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Steve Parker Aug 28
Too much life runs through my veins.  A very poison in itself.
Lost and confused I turn my own sharp anger and hatred to my chest.  
Ready to cut forth my beating empty heart.  
If my chest were a cannon, and my heart were shot,
   I would fire my very soul upon thee,
              loaded with unfathomable love
                     and primed with bitter contempt
She kept her heart encased in glass
  Or elegantly displayed
     On a moldy old canvass
   For callers by of gilded
      Or passing note

Wrinkled skirt crumpled in the
corner of the hardwood floor
poised to take the stand
and testify about the madness
and the lines of demarcation,
    The hollow harrowing haunting
     harbringer of the haughtiness
     that once served her so well;

I thought I spotted her reflection
in a magazine,
soot stained pages outlining
the continental shifts in her veracity
and the keloid cracks
running along the base of her foundation
a wrinkled old romance novel
in today’s latest fashion,
pretension the wayward child of passion
In a new relationship that seems to be going too well, that moment when you look for the cracks in your lover’s story
Romaisa Abbas Jul 14
He will continue to bless, You will continue to rebel
Perhaps it is true when they say
You seek what you can't have
You seek what you can't get
You want to be everything that you aren't
Even if it means trading the universe for a speck of dust
I'm awed at whoever claimed failure and deprivation defeats
Because it does it so beautifully so;
Rages the hunger, fuels the fire
Brings thy existence on a duel such
The quest to attain stands against you;
And yet with you
Invites an attack yet keeps the move at bay
The answers - an enemy in disguise
Feed unto your conscience
The war rages within,
And in the end;
That which becomes thy hunger
Is thy own flesh.
Pardon me - but it's actually funny how the Almighty has made us all so incredibly unique, master of our own domain, and how desperately we try to fit in and how eagerly we seek common identities.
Sarah Crispin Jun 10
Through the storm
through the fire and brimstone they made for me
I still found the strength to run the blade through my own heart
And down the poison you let me take
JT May 28
Suppose it starts
with wildfire;
lightning on
your driest trees
or once-loved campsites
left neglected, or kindling
that you'll never see--
it all burns just the same.

Suppose it starts
with wildfire;
flames beget
a blood orange sky
and magma pits
beside black trees,
and all your kindest woodland creatures
hurt and hide and crawl away--
but they burn all the same.

Suppose it starts
with wildfire;
see your landscape
on the hill, sickly scorched
with trees rail thin,
stark beside lush greenery,
almost lovely in how clear
the story of the suffering feels,
and burning's just the same.

So what if it starts
with wildfire?
There's no need
for water, seeds,
when warmth still crackles
in the wood and
you have pain and gasoline;
light the match and you will see--
it still burns just the same.
Your liver thinks you're too thirsty
Your mind runs off drugs
You'll be dead before thirty
Or killed off by thugs

You escape this reality
to where, what does it give you
You've only escaped your mortality
for your death is long overdue

You were humble, you were frightening
Now you stumble, and stopped with fighting
Where's the real you gone?
for this one's almost done!

You'll be dead before thirty
"Though will you live to thirty?"
What people tell me, and the final quote is a quote of my words. I think changing the perspective for myself and the other people would be a good change, but then again. Other's won't be able to cope with my lifestyle
Efa Nuryani Jan 8
"Where do you want to go?"

"Far, far away..."

"It doesn't seem right."

"Never it did"

"Was that supposed to hurt? The constant disappointment."


"Your mind is in a dark place and you let them win, don't you?"


"You can't keep it all inside. You're torturing yourself."

"I always end up getting into this situation."

"Stop doing a damage to your ownself."

"You have no idea what I've been through, do you?"
M Grant Teague Dec 2019
Beauty has been murdered by my hand.
Every feature disgusts and appalls me.

I have strung my own noose,
Stepped through the loop.
I stand ready
For you
To kick
My stool

The fake world speeds communication
Yet quickly sends sin and the devil too.

I stand a ****
And a harlot
Of your sweet perfection.
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