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Blu Jan 7
darling, if our love was a vendetta and your green is written in my blood, i'm only an echo of the nights your eyes reflected moonlight and my heart was sprinkled with stardust.

darling, if our parting was a mistake and my blue is whispered along the curve of your collarbones, i'm only a nightingale singing the ballads of your romance and my tragedy.
almost forgot about this. on day three. ikr, i'm so impressive *hard eyeroll*
rrscc Jan 2019
Who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is a planet away of who.

Who I am is just a person wearing a pretence,
What I am is just a character of what I try to commence.
Where I am, is this visage, carrying the drama in this scene,
Why we are, is where I merely am playing my part, as my actions are already set in the figurine.

It’s not adequately unexpected for the viciousness that is presented in human forms,
Its pretentious validity, in various forms, in vivid and foolproof flaws, as veteran as victim it withholds.
He desert, hides, cloaks or flees. He screams, breaks, vanish, retreats. He hides, shields, masquerade and juggles. All of these patterns that run in circles and hobbles.

We are not disarmed as much by the sword or bullet but rather by our past,
The whispers, the memories, the mistreat that is amassed.
For I too will have vengeance for myself,
For I plan a vendetta that will never be forgotten, and will haunt thyself.

To effectively grow I have to push past the point of my comfort zone and experience inhumane situations,
No expectations of thoughts and feelings, no blank lines or allowance of consultations because I will lose myself and make my own insinuation.

So please let your anger, hate, *******, intimidation,
Your screams, betrayal, pain, instigation
Thy emotions, force, projections and manipulation,
Be my entertainment that only helps my dissimulation.

For who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is the vendetta that’s been bought.
Hunter's haunt
their lifeless thought,
worst and precious.

It makes a permanent
hues of black soul
like it's photographed
from the history
of vendetta.
Val roxas Sep 2017
Foggy clouds, rainy night, smell of petrichor, a different kinds of lightning candles standing on a close bound with a stiff cover of my books and a cup of hot cocoa in my hand.
Thespian, psych, silver coin, poison flame, you committed I’m your crime.
A rainy breezy, cold night my droughty naked body lying on my blue rounded bed, typically a framework with a mattress and coverings. My foot rubbing and playing the quilt clockwise into my clothes. To make love as a silhouette without procrastination. In to fire for making an intense, deeper song, Just to cry out loud.
I realized I gave myself to someone who doesn't care for me, I surrender pieces of my soul that someone's never get back and then I ran to my davenport, my large sofa surrounding my books, beside from those blockings, the xerothermic feels are in surrounding the smell of old books and the silence that aren’t awkward suffer my solitude of emotional chained.
My happiness keeps me sweet,y trials keep me strong, andy failure keeps me humble.
Don't underestimate me, I'm not perfect by any means but my intentions are good.
My nakedness the fields will remember when soon after dawn,
My sweat will fog mountains, holding a weight and trying to cope and question – ‘’Why didn't I do this sooner?"
I was broken and shattered inside, no one notices me!
I give cherished, I give love and my gratitude broke the others too. My dear true friends are still like an angel who always guide me for all times, they are precious and rare, and those false friends are like leaves, I found them scattered everywhere.
But Why I need to hide them into my treasure chest.
Golden flame, poison rain, thought that I’d feel better, I can’t help but wonder.
Why I didn't do this sooner?
Our dearest Society...
My Family, friends, close friends, best friends, fake friends, old mates, room mates, class mates, jolly mates.
In my life I have to be something I'm not in order to fit in and be liked/loved.
People are trying so hard to become something they are not.
I'm done.
I'm done trying to get peoples attention.
I'm done trying to be perfect.
Accept me as I am or leave I don't care anymore.
But thanks to those who hurt me, you made me a better and strong person, thanks to those who Left, you showed me that not everything in this world is forever, thanks to those who stayed, you showed me the meaning of true friends and specially thanks to those entered and **** up my life, you help me become the person I am today.
I can't keep ignoring myself and thinking what other people think matter.
That's hard for me because I always care what people think.
I seek out a forgotten friend, I try to understand, I examine the demands of others, I dismiss suspicions, and replace it with trust I always listen, I forgo a grudge, I shared some treasures, I laughed with them but people don't understand and this is still the hardest thing to deal with.
But I'm trying to get better.
I am okay and doing better for a long time and now I don't let people know to much about me.
And then the next day its like a bomb dropped and I land right back where I started.
I know I'm a lot to deal with and some people don't want that right now.
I'm just trying to find the right people to help fight back and win.
I wake up everyday and put on a fake smile.
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
The forges of my body to the foregone conclusion. Naked body, naked eyes, nakedness words, sounds of rain, the smell of rain, sounds of thunder, light and the roar of lightnings, and shapes of fire and water exploring the air, an uncomprehend silence mocking my scornful night.
A hot cocoa in cup to my hand  finished a three sipped and said
"Don’t be cautious, and don’t be so lovely and kind because, remember? At the very first place ! I am your crime!
I was lonely, living alone, omniscience trembling to perfection, but, - but the restlessness that becomes us and the songs of devotion, dancing through the fire between the rain.
My v is for vendetta,
And now, I don’t need to burn a midnight oil.
Over thinking will lead to sadness, just strike it out.
I need to wake up myself and live a strong life without wearing those masks. I tried and trying again.
Remember this because it will happen many times in your life that I was down and drowned yesterday, watch me tomorrow is my REIGN.
pls. enjoy <3
crdts: billie eilish <3 she is so amazing
Mozes Aug 2016
Alas the crusade sparked vendettas reach
Pools of blood shed boiled with fury
As the shiny spear made its final mark
In the name of vengeance, one solemnly swore
Äŧül Feb 2016
Before she ditched me,
She said it,
"Go to her whom you lost your 'V' to."

Not at all meaning 'V for Vendetta',
She indirectly meant,
'P for purity'.

And I really don't know,
As I've lost it,
I mean that I lost 'M for memory'.

So that only makes me wonder,
If I lost it,
Then too I was reborn.

But my love mattered not,
It didn't to her,
I was just an experimental game.

Love was weak 'coz true it was not,
Again I failed,
Now I'm tired of it.

I'll rather live alone,
Scared of love,
Scared of it I'm to the deepest pit.
I'll let her go now.

My HP Poem #1030
©Atul Kaushal
NewAgeOfAnarchy Nov 2014
The ashes of the utopia will up hold its memory.
As the plundering and despair which the conquerors wish to install becomes reality
Emerging from the ashes of the utopia.

Comes the lighting of vengeance, which strike the conquerors holy city.
The utopias vendetta will be pay in the ****** ashes of the conquerors holy city.

The ashes of the utopia will forge a new order of anarchy, on the ashes of the holy city of vice.
©2014 copyright Michael Cross
NewAgeOfAnarchy Nov 2014
Emerging from the burned ashes of the utopia.
Comes the lighting of vengeance, which will strike the conquerors holy city.
©2014 copyright Michael Cross
Frank Ruland Sep 2014
This internal, infernal, infuriation-
uncut, unbound, unwound
this vendetta is breaking ground
blind rage leaves truth to be found
and who am I to test amnestic tides?

Fetch me the remains of faceless foes!
Like a guillotine cleaves ne'r-do-wells in twain
O' fortune, bestow penance and pain
dance on your grave and spit on your name.
Who are you to run right through?

Blood red moon over my sordid skies;
ghosts of those who stalk hallowed roads.
Never, never, never forget the path you chose.
Every night's a reason for my spite shown--
all my life hate was given right-of-way.
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