might find that you are inclined to be bolder
But it would be safer to give the cold shoulder
To Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

There's a lady in white, and a lady in grey
And a girl with a lantern who howls down the bay,
And much more besides, but I'd stay away
From Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

Yes, there's bare-breasted women who sing on the rocks
Just out from the jetty, tossing green locks
But I think that you should stay clear of the docks
And from Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

See, the local gazette it prints fevered petitions
Against succubi stealing nocturnal emissions
And how corpses go wandering from the morticians
In Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

There's a man in the inn whose incisors are filed
And two men share a room and one’s wicked, one mild
But only one’s in when their room number’s dialled
From Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

Now, officially the dog population’s in stasis
But will somehow increase on a once monthly basis
And then viscera’s found in unusual places
In Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

There's some fishermens’ families who look rather odd
And can't manage to shake the aroma of cod
And they've got their own church but who knows to what god?
In Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

Seaside kiosks sell postcards in a decent range
But look at them twice and you might find it strange
That the poses of people and views seem to change
Of Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

There's a man with long limbs who lives out in the woods
And I'd say to forget him if only you could
But to keep him at least out of mind would be good,
Ditto Sepulchre-by-the-sea.

You may say it's haunted, you may say it's cursed,
You may say that of bad luck it's got just the worst
But you could say all of that without going first
To Sepulchre-by-the-sea,
To Sepulchre, there, by the sea.
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