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There is a fine line
selflessness and self-deprecation

(and I have crossed it)
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My words don't Shake like William's,
nor, do they Frost like Robert's.
My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's,
nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's. 
I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's,
nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's.
My words are far from an Angel like Maya's,
 and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's.
Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me.
MG Jun 2019
I haven't been eating much.
My shaking hands beg for nourishment,
And only then I feed it.

I've been sleeping a lot,
but it's disturbed, restless.

I've been drinking more and more.
The red wine at night soothes my sadness.
It even makes Him feel farther away.
Just to wake up groggy, unclear, sad.

Here I am, punishing myself.
Unable to wrestle out of this cycle.
The wicked voice inside my head is back,
and She's louder than ever.
She likes it when I'm catatonic and vulnerable.
my own worst enemy
NeroameeAlucard Nov 2018
I wish I could make her toes curl like the end of fitted sheets
But i'll probably disappoint then like Fox's casting of Mystique
I wish I could command attention without saying a word
But to do that I'd have to have charisma, wait... what's that a bird?
No it's a trait that I don't possess.
I guess you can't correct a problem you don't know how to solve
The truth is i'm so easily worn out I don't know what to do at all
Not physically but socially, that batteries drained
I'd complain but my lack of confidence weighs enough on my brain

But let's get back on track with this train
I hope that I can make her squeal with a kiss and spill passion with a hug
But I'd actually have to be desirable, unlike, say a Chagas bug.
Hell the bug might have better luck than me
I guess that's why I have to express myself lyrically
Because my head goes one way and my mouth another
Just forget it I'd be hopeless as a lover...
Josh Elis Apr 2018
I am
a freak
my Bike does squeak.
Its rusted left-hand brake.

the seat,
and repair the weak
Rusted left-hand brake.

It’s dripping;
a drool
of oil leak.
Its greasy left-hand brake.

Birds call back
through a mouth they lack
To my noisy left-hand brake.

Their vapid squawk
My Bike does mock,
With that rattling left-hand brake

It’s broken
and screeching
and my life is depleting
Out that spoken left-hand brake.  

My Bike calls forward
each sound, more onward
While the feathered ones call for love,

My Bike calls for distance,
And the Future,
And the Purpose,

And the Birds, my Bike is above.
First poem I ever really sat down to write with the idea in mind-
MJ Lee Dec 2017
Heartless *****,
Got no soul to love

Heartless *****,
Parasite feeding in our skin

Heartless *****,
Don’t worry they do love something
That something is themselves

Heartless *****,
spiked their life bringer into a flaming can

Heartless *****,
watching the world from a cave.

Heartless *****,
sleeping with friends.
No benefits attached.

Heartless *****
doesn’t care if you like them

Heartless *****,
actually delighted they’re messed up

How about you keep you’re mouth sewed shut
and tear out your larynx.
Words from that useless hole are hollow.
Manipulation your mistress
Depression your *****
You take
  and abuse
    and lie.
Just chose one or the other you-

Heartless *****,
Stay quiet, behave.

Heartless *****,
do they even have a name?

Heartless *****,
It’s still beating in the trashcan, cold.
I am that Heartless *****
A little something I am finally posting after having finished it during my internship with The Atlas last summer. Enjoy!
nora Jul 2017
they tell you it's a weakness to cry
advise you to keep your hurt inside
you foolishly believe their earnest claims
and fold in on yourself in vain
I've just been feeling some things :)
xmxrgxncy Mar 2017
four hours of sleep
three days of fluffy frills, lace, and cat ears
four days of flannels and dark eyeliner
five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes of good music

how to create a me
but you wont want to.

side effects include:

is it worth it?
NeroameeAlucard Oct 2016
You scratched the record
And now my head is back on repeat
It goes over that same beat
Over and over again to the point where
I don't even wanna attempt to speak

If silence is golden
Then I'm the biggest known mine
Because it feels as though I've been skating over myself when putting words into rhyme
Always the same topics from me and not to interesting metaphors

You scratched it like a DJ on turntables because I'm winding up to the end of this fable, I can still write and I'm more than willing and able but I gotta stretch my muscles again before I lose the sharpness on my pen, that's my sword
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