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Naveen Malhotra Sep 2020
Con-artists are con-men
Artists they are
In relationships they are mixture of three traits
Psycopathy or sociopathy
Machiavellianism too
They only care for themselves
Not sorry for their actions
That hurt others
Avoid feelings of guilt
Blaming the victim
Justifying their actions
Such great people they are
They are artists with a con
It's for the peace of the spirit of the deceased
Con-artists may deride
For the peace of the spirit
I abide
SA Szumloz Aug 2020

Paper flowers in your mailbox
Hand-picked by the Shadow Man
He's as sneaky as a top-hated fox
A walking-lie like a fake tan.

He's a two-faced chameleon
A wolf baring fangs at sheep
A self-proclaimed comedian
Admiration he seeks.

Where has his heart gone?
No one knows for certain
Yet, angels are still drawn
To the handsome serpent.

Kiss his lips, kiss his knife
You take love, he takes life.

Isn't it terrifying that psychos like Ted Bundy live among us?

Experimenting with imagery. I am trying to push myself with my poetry. I am taking a creative-writing course this year, and I want to keep my mind sharp for the projects.
SA Szumloz Jul 2020
You have such nice clothes
Sticking to your bones right now
May I try them on?
This Haiku gives me Silence of the Lambs vibes, oh no. That movie gives me goosebumps but it's so good. It's my favorite psychological horror movie of all time.
SA Szumloz Apr 2020
I am as meek as a rabbit;

The embodiment of shyness
Like a nun who took a vow of silence
I am not looked at any other way
Except a girl who's face is gray
But if only people knew,
If only people looked through,
The keyhole to my imagination,
They would think I am a creation
Of the devil himself

I may no speak, but trust me
I am more predacious than you believe.
Tommy Randell May 2019
Do you remember them
The people who taught you nothing?
This may seem a little stark
Perhaps even somewhat shocking,

But have you, have you really tried
Keeping their image alive
Those people who made no impact
Neither made you laugh or cry?

So, are they even shadows,
Or semblances of moments -
Can you conjure them intact
Or even partial fragments?

Okay, they weren't cast as heroes,
They had no lines to speak -
In your life they were Walk Ons,
Dramatis Personae sans mystique!

But, perhaps in some future self
A curtain will pull back
And in your mind you will be shocked
To remember them intact -

Those parents, lovers, or friends
Who reached out but could not grasp
As you strode into your Future
And never once looked back!

You who make no promises
May still cause pain and hurt -
When all is dust and the wind blows
All rocks become sand in the desert.
Edward Jan 2019
don't be serious
you must try to smile far more
smile from ear to ear
Rambo Dec 2016
I contend
That I have
Hated the guts
Of another human being

For the guts
Are not
Responsible for
The actions
Taken by their host

Nor are they at fault
For the decisions
Made by the mind
Of a madman

The humble guts
Are only but
Organs with purpose:
And continuation
Of life.

I have
Never exclaimed
“The nerve
of some people!”

For the nerves
are merely devices
through which
a person
may harness
the sense of

But some people
Go on
Through life
Without feeling
Things like
Emotion of any kind

I pity them
And I ponder
I envy them
At times
I am fascinated
By them

Pity crosses with
And I ponder again
Intrigued –
All three.

I wish to know
How to be
A wretch
A *****
A *******
A criminal
An *******
A licentious *****
A nuisance
A mean *******
But feel nothing at all

I want to know what it’s like to be cold and callous and without regret or remorse
Without a single ******* care in the whole entire world

But all I can do is speculate
That it is
Unlike anything;
Just like nothing at all:

Emptiness without knowing what fulfillment is
The coldness of not knowing the definition of temperature
The hardness of living life as compressed carbon atoms also known as diamond but without knowing I am or feeling like a jewel

I may not quite myself be a gem
But I can feel
I can hear loud and clear
I love to be whole
I love to be warm
I love to love
Because I am not a wretch
I am not a *****
I am not a *******
I am not a criminal
Or an *******
Or a licentious *****
Or a nuisance
Or a mean, cold ******* –
At least for the most part

I am
a human-*******-being
And I will never try
To be anything but.

It was
Never guts
It was always,
And forever will be
Folks with their heads up their butts
And brains in the drains
Who waste
Our precious air
And time.

One can certainly say
They feel it there
But alas
That is not
The choice is made
Nor is that feeling
What upon
the action is taken.

One should not hate
Another one’s guts and nerves –
It should be
The mind within the brain
Who takes all the blame;
Everyone else is just doing their jobs.
Elizabeth P Jun 2016
(n.   a state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence)

Maybe it's the thrill of adventure that lures you-
The thought of getting caught red-handed,
The feeling of flesh parting and revealing,
The spray of fresh warm blood on your skin.

Maybe it's a thirst that spur you forward-
The need for the adrenaline rushes,
The desire for vengeance or payback,
The want to fulfill your deep blood lust.

And so it happens, swing after swing after swing-
Ruptured veins and crimson staining your vision and soul-
As hateful and warm as the hell you know you'll burn in-
Come what may, you think, as you fall and the kuebiko settles in.
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