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Hanna C S Jul 13
I am not a saint and neither are you.
So what are we to do -
But sit back and
Watch the same suspects;
Sit in self-pity,
Sick to their stomachs;
With own-grown notions;
Of a love so cavity-sweet.
A rotten romance
Written by children -
Drags us all to the dentist.

As it takes centre stage;
We act it out together.
Watch as they gorge themselves
Fat on the falsity;
Stuck in a daze of how they
Ought to be;
Of how they'll never be.

And the hope heals the heat of it.
Softens the sting of it -
Like milk;
But like milk that sits stagnant;
It'll slowly turn sour.
Watch as the older ones choke on it.
Swig back and cough up the chunks in it.
Self-hatred never settled well.

Look but don't touch.
People like us are too rough;
For the people of painted porcelain.
Fairy-tale spines are feeble;
Paper hearts and scripted stories
Smolder in the heat of us;
Fold with the weight of us.

And I will never understand,
Why delusions rule reality?
Why broken hearts are promised
to teenage dreamers?
Why mad in love is the golden rule?
Surely, insanity only drives you to a hospital?
I can't go back down that road.
I want to be sane in love;
The same in love;
Or not in love.
After all,
What's wrong with a little *** and sanity?

So, We are not saints;
And I don't believe in god.
I don't need your love story.
Baby don't lie to me;
Heaven isn't here for the finding;
**** fake fantasies;
Let's make our own masterpiece;
Just paint my skin with your lips
with my lips on your skin;
before we fall asleep.

I hung your heart
With your coat by the door,
You can have it back;
When you leave in the morning.

I am the flower of untouched perceptibility, the unique breed nobody could ever find in any imposing gardens. Do not chase to haunt me and the richness of my petals’ sap if you are not a holy breed of spirit as I might wither and get my seeds of knowledge scratched in your unjust volition. I am the pearl, the mermaid chain of blushing moon tides.
Bummer May 9
When a bullet isn't between my lips, words of hatred often are.
I beg for love and steal from God and set bridges up in flames.

I hide knifes in drawers and backs and I keep secrets safe from harm.
Without a purpose I loathe so beautifully, without a love I'm so alone.

I keep a razor in my wallet, next to the photograph of you and me.
I sing songs of wanting to change, but I've been living in my hell for years.

I paint words of fear so easily but I can't seem to grip onto bravery,
I wish so badly to feel others pain, but I can't ******* cope with my own.

I am the King of the Cowards.
I am the Leader of the Loners.
I an the Prophet of the Pained.
I am the Saint of the Sinners.
Do not try to look at me
— I am in a mantle —
I cannot be seen.

Do not try to call me
I will not answer
For I do not want to utter a word
— I want to listen in silence —
For I am in the company of the essence.

Do not try to understand
For I, myself, do not understand.

Nick Apr 20
Call him saint beginner
Being hurtful a true job of his
It makes us full of bliss
Call him a sinner

He sits in churches of our minds
He sneakes behind our backs
With good impure intentions
He's ready to cut some connections

Let the sinner sin
And give the story a fin

Let the sinner sin
Let him smile and grin

He likes to write them down
And when the time reaches dawn
It's time for the saint to say his final prayers
After all it's all just for sayers

It's time for the sinner to sin
Now its time for him

It's time for the sinner to sin
It's time to bury his twin
Dream Fisher Apr 8
When my school closed, I was in 5th grade,
We all stood outside with balloons.
The older kids understood,
The younger ones just played
The principal made a speech to say
How wonderful this place had been
And the amazing things we'd do someday.

They played a couple songs through stereo
I can't remember which one's by name
But the ending, I do remember just the same
Each of us with a balloon, released that day.
But the story you didn't know was one I've never said
I untied my string, quickly, the balloon floated away.

I ran to the classroom, and cut it up
Thirteen pieces for thirteen classmates.
Waiting for everyone to come
But, wouldn't you know, no one came.
I kept my piece for many years
Throwing it out all but recently
My meaning was left at Saint Mary's
And none have heard that until today.
the sun to boil my heart,
scream of hell in moonlight kiss,
the substance of my urging soul,
a world to murmur for my joy,
I am beyond the nature of perception,
angels cry the beauty of my strife,
I’m left alone in the absolute unknown,
my eyes are diamonds in the night,
a shaft of evil melting high,
the sun engulfs my innocence, my youth,
my urge boils deeper and deeper,
profound mist of scents and energies.
Poem from my book 'The Allure Of Time' now available on amazon.
Please support me by getting a copy of my book if you like what I am writing about.
Patrick longed
for Deo
and shared
a wafer
and where
we'd detail
a hamlet
to spite
a hornet's
nest with
a sparrow
on the
hedgy ledge
on the
south shore
and trump
New Yorker
a day in new york
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