Somewhere between life and death
I took a fifty cal bullet straight in the chest

It hurt at first, then all became numb
My insides burst out, I could only succumb

To the dancing darkness closing my eyes
To the opening light piercing the sky.

I know nothing of writing or the art of poetry. I just break myself in my hands and let my heart trickle through the cracks and onto the page.

Your cruelty as a madman will
Not be unopposed any longer.
Sweltering swagger will be your
Undoing,
Sinking you to the bottom
Of the lake.

Ravens and rats and crows
Will feast on your heinous
Bones
Come undone and be unraveled.
Accept your punishment for crimes
Wicked and debased, born of your soul.

we had been mopping
the kitchen floor all day
and the dirt never
stopped coming back

and earlier we had sprayed
the entire front porch
down with the garden hose
and now it was still wet
which made it feel as if
it had recently rained when in fact
the grass was a crunchy
brown carpet of regrets.

the night before we had
drunk orange smoothies
laced with lime and something
aged sleek and dark

(i think it must have been
the reason we couldn't
sleep that night
lay awake in my parents bed
and i told you why i
wouldn't go swimming
until the sun rose
the dog barked
the birds screamed
their morning songs
and my body stopped its
nightly spasms of fear.)

and the next evening
we put on a miranda lambert song
(the one we drank to
in your mother's van last winter)
sat on the wet
porch swing
and cracked open
our first beers

they were
really bad
i gagged
because it tasted
like carbonated
banana bread with
too much stale
baking soda
and we poured half of them
into the flower beds

the next morning
was sunday
and we had milk and muffins
in the kitchen with
simon and garfunkel
then went back out to the porch
drank iced coffee in the
eleven o'clock sunlight
and you said
"if this were a normal sunday
i would have been up at six
at church by eight
and done teaching my first
sunday school class by ten."

(is beer as much
of an acquired taste
as coffee is?
because i can't ever
remember not liking it
i used to think it was
bitter but i always
liked it anyway.)

i didn't say anything
because i didn't want to
say what was on the tip
of my tongue
that this kind of sunday
had become my normalcy
and our variety of saturday night
no longer felt like underage
drinking and more like
the way i was meant to be.

This was written by a friend if mine on poetfreak,but unfortunately the website has been shutdown. :-|

PART ONE:
She sat in the back,
Her head in a book
Oblivious to us,
and our curious looks.
She wore dark blue headphones
plugged into her phone
elbows propped on the desk
that wasn't her own.
Her hair was bright purple
it was really a sight
I had never seen hair,
so purple or bright.
The room filled with whispers
'till the teacher walked in.
We all quickly went silent,
waited for class to begin.
He talked about integers
but I didn't care.
For my only focus,
was on her, and her hair.

PART TWO:
Class soon finished,
with the sound of the bell.
We all got up to leave,
she got up as well.
She grabbed her bag,
and marked a page in her book
then she left the classroom,
without another look.
I could see her in the hall
of course she stood out.
there weren't too many kids,
with purple hair about.
But then she was gone,
she'd walked through a door.
and I was left staring
at where she'd stood just before.
I wanted to follow her,
but I didn't dare.
I'd grown far too curious
of that girl and her hair.

PART THREE:
School became exciting
it was never a bore
for now there was a girl
who wasn't there before.
I woke every morning
desperate for a look
at that purple haired girl,
reading one of her books.
I almost talked to her once,
but my courage soon passed
so I settled for seeing her
in Mr. Loo's class.
Where every now and then,
I could get in a quick stare
at that beautiful girl
and her beautiful hair.

PART FOUR:
We talked about her,
my friends and me.
About the purple haired girl
and who she might be.
She was a mystery to us,
turned our grade upside down.
And yet I was happy
the girl was around.
Soon it all went back to normal
and they all no longer cared
about that mysterious girl
and her mysterious hair.

PART FIVE:
November flew by,
then winter break came.
and still I didn't even
know that girl's name.
But I knew her face,
and I knew green eyes.
I knew there was a real girl,
behind that purple disguise.
I knew all her classes.
I knew she walked home.
I knew she didn't talk to anyone,
she was always alone.
I knew she was pretty,
in a purple-haired way.
And I knew she was always
the best part of my day.
And above all I knew,
I could no longer just look
at the purple-haired girl
as she looked at some book.
So that first day back,
I got out of my chair
and walked up to the girl,
with the bright purple hair.

The violent whispering steps of the girl that walks the moon, and swims among the stars.
Shall forever be the lullaby that sings me to my curtain closing sleep.
Before I hear my own steps echo through the abyss of the unknown universe...

This is not a poem, in sorry for that. I just wish to ask if anyone that is still on poetfreak, what has happened with it being closed as of today? Poems can be saved but it seems it's life has been taken early.