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Screams echo
Down the halls
Bouncing on and
Off the walls

Pain and confusion
Lace the screams
Except no one can hear
Through the mask of glee

Too deaf to hear
Too blind to see
The pained tears
And confused plea
Kay-Rosa May 6
i fear the dark,
i fear the light.
i fear the shadows and the monsters who take refuge in my mind.
i fear the eternal silence,
i fear the bloodcurdling screams of the voices who are never given a microphone.
but most of all,
above any fear i have ever felt,
i fear being stuck, i fear failure.
i fear i will never get anywhere with my limited abilities.
i fear falling down,
                            down,
                                   down,
                                         down
to my own personalized hell where endless,
                                              crippling failure is
inevitable.
                                                            for once
                                 just once
can i play the game
                                                                                 and win?
xtine Apr 14
maybe you once asked me:
"how are you?"
but
did you really mean it?
was it ever a genuine curiosity
or
was it just a meaningless question to avoid the oddity
of inane awkward silences?
maybe
it was just an appropriate thing for you to say at the moment
and it led me on to think
that you'll be there for me when i need it.
but at the end,
you were never
there.

SO

the next time you ask me:
"how are you?"
and i say:
"i'm okay"
and if you genuinely cared at all,
would you have noticed the silent screams in my eyes
that hold back the tears saying
i need you?
This is dedicated to a friend who once told me that she questions if her friends are genuine enough to be there for her when she needs them. Because honestly, I can relate.
A horror comfortably rests in my mind.
It relaxes in the heat of my skull and melts into the crevices of my brain matter.
It coats my every thought, transforming what was once innocent into something unrecognizable even by the most wretched.
My sense of fear has been replaced with a desire to
Take.
Take lives, souls, blood from the unworthy.
Nothing but the remnants of my morals has stopped me thus far.
The red passion only grows the more I attempt to suppress it.

The horror is glad to overtake my senses in times of stress.
The sights of torn, mangled bodies are forced upon my eyes.
Bloodshot sclerae, severed tracheae, disemboweled torsos.
The scent of rich rust is all I am capable of smelling now that I am beyond being saved.
I hear the screams of my imaginary victims, clear as day and night.

I wish I could be saved from this horror.
Greg Jones Apr 8
It was random, one evening
It just came for all the people.
For the neighbors and my friends.
My loved ones didn’t stand a chance.

It was growling, it was howling.
In the dark I knew it was prowling.
Born on a full moon.
It’s here for all our doom.

There’s no warning, or a reason.
It must be killing season.
You can run and try to hide
But it hears you breathing.

Then it showed up like a whisper.
I saw the monster clearer.
I began to get the shivers
As this monster looked familiar.

It’s consuming, getting bigger.
No sign it’ll reconsider.
This could be the end of days
‘Cause nobody’s safe.

And no matter how loud I try to scream
The monster never came for me.
Poetress2 Apr 6
She sits in the Doctor's office,
with one thing on her mind;
To rid herself of this Fetus,
so she can go on with her life.
~
Her dreams would all be ruined,
if this child were to be born;
She just can't let that happen,
thus she decides to Abort.
~
They call her back to a room,
she follows the Nurse's lead;
Gently she lays on the bed,
then sees the ******* machine.
~
Her mind is filled with doubt,
"Am I making a huge mistake;
The baby isn't even alive,
get a grip, for pity sakes."
~
Then the Doctor enters the room,
he is really quite polite;
Inside of her, he inserts a tube,
and she squeezes her eyes tight.
~
But deep within the occupied Womb,
the Fetus flinches away;
As the hose begins to tear apart,
how and what it may.
~
Then it grabs onto her tiny hand,
no longer a thumb to ****;
The baby's eyes are filled with tears,
for the pain is just too much.
~
Little by little, it tears her apart,
no one can hear her screams;
But parts of her pass through the tube,
thanks to that horrid machine.
~
Her tiny head is the last to go,
donned in curly, black hair;
She's simply but a memory,
Mama's product of an affair.
Osiria Melody Mar 31
Underneath

the

final edition

of a

poem

lies a

catacomb of

drafts that

repose, the

past lives of

creativity.



Melody
3/31/19
How many drafts do you write for your poems?
I write enough to get lost into my imagination,
a place of no return.
Erian Mar 20
Silent dreams
but all we hear
are violent screams
Izza Mar 5
At least,
She knows how the end will be

At least,
She has more time to heal, more time to build walls  on her heart when the end comes

At least,
Someday, shee will stop being the victim and start to be the main role of her own story

At least,
There will be no screams and the sound of slamming door

At least,
It just gonna be another sad memories

At least,
It just gonna be another trauma that she has to live with
Poolza Feb 20
The sound of screaming
Bounces all around my head
I really like it
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