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an0nym0us Mar 2018
Foolishness flows in man's veins
With this there is nothing to gain
To a man's soul it leaves scars of pain
Every one is always to complain.

Its been always the same
Victory is what they always aim
I don't see the point if its all just for fame
Arguments are just completely lame.

I'm so tired of this
What's the point of all of this?
Who really needs this?
Is there any way to completely end this?

I had enough,
Their foolishness is just too tough.
There is nothing left to say
With their foolishness, I no longer want to stay.

Will arguing fix a problem? Obviously not...
Then why won't they stop?
Words that are senseless and too hot...
Apparently, this is all they got.

More words seems to show superiority
But the wise find this funny
Even I find it silly
It just shows their guilty.

Arguing is like a war
Exchange of words that are too far
The foolish is always the cause by far
Its nothing but a childish war.
The audience went missing
The title ,totally stole the show
A little story (experience )
Had booked tickets online for 23rd thinking it was Tuesday ,  reached the theatre in time the ticket checker scanned and told us it was Monday's tickets . :)))
Bought new tickets on the counter , specifying  our preferences for seats and checking for availability both.
Only to enter the theatre with empty seats .
We (me and kids , sis- in-law and son)were the only audience.
Well, the kids enjoyed , and I wasn't bored either .
But the experience was indeed,first .so shared here :))
Umi Apr 2018
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.

~ Umi
Ciel Apr 2018
you wear your sadness so well.
I wish it would rain every day so I could constantly witness
the way your cheeks glow with the tears falling from your eyes
or the thunder of your voice as you sob through the night.
I love the way your brain tosses
and turns
and rummages
inside your skull
picking at old threads and littered notes.

I just hate cleaning up after a rampaging storm.
It's snowing in April
I was louder once.
A beast with a need to feast,
but now I tamp my rampages.
One too many times I leapt
Over and through the fire
Bounding and barreling
Obnoxiously snarling as I caught
my dreams between my jaws and ripped,
To find their warmth evaporating,
my **** growing cold and sticky
as it would dribble and dry,
sweet and cracked down my breast and forearms.
I learned to pace. To release. To settle.
Not to take too many shots, coax, tease, or purr.
Not to bite, howl, or grin.
Not to get too cozy when I stargaze, tell embarrassing drinking stories, or speak my impressing words.
Not to stand on tables,
Not to shout out of car windows,
Not to dance like the drunken Maynads.
And I am quieter for it.
More intact.
Less alive.
I miss that wild beast.
I feel her gnawing at the cracks in my skin
begging me to don the wolf coat.
And some nights,
When the moon is right
I do.
And if I'm not careful,
Fastidiously luring and caging her
with promises of "next time"
until I've re-sewn my skin
I'm afraid that she'll eclipse me,
Careening through the night
And never returning.
I along with her
Never to return.
Inktober Prompt: Shy
Rules: The poem is whatever comes out of the pen, no edits allowed.

This poem is a bit of a response to my popular "I Am Loud" poem. Things have changed.
M Eastman Apr 2015
What difference does it make
die wth regrets or
I choose
the former
     I poisoned the ground
painted the walls offun colors
and broke bottles in streetcars
checking your bank account .  
    you're so far away
From your own
              Too risky you say
I'll smash my own body acadian
at one hundred percent increase
   It doesn't matter

— The End —