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LC Apr 19
a statue quietly lurks
in the corner of my mind,
waiting until all is calm.
when the dark shroud
falls over the blue sky,
the statue comes to life
as a vicious, fang-bearing,
red-eyed, gnarly demon.
the demon pulls a dream apart
with its long, pointy claws,
injecting the shreds with poison
until they tangle up in each other
to become a tight, infectious knot
that can only be waking up.
#escapril day 18!
Tanay Sengupta Jul 2020
Abuse is a vicious cycle
that defiles and murders love.
It is a game
that only breeds hatred.
It uses shame
as a weapon.
In this vicious cycle; hearts no longer beat,
they get replaced by fists.
In this vicious cycle;
the tattoos that were meant for affection
become nothing but scars on the wrists
of those who were once lovers.
It awakens a bloodlust and makes monsters
out of strong people.
No, not monsters. It makes recidivists
out of strong people.
The strong abusing the weak,
a norm that continues to contribute to the cycle of abuse
It is a cycle that forces us to make love
to our doubts.
It keeps on violating us until our self-doubts
have consumed us
we've evolved to hate ourselves.
Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2020.
All Rights Reserved.
Mitch Prax Jan 2020
after heartbreak-
can you make me
believe that love isn't
this vicious?
MisfitOfSociety Dec 2019
People like you love to **** in the wind,
But get upset when your clothes get all wet.
Your mouth must be just another *******,
Because all I hear is **** coming out of it!

You are nothing but a disease!
A disease, a growth, a cancer!

You are what you make!
And you made yourself a victim!
There is no cure for this!
You are your own poison!

You love to feed.
You love to feed on others.
We mean nothing to you.
We're just something for you to sink your teeth into!

You bloodsucking, parasitic vampire!
You're a disease, a growth, a cancer!

You come and you feed and then you disappear!
Tanay Sengupta Feb 2019
A few tears rolled down my cheek.
I had been hurt before
But, this time the wound was really deep.

I have never felt this weak.
My world is now upside down
And I cannot sleep.

War is an elusive lover.
Don't fall for its charms
And lose yourself forever.

I have discovered.
Hatred is a vicious cycle
This chaos makes me shiver.

All I want is to see,
A beautiful world
Where no war is fought
Where no soldiers die.

Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2019.
All Rights Reserved
It is just a compilation of thoughts that came to my mind after a recent incident. As usual, this is just a perception and I have kept it simple.
Chris Feb 2019
A vicious *******, in the dark, alone.
Soon a supper, perhaps.
Nice tasting ***** around the bones,
First, a need to chew through that.

A vicious *******, in the cafe, beside you,
Near the window, near the door,
Wants to put something inside you,
leave you bleeding on the floor.

A vicious ******* in the office,
Near the cube, near the booth,
Offering to bring you coffee,
Stick his **** in, break the tooth.

Vicious bastars all of them,
Waiting, polishing their guns,
Some are family, some are friends,
All are close, and you should run.
A pesimistic outlook on life where you're surrounded by people who mean to use you on every step.
duang fu Jan 2019
In the town up north
They hide the sons and daughters
Who seek refuge under the light of the setting sun
The children who hide
From sons of daughters pregnant with absinthe
Heavy with intoxication
And daughters of sons looming with angry fists
Guns fiery with magazines of threats

When they see no one’s home
Sons of daughters head west
They proclaim "we’re not needed here"
Daughters of sons head east
They cry "we’re not acknowledged here"
So when the children return
The house has moved down southward

When they leave for their own
Easts and wests on their foggy compasses
History trips them on the feet of new strangers
In a murky, yellowed sea of foul leftovers
They make unions on flimsy wooden boats
But when they return home as the sun disappears
Their children have been taken along with the light
I Don’t Know How But They Found Me - Absinthe
written 22 december 2018 10.54pm
memoona kazmi Jan 2019
and when i try to look,
through the red velvet curtains,
of my murky room,
i see moon,
drenched in blood,
looking as vicious as it could be,
half red moon,
moon tinted with red drops,
drops of her blood,
and no matter what i try,
to look for,
a red haunted moon,
is all i see,
oh i see it......
Andrew Rueter Dec 2018
Through the trees
I hear the screams
From killing sprees
Where critters feed
And their prey bleeds
In dire need
Of a savior steed
To come running from the hills
But all I see are landfills
Made from man’s will
In this selfish standstill
Trying to band bills
For canned thrills

I hear the screams of animals
They can’t be examined though
I must deal with cannibals
That are shooting cannonballs
While the innocence of man falls
And only the vicious stand tall
In the forests and town halls
The killers control it all

I must watch my own back
For a predatory attack
So I run through the forest
Staying on my own track
Until I’ve become the sorest
Making my vision black
So I join the vicious pack
Of wolves that eviscerate
Less fortunate creatures
Accepting my vicious fate
In this dismal feature

The animals I had to defeat
Now hang from my teeth
Like a sword in its sheath
Their life I deplete
For a night’s sleep
Of the mighty elite
By joining the feet
That trample and beat

I’m an evil force
Until I see the horse
That’ll change the course
Advising us to avoid the source
Of that which causes pain
Yet that’s my vicious game
So I feel the richest shame
But I’m ignored all the same
Yearning for fields of grain
Growing outside of my lane
Nourishing the timid and tame
Who I convinced myself were lame
Who’ve now broken the chains
Of hell’s flames

I drew from the vicious well
Now I live in a parallel
Spare hell
Blocking the stairwell
To the place the mare sells
Of refreshing fair smells
Instead of the death in this abyss
I should’ve uncurled my fist
To make the steed’s list
So I might’ve found bliss
Now I must fulfill my wish
Of viciousness
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
Julian Delia Oct 2018
The last, few drops of beer;
You tilt the glass back,
It now becomes clear.
You step off the bar stool,
As drunk as a czar’s fool.
Your mouth tastes like a graveyard;
****, has walking always been this hard?

You find your way home, somehow.
Balance and vision are now impaired;
****, is there somewhere I can get my liver repaired?
It’s now a challenge to get to the kitchen.
You’re in no position to think,
So you just sit there and pour another drink.
At those minutes turning to hours on your clock, you stared.
For this life, you realise you were not prepared.

You shuffle and scuffle your way to the couch;
You stumble, your stomach starts to grumble.
This is the moment, the solemn promise;
You swear you will never dare do this again.
You tear at your hair in drunken throes,
In the late hours of the night,
Hopelessly trying to shed your woes.

You wake up on the morrow,
A pitiful mixture of regret and sorrow.
Your hangover follows you around like a faithful hound,
You feel like your soul has been hollowed out.
You swear once more, ‘that was my last beer;’
But, we both know, you’re far from being in the clear.
Does this sound familiar?
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