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WickedHope Aug 11
It feels like betrayal to say your name
     So I don't
          I don't say it out loud
               I don't identify you
                    It feels crooked
                         It feels wrong
                    To maintain normalcy
               I spit it out
         It feels acidic
     After choking it down
I want to be here
    I'm addicted to you
         But saying your name
              When it was his too
                   Isn't a romantic confession
                        Just an adulterous taboo
Litha Blue Jul 10
Pushed over the edge
The ***** of a million men
What kind of hell
Do you prefer

The city converts
Human into dog
Come and see
Behind the curtain
The Hotel
Keeper of secrets
Not so secret
Slave to desire
Bubblegum nausea
System prisoner
Planet earth visitor

It's no surprise
The Hotel
Mirror of mirrors

Choices I've made
Long ago
Fated to see
The Human Beast

Outside at least
It was still sunny
I honestly don’t think you deserve Heaven,
Neither do I…
As you fornicate with the seven,
I am chastised alone to cry…
Sobriety is a made up playground high,
God is some fun.
The Devil sees your love losing by,
For soon in time I will be done…
One by one the seven of lust will die too,
Leaving you dry…
What left of our lives tales told taboo,
No… we are not meant for the hellholes of so…
So lonely the soul never to you to know…
Maple Scoresby Jun 2021
Tip
Of the tattle tellers tongue
Tenaciously Terse tales told
Tending to tea and tempting taboo
EA Jun 2021
Don't blame yourself
No one is at fault but me
I did it, not you
Ken Pepiton Apr 2021
The wild boars of Haifa, best news I heard today.
Cute pigs in Haifa,
where bacon is known
as too delicious to eat.

Built on the side of Mt. Carmel,
a secret garden with a magical side,
{In that neotenic frame of mind that allows cute pigs.}

Pigs can swim. Legion told me

NY Times, digest, chewitchewit
The wild boars of Haifa, best news I heard today.
NY Times digest human interest piece today. HAIFA, Israel — The wild pigs of Haifa might not fly, but they seem to do almost everything else.
Mia Mehnaz Nov 2020
Suicide; society tells me it’s a ***** word

Blackens your tongue and brands you an

Outsider to your beloved community;

Tarnishes your dazzling reputation and

Takes a beautiful, cherished, short-lived, soul.

But why did society not raise me like the

Painstakingly adored roses amongst

Its garden of thorns; why can’t I be

That happy girl. Why have I been

Doused in fertiliser, a wretched ****

Amongst a garden of beauty, growing

Faster than lightning, roots of gnarly

Agony and shoots of grey, blurred hatred for

Every atom of my being- screams for the ****

Killer to embrace me by the neck, apply a-

Seductive dose of love-dripping pressure

And set this crow free; unchain my bruised wings

And I promise I will leave you be, I will never

Bring misery or misfortune again.

But suicide; is a ***** word, a cheek

Burning, soul smouldering, darkening

Shadow on the pretty plastic cases over our,

Mechanical hearts. Not for the great pain of

Losing a barely, blossomed flower- took one

Heavy dose of white-pain sunlight and

Wilted away into the black, bottomless soil.

Not for the gaping loss of a singular

Fertile crop in an endless year of draught and

Famine. Suicide, is not a tear-wrenching,

Palm-sweating word for the, heavy and huge hole

It leaves in society’s newly plastered walls-

But it is an unspeakable word for the pure

Shame. The surly shadow of unspeakable

Shame that it leaves like a, stain of red wine

On the pretty, sensible woman’s white blouse

Like a ****** tattoo on the arm of an infant.

We do not grieve their death. We grieve our pride,

Our bruised and bleeding pride at not preventing

The stench of failure as a race of people, in the death

Of one melancholy drowned person, we practically

Placed the boulders in their pockets and said drown.

And I am holding my breath; tight roping this

Misery that smothers me at sunrise, see I am

Permitted a feigned slumber of peace in the dead

Hours of night yet I awake to the,

Asphyxiation of pain, eyes bulging in terror of

What awaits me when I run out of time, oxygen fast-

Fading and the orange, pink of dawn lights a

Fire in the honey pools of my eyes- small, mocking fires

That sneer at my desperation to cease, at my plea for peace-

Tight, burning stabs that tingle in my throat and

I’m running low on air, on time, almost there-

Deliria, ecstasy, glee dripping from my limbs

And- the noose I fabricated in my non-

Functioning, disabled mind slips away, faster

Than I can catch it and refasten, and I am, cold

In my bedsheets once more. Welcomed again,

To the now bellowing daylight of, depression

Another flightless, fruitless day of carefully,

Hand-stitched smiles and sinfully pre-tuned

Laughter. The world tells me to stand on the

Pinnacle of misery with one broken leg and

If I dare fall, I am a branded shame on the surface

Of the earth, I am the centre of all failure in the

Universe so I, valiantly ride into no-mans-land,

A knight in shining armour except, I have no steel

And no bronze to, protect my heart from the cannon fire

Of pain, I have no shield to shelter me from the

Poison gas of self-hatred. But I am perfectly okay being

Defenceless in the brazen gunfire; I am still breathing,

The titanium arrows of misery protruding neatly from

My mangled limbs and my broken heart.

And that word, sombre and dark as ever

Flashes once in my head and I swat it away with

Deep-rooted disgust, and a dire hunger for such a desire.

Suicide;

Society tells me it’s a ***** word.
Possibly the first time i've ever written explicitly about this particular, raw and deeply personal topic.I always seem to skim stones and step over pebbles when integrating this into my poetry. But at 5:12am today I said, **** it, the world needs to hear this.
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