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Pyrrha Jan 8
Your angelic words wrapped with demonic intent
Wont reach me from all the way up there
Your pedestal is too high, I'm afraid I can't hear a word you say
Your godlike vocabulary can't hide that devilish motive
And for as much as you lie, you are one awful liar
That angel light of yours can't blind me anymore
I have a special pair of sunglasses now
They block out all the repugnant **** from sight
‘We all better lives,
very few of us, want
to be better people’

With the keys to immortality, I sold
my soul, the prices was cheap, walking
into church, holding Nietzsche's hand,
bursting into a ball of flames,
on the hall of fame when it comes to
pill popping, turned clean, I’m on
the wall of shame, should not be walking,
we got nothing in common, I’m a
white trash god.
K Balachandran Jul 2018
Like **** on sewer,
Dark news floats on the page;
Sick, nauseating!
Simon Woodstock Jan 2018
The sun will go down and like a vampire I awaken
I'll drink and smoke myself broke
Scream at the bartender after last round
**** IT
I needed that whiskey
like a sinner in a church
I feel the blind hellish rage ignite
I attempt to rip the bartender apart
However the bouncer's sledge hammer like fist has already kissed me on the left cheek
The next thing I know I'm laying down on the concrete
My head is lost among the wreckage of the titanic
the contents of my stomach howl in agony
After forcing myself to my feet
The rage from before returns suddenly like an absent father
My cheek was swollen and a few of my teeth felt loose
I was on top of the world from the basement
I spit blood on the concrete and begin to taunt
The bouncer to come outside
Like a lone hyena picking on a lion
I laughed drunkenly and screamed every word in the book
Finally provoked he launches out of a cannon slamming into me
I awake in a hospital bed  
Thinking only one thing
Brent Kincaid Oct 2017
John is what hookers call
Their customers in this land.
They make him feel like a king
And tell him he is grand.
They fuss over him like royalty
As long as he pays the bills.
His habits can make stomachs turn.
He’d be dead, if looks could ****.

King John, the biggest ******
To have ever worn the crown
If he were an office building
He would quickly be torn down.
Nobody ever thinks of him
In any pleasant kind of way.
If he has a need he needs filled
No freebies, he has to pay.

If there is some slimy way
To speak a simple sentence
He will choose it, and insult
With no thought of repentance.
He owes his wealth to ***** tricks
And that is just what he is.
An absolute and total waste
Of his awful father’s ****.

King John sits on his throne
Gathers soulless souls around.
He laughs at those who take his bribes;
A particularly ugly sound.
He has no conscience, so doesn’t see
How quickly his presence can pall.
He is the king of a kind of hell;
No kind of royalty at all.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2017
We should throw a party and then
Dump a Trump
Give Trump lumps
Make him jump.
Drag him over the same kind of bumps
He dragged us and laughed at us.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

We should get together and just
Dump a Trump
Oust that schlump
To the city dump.
Treat him like he treated those before
And send him home on a city bus.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

Let's call a convention and
Dump a Trump!
He’s a festering clump
As dim as Forest Gump.
New Yorkers call him a stupid ****.
We hope all see that he is finally busted
That his former shine is obviously rusted.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump!
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!
Danielle L Cook Aug 2017
your arms use to make me feel so safe
but now they only choke me

a poisonous love I can't erase
you left me hallow, hurt, and lonely
**** that dude
Zero Nine Apr 2017
I write because I have
no talent. I wind up
cooking for reasons
all the same. Relegate
me to solemn, lonely
domestics. Is it worse
even still you call me
Sir? Or is it ****** up
that I care? Well,
how dare you,
How dare
******* you ******.
Äŧül Dec 2016
He was made Dust bin Laden finally!
HP Poem #1338
©Atul Kaushal
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