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Dylan Jones May 2017
If I could act on my revenge now, would I?
Some ****, some steal, some break your heart
And you thought I would let it go
Let you off
Broken hearts, break bones, and break up fast
And I don't wanna let go
So in my grave, I'll rot
I've dug two graves for us, my dear
Can't pretend I was perfect when you in fear
Oh man, what a world of things I hear
If I could act on my revenge now, would I?
Some ****, some steal, some break your heart
And you thought that I would let go
Let you off
Broken hearts, break bones, and break up fast
And I don't wanna let go
So in my grave, I'll rot
Scarlet Niamh Apr 2017
Words float in lost eyes,
broken veins are calling me.
~~ A short poem about a long battle. ~~
my cup overflows Mar 2017
rot
and so like maggots my life has become
this dead rotting
ohh noo ... please not death
i feel him coming near , he reaches out
i feel his cold breath ... i gasp
i reach out !
.............
to nothing
to darkness
to lost dizzy spaces
this low deep dark ..place
this dead ....this death ... of something
in me .....
when did you stray >?
or start to decay ?
when did you lose the very thing
you knew !!
yes you
knew better .... yet with
simple smiles and wiles
you gave in
you bowed down ... to another master
to someone else
you gave your blood for him to drink
when he didn't even care to think
- the thoughts
you lay
you stay up
in awakening dreams
reliving your regret
stuck .....
death.
for no one
Scarlet Niamh Feb 2017
Touch the sky with me
and we can fly, fly, fly
away from these places,
wrong faces, all the traces
of the spaces we created
between our lonely hearts
and forgotten minds;
the parts of us that shouldn't exist
crying in their cavernous
pinholes, echoing
and rupturing in feeling
through the waves of something
more, something undeniable
and true. The pinprick
in which my emotions
are contained
is gargling with a blood
that pours black yet,
as it trickles through
me, I can feel it restoring beauty
to the yellowed valleys of my skin.
~~ Blood will heal me. ~~
port Feb 2017
i am
angry.

i am
sick.

i am angry, and i am sick, and i am ******* tired.

my body is rotting,
my hands shake.
but,
i am Achilles.
best of the Greeks,
angry and righteous and terrible.
i brought the pestilence to your home- it will **** your sheep.
it will **** your flock, your herd, your crowd, your audience, mister.
after it’s killed everyone else, it will come for you.

it will taste like ginger.
like tumeric.
like sulfur burning your lungs.

there will be nothing to shield you,
no trust fund,
no banks,
no lying sons and daughters who feed only on your game.

the disease will have killed them,
it will be because of me.
the sun is mad, it’s betrayed you.
because of me.

when you look at your empire for the last time,
you will see me,
burning and rotting and

smiling.
this piece is political.
Dawn Treader Jan 2017
Naked I came, naked I’ll leave
Then the worms will dine on me
This circle of life I cannot flee
A painless death is my only plea

There is beauty in bloom, there is beauty in rot
But in the end I’ll care not
Fingers, toes, eyes, and bone
I shall return to earth
Life is a loan
Maybe I'll be a garden.
“Love is like a reckless twin; I’m giving in.”
Scandipop on the radio,
The scent of marijuana hanging heavy in the air;
The fruits of my love lie wasted,
Rotting away,
Overripe and burdensome,
And I drink deeply from the sweet pools of wine
That gather where the fruits were bruised,
Either by their lesser fall,
Or their greater failure,
Having been inspected by most,
And rejected by all.
Inspired by Mads Langer's 'Lonely Street.'

Marked explicit just in case.

You can find more of my poetry at caitlincacciatore.wordpress.com
Scarlet Niamh Oct 2016
You are falling down a rabbit hole of
hatred for yourself, and I hate you for
it. I hate the part of your mind that turns
you against yourself, for you don't deserve
it. I am at the bottom with you, for
every pace upwards I will be there
to push you, but I fear that I will not
be strong enough to keep you upright for
the time it takes you to return to your
strength. I grow weak, and you sap my strength from
me unknowingly as I become increasingly
tired and lose the will to live, drained by
the parasite within that will not let
me truly connect. Can't you see that I
am bound by the black sludge around my tongue
which coats my words and keeps me locked inside?
I fear that I cannot help you, for I
am nothing except the waiting -
waiting for my time to die.
~~ They were right, you can't rely on me. I am too broken to bring you back together. ~~
Scarlet Niamh Aug 2016
I cannot help but wish I was on the
first side, where life blooms in rippling
fantasies and all has colour.

On this side, where they said it was greener,
all is rotten and dead. I sent out my
poison and killed all of the grass, so now
there is nothing at all to shine its green
upon me.
~~ Don't wish for what other people say you should have. Wish for what you know you want, and you never know. You just might get it. ~~
Beleif Aug 2016
The air is full of dust.
The chairs are rotting, creaking planks of wood.
The roof can cave in, given the right moment to expose the sun–
The heating sun that beats upon this sickly place.

My family's faces were eaten alive by termites, infesting the photo frames,
And a flicker of the lights puts this sleeping place to bed,
Where it belongs had I the right ideas inside my head.

If I was any wiser I would leave at once without a twist of neck.
I would run away and maybe change my name.
I'd never think of looking back...

Yet here I am unwise. The floor is *******, never rubbed or rinsed,
And populated by more wallpaper than the walls.
From the bathroom leaks a familiar yet appauling smell.

My family's faces were eaten, deceased, by maggots.
My dad drowned in the bathtub, and my brother in the sink.
My mother lifeless on the bed because she was confused for steak.
My uncle always said to me that luxury is for the saved.
As for the rest there is no other place to go,
Because my home is at the grave.
Where is your home?
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