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Norman Crane Sep 29
See simmering vats
of shoulders, elbows and knees,
A banner reads:
"Welcome to the joint stock company!"
A mule may melt your heart,
but the cartel will dissolve your family.
Jana Pelzom May 20
There it stood,
To ruin the mood;
All bright and red,
The Russian roulette.
The gunshot had rang,
Then a head started to hang;
The Lady had left;
Death not there to jest,
In this wilting hour.
There chilled to the bone,
The bullet lodged alone;
Jack froze what was left of the breath.
There left the only life,
The gun in its warmth,
But maybe not for I hear a cry
And someone nearby
Has seen what night could not hide.
Felt first hand what was noir;
It was chance played;
Not with Luck at hand,
But Death as the croupier.
Noir leave it to Chance ©️ 2020 Jana Pelzom
Jelena Apr 8
There is no line so no punchline
And no punishment for the punny puns
Since they are no punks
They are not puny, right
There are other that is punier puns
Was bored and I love puns
Liz Rossi Mar 17
You wanted a love story, sweetheart—
    well, I’m an unwritten tragedy;
  hand me a skull and I’ll monologue
while Rome burns.
      We’re two acts in and falling fast,
         we’re half a city down and soon
            there’ll be nothing but ashes.

          You wanted a love song, baby—
        I’ll sing to you in a minor key,
harmonies in the rain under neon stars,
            screaming in tune with flowers in your lungs
      and blood in your hair
and city lights and city lights and
                                               city lights.

You wanted a love letter, honey—
“Dear Heartbreak,
   I’ve got purple bruises on my chest
     where my prose hits me. I’ve got
       a mess of clichés and a dark and stormy night
         and a pinch of melodrama,
           no talent but I’m trying, honest.
             I don’t suppose you could maybe
              unravel me a little?
               Cut me open like a knife through butter?
                Maybe then I’ll bleed words;
                 maybe then the poems will spill out of me,
                  entrails unravelling.”

You wanted a love poem, darling—
                meet me in your aspect and your eyes
               at ten o’clock tonight. Rome’s burning, baby,
              and all our lions are loose. No time for
    sonnets; we’ll climb the Colosseum with
    our flowers and our songs and
                             we’ll deny the gaudiness
                                                     of the day.

You wanted love, sweetheart—
I’ll give you everything I am:
           a burnt-out city,
           a soliloquy in G minor.
               I’ll play til my fingers bleed,
                     sing til my voice gives out and
                                                             ­            maybe—
it’ll do.
byron’s “she walks in beauty“ is the one i’m wittering on about in the fourth stanza.
Prister Sep 2019
Prior risk
Running away from puns the size of
U SEA what i did there?
B Morgan Talbot Sep 2019
If I had known that twenty-six
Would look so much like thirteen,
I would have kept at least one
Elastic training bra to
Remind me I’m better at
Working under the wire now.
Zoe Grace Aug 2019
Let me get this STRAIGHT.
Hold on, I'm gonna run this BI you.
I wanna see how this PANs out, ok?
LES just see how this goes.
I need you to TRANSfer those papers.
Come on, I bet you ACEd the test!
It's late and I'm delusional and my sleep deprived brain thinks I'm funny. Shhhh, don't tell me I'm wrong.
I'm a proud panromantic potato btw.
Anastasia Jun 2019
she ran
from non-existent footsteps
kicking in
from a lack of meds.

a white
with the stench
of bodies.

a stuffy nose
at the worst time
promised her demise.

a peek
in the window
her curiosity.
with only a splash of red.

another window
left open
to air out the stench
led to
no-longer-****** bodies

and she screamed
but not for very long
because the knife
peirced her neck
and the scream
turned into silence.
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