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s Willow Jan 2019
Candle
skull’s lit.
Wax
dripping
Teeth chattering.
Amanda Dec 2018
Thoughts are eating me alive
I feel sharp bites as they gnaw
Bleeding out pints of sense and reason
From conclusions I draw

I am glad to drift to sleep every night
Even with precious time flying by
Happy to experience any relief
No problems behind closed eyes

Conversations filling free dreams floating within
Attempting to be understood
Have no interest in indulging opinions
Hanging silent in my head, engraved in 'would'

In efforts to turn around my thinking
I stuff my mind with different distractions
Put hands to use with various tasks
Only substances bring satisfaction

I need to unearth the causes
Responsible for lack of peace
Little by little learn to be happy
Sorrows burning my brain will cease
Thoughts can cause more damage than anything else
Anne J Dec 2018
Chattering yet still
Frozen and wrapped by venom
Decayed by sharp fangs
I'm a junior in HS, but I take a senior class. One of the seniors recently got a tattoo of a snake, said snake's end tail erasing around a skull. The tattoo quickly made me in a mood for a haiku. I shall end my period on haikus for now on this eery 3 stanzas
Chicken Oct 2018
Headless Chicken,
Headless Chicken,
Oh boy,
You lost your skull.

... and in return,
You get to know,
That you ain’t lost nothin’ at all.
Nothin’ to lose, nothin’ to gain :]
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
Greed and sin and fatigue possess our flesh,
we wear the richest quartz
to wash away our stains.
Like a pet we feel the guilt,
our tears lull us to remorse.
We sink into a pillow of a million writhing worms,
too stubborn to move,
Each day our Free mind will **** and kiss vapour
We’re discontent to show our secret streams of captive cries
Into the stinking pit of Man’s Will,
& turn back to our woeful design,
each day we offer vows of faith and
charms to each other,
but turn to filth to flow into our lungs,
A tormented art,
A banal fate,
As we deconstruct passion,
A solitary riot,
A shrivelled nerve,
A flask,
A phantom,
A Madonna skull.
Németi Csenge Sep 2018
A dozen white maidens in ivory silks
Grip the rich tissue in your tempered skull.

I hide from them in my own clinical whiteness,
A kind of peace in prayer,

For what once was a promise of decadence and excitement,
Is now a character of lavish leather lilies.

I'm sorry that I hurt you so
With my actions, words, or mind.

I am but a child
Stood in grass-stained whites.
RBWhite Jul 2018
The Final Sacrifice begins,
Punctures of blood all over the seiling,
Eight mementos of her own pain crawl all over dark walls,
My Goddess is here,
And Her Demon too,
Pretty words leave a cave of skin damped skulls,
And she lays down now,
Ready for heavy blows,
Remembering the vows she wished she forgot long ago.
Spiders are a never ending inspiration...
Industrial Death Jun 2018
From the eternal reach of sky flung stars eclipsing
The multiverse afar,
To the deepest depths of oceans unseen sights
No man may venture to seek a beauty
Like that of a women so divine.
Defined by the product of genetic perfection,
The picturesque quality of evolutionary design:
Of the moons gibbous glow,
The inner aura of your fluttering eyes
Bring me comfort on a cold winters night.
With skin, soft as silk
Tanned by the suns golden light,
Your flesh melts me back to life.
Like the lapping waves and wisping winds
Along the sands of an islands ocean shore
Your soothing tone of foreign tongue
Caresses my aching skull.

Beyond the chisel of mans mortal hands,
No surgeon may sculpt the flesh with so tedious a design:
An anatomical hourglass
Of Immaculate form,
Unseen among the flaws of humanities mistaken design.
Rambo Apr 2018
I don’t know that I trust myself
To keep my brains like a raw egg
When the time comes (when I’m supposed to know what to do)
And not to crack my skull,
See my brains drip into the bowl,
Mix them up for a broken yolk,
And then pour them into the pan
So they can scram(ble.)

Sometimes I wonder
If I’ll have to salt them
or add any pepper
or just dig in.

Sometimes I hunger
To know everything
Sometimes I feel so engorged
I’d rather know nothing.

The worst part is not knowing
That the worst part is knowing.

I want to hate my own guts
But that’s--that's utterly nuts,
For it’s never the guts
Should be disdained—
It’s the yolk in my egg, or
The stuff in my brains in my head.
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