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Thomas W Case Apr 10
Don't sing
don't shout
don't try to get out.
It's nice and warm in here,
and smells like a slave,
and the grave will come
soon, so try to be brave.
And when you're gone and
rotting, and sunk in the
ground, I'll find a new
little bird that won't
make a sound.
Don't walk, don't run
don't swim towards the sun.
Embrace the darkness, you'll
have lots of fun.
I have my gun, it's loaded
and cocked.
Make a wrong move, and
you're bound to get rocked.
Don't be sick, don't get well.
Don't smell heaven, or skip
towards hell.

Don't feel
don't think
don't talk
don't drink
don't  smoke
don't move
don't live
don't die
don't try,
you'll fail
don't breathe
don't cough, don't sneeze
don't wake up early, or
arrive too late--don't love,
don't hate.
Don't express emotions that
seem insane.
I made my safe little
world, and I like it this time,
and you're frayed on
the edges, and too prone to fly.
So come closer
my little bird and get in the cage.
I'll clip your wings with my
apathy and rage.

Don't look at the moon,
or touch the stars.
Don't play in the fields
or go near the bars
it's not safe there,
so just be afraid.
I like to play tricks
you'll be my knave,
my jack of hearts
my ace of spades;
and we'll pillage and plunder,
and live off the land,
and you'll lie here quietly
in my rotten ******* hand.
Don't quit, don't try,
just sit here
and die
and lie naked in my

mansion of filth,
my consuming wealth
my towering health,
cuz I'm full of stealth and stature
and beauty and grace,
and I'll smear it all over
your ******* little face.
Despite dealing with the face of evil, I will hold my head up high, and to quote Don Quixote, "I have no intention of burning."
Evelyn Ann Feb 5
My wildest fantasy is to cut my tongue out
Just to feel the pleasure that pain gives
And watch as my blood pour out of my mouth
As it runs down my neck and slips onto my tank-top to paint a perfect portrait

On regular days I wished
To lose a leg or two
Maybe break a few bones, throw in some toes
Just to see how I would look

Other days I wanted to go MIA
Leaving only bloodstains on my silk sheets
With an ax and suicide note, of course, to throw the Cops off
Just to write about it in my dairy

On sad days I wished I was robbed
Or attacked by a good looking stranger
Hit by a car, cow or something
Just to be notice

It's usually fun to have conversations with dead bodies
They listen well
It's even more fun turning them into antique furniture
Especially the teeth it gives zing to the ring

People say I’m crazy
Do you think I’m crazy?
No, I’m not

I’m a Sociopath there’s a difference!
Date Written: January 30, 2020
Note: This poem was written for a Career Day Presentation. I do not think or possess the above feelings or thought.
Once upon a morning dreary,
On a wibbly-wobbly urban prairie,
I hit the road barely fearing -
As the fool who has no fearing -
And there came a car.

In a sudden, asked is it the end,
I'm not surprised, but how to pretend,
While I am always steering -
Just as badly as the driver's steering -
My emotions behind a striped bar.

Since the moment was so sneaky,
And the car's break creaked up creepy,
At least for the people seeing -
Hearing, if people were ever existing -
And not just imaginaire.

In that second's timeless land,
I had no social expression to send,
Signing to them that I'm living -
Lying to them I'm a human being -
So, I just stood bare.

And behind that timeless scene,
Angry drivers and people were seen,
With me standing there -
A guilty criminal sharing his despair -
A social monster without cover.
Isaak Thompson Jul 2019
What can I say
I'm trying to send a message
A few words to portray
Exactly what's going on in my head
Things really aren't clear
I feel a bit dead
I don't know why I'm here
I need to get up, and get ahead
Outpace them all
Like I know I can
Scale the "impossible" wall
An became a woman
I know I'm strong
I know I'm intelligent
I admit when I'm wrong
(can't find a rhyme but you get the hint)
I'm a critical thinker
I see through the lines
But my mind's beginning to splinter
I'm not actually fine
The world's driving me mad
And I'm feeling homicidal
Then  stop feeling bad
For being suicidal
I don't like it here enough
To put up with ****
Lights out like *****
Don't think I tried well I did
Four times in one year
Guess I really wanna get out of here
I spilled one last tear
And knew death was near
First time I cut a tad too deep
Second time I took a little too much Paracetamol
Next I tried to hang myself, failed and felt like a creep
Then I thought a lot about jumping off of walls
Finally I overdosed
I was home alone
No one knows
It hurt a lot
My life flashed before my eyes
I knew I was going to die
Somehow I woke up alive
And now I'm here writing dumb ****...
And thinking about number five
this is silly
Jacob Moslund Apr 2019
Do we ever stay strong?
Or do we fall,
To the ground,
Full of,
Am I depressed or,
Just young man,
Full of,
That’s where we felt it,
We’ll die,
Full of,

...Or is it just a
Sociopathic life of,
m h John Apr 2019
i spent my life trying to please
someone with a twisted disease
i broke myself down
and tucked my feelings away
to become the person
they wanted me to be
i let myself be watched
through the glass of a two sided mirror
of a sociopath
i wallowed my spirit away
and begged for acceptance
but there’s nothing in the world
that i could do
to let the narcissist know
that i am human too
the only thing that can please a narcissist is being miserable
Grace Spellman Feb 2019
¨so am i ugly?¨

¨some days most definitely.. others not at all, never in between- except for sometimes.¨

¨what am i right now?¨

¨a happy medium!¨

¨so when do i look my absolute best?¨

¨when you really really try.¨
and those words made me feel like the ugliest ******* the planet, and im so disappointed in myself to admit that.

//have you ever completely loved someone who cant even feel love? it hurts, let me tell you,
Tommy Randell Jan 2019
When you get to the bottom of this letter
You will see the world anew, then perhaps know me better.
When you have listened, given thought to what I'm saying,
You will understand I hope my reputation for hating.

When I was a boy they let the world abuse me,
Instead of learning love I daily learned to hide my bruises,
On a permanent basis soaking up their hatred
To become this broken doll no one wants to play with.

Acting out a role in a life of empty stages,
I used Love to justify non-existent rages.
I treated the innocent the way the guilty treated me,
I employed Love as the camouflage for cruelty.

I learned. Now, I am Passive aggressive and a democracy of one,
Sometimes a dictator and no Mother's Son.
I've known no Father's discipline and no Father's love.
When i push people away I make sure I draw blood.

What my goals are doesn't matter,
I can get under anyone's skin with a little Poet's patter.
I can feign humour, show remorse, charm birds off the trees -
I like you all better down on your knees.

I stand tall on my own, my sights set on the prize,
My best weapon ever... the child in my eyes.
And, I am telling you now it is too late to stop me...
Every word is a blade and the concealed weapon is Poetry.
I love to tell stories and make drama in my writing, why shouldn't I create them in my poetry?
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