John Benjamin Apr 9

It is not some dusty frame,
            hanging rusty nails;
                        chaotic mess.

            No es amor solo amar, to you,
                      just some language you,
                                can't comprehend.

Distraught, despaired, disheveled,
                a dystopian novel notion,
                     There's no need;
you don't need to patronize.

Cold hand upon cold hand;
       lifeless smiles colluding.

                                 And as if you were a Monet sunrise,
my impression of you is that of drunken brush strokes,
                                                        ­                   dull blues,
                                               and angry orange hues,
Left on display within a rotting, wooden frame.

Pernille Augustson Nov 2016

You can't fix something that's not broken,
you can't change someone who doesn't want to change,
you can't decide how a person should be,
you just simply can't,
is it so hard to see?

You walk around and try to control everything that comes your way,
you're shocked when someone doesn't do as you say,
you think you're God and that we should all obey,
the truth is no matter how much beauty you endure,
you'll never be anything more than what's inside of your soul.

Your soul is darker than the night,
your heart is as cold as ice,
I'll never fall for your spell again,
You're just a devil in diguise
Nothing more, nothing less

If somebody here needs a change,
look in the mirror and watch it shatter.
You're broken and bruised,
and give others abuse.
You're living proof that the outside is no reflection of the inside...
Beautiful outside, rotten inside.

Andrew May 2014

Not exactly proud of it
Just don't have the time

No teeth or claws
Nothing really but hunger

Not begging or choosing
Just desperate for something to eat

And when we find something, anything
It becomes disgusting.

But we don't care
We don't have a choice
It's not like we will get to see
Another day

So we feed.

And we feed..

My Dearest Reno Nov 2016

it's grainy, blobbed against my grey matter
rubs one out to my blinded neighbore, the hooker
clockwork how she turns the knob,
her man, her man moans with such disdain

she objects by cooking food that smells of shit!
my pen, now a horseshoe, laugh over whiskey,
my brow scowled but eyes are happy
poking your eye out with my sloppy brush;

create constant puns with a lunatic bell,
we put the glass up against the wall, in hush
look at each other with such disgust; its deathly moan
change direction, whiz out the door

...fluxed out and ask, "what the fuck is going on in that bed?"

dear gd, poor him...poor her? where's the damn joy?
Caitlin Cacciatore Nov 2016

“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.
Andrew Durst Sep 2016

Tooth decay and
lie in cheek.
There’s a rotten
part of me
continues to
I am bitter
and this is
why I
wither away
rather than
fall to
I am a slow,
piece of
I am pale
and intoxicated
from all of
the pointless
we pretend
to have.

News flash
News flash
News flash

nobody is

Jordan LC Murphy Aug 2016

Life is a toxic waterfall, pouring down emotions,
Drowning out my soul.
Hollow to your words and touch my heart is just a hole.
A empty void in a cage, I'm plagued a rotten toll.
For the bird inside it sings no more its stiff dead, died and cold.

Kaya Jul 2016

Even your hottest hell, won't burn
I won't be fooled by
your burnt sympathy
I won't be fooled by
your rotten love


Marcy Campbell Jul 2016

Looking down at chipped nail polish
That is barely covering my fingernails
I'll wonder why it turned out this way
Why I started to rot so quickly

Creativity is dangerous
It provides the most vivid dreams
But it can give you the worst nightmares

I think
That as I've aged, my creativity has soured
Became less useful
Less desirable  

More of a burden

As I speak what I've written, the words leave a bitter taste in my mouth

I've gone bad
Out of date

Rather than pages of art
And words I'm proud of
I'll feel the need to write pages of symptoms
Pages of feelings I don't like
Pages of things that scare me

Pages where I've written a hundred ways I could die
And ninety nine ways I'd like to

Once something expires, it rots

No one picks the rotten fruit

I'm sorry that this is so negative. I've just been feeling very very unwell lately. Nothing seems to be going quite right. I hope my venting doesn't bother anyone.
Marithe Munoz Mar 2016

trees will fall
and skies will turn to dark eyes.
i'll fall for you
and my heart turns
to black nights

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