Aloof in the wind, perfectly poised to the sun.
Dressed in the disguise of men he’d seen in movies.
Waiting, in the wrinkles of leather jackets
Waiting, intoxicating scent of cigarettes
Hiding with teeth infested vines
Hiding, fingers meshed into the roots
Cowering, it can’t hide from a mind so sharp it wounds him
A disgusting entity , suffering.
Oozing, contorting to fit the eye of the beholder
Repulsive vines splutter bitter sap that once seemed so sweet to me
Yeah so this was some vent poetry, I think we’ve all unfortunately met someone like this. Any comments are much appreciated.
She never played by the rules,
she asked me to hide.
I wasn't going to be the victim,
shorty had a blade but I wasn't
being her victim,
postcode, different rules.
Duchess of divinity,
Biter of brewing dreams
A witch in disguise,
Forever I despise,
Your handcrafted lies
With tweezers I relieve her of the pearls within her eyes / The experiment is finished: Experience and I have ****** her dry / Iris-less she cries, but her tears arise like incense to the skies / How sweet the fragrant plumes of her demise! / I ignore her cries; I have gained my prize / And soon her voice will wane / An infinity of ever-fading sighs | An affinity for exculpatory lies...
You gazed at the endless field of flowers
Stalking and scanning them by the hour.
So, you plucked one to keep in your room
Now this one awaits their doom.
It’s actually quite fun
if you can accept it
to your own slow fingers,
But gather it all up
dirt, wet for preference,
as missiles targeted
At the dark heart hated
by us all
and by all means repeat
until the target becomes
There. Hopefully you feel
I feel your presence shift past me.
To you, I am simply a memory.
A memory that has been tarnished throughout time.
An enemy perhaps.
To me, you are a ghost.
Stuck in time, without the knowledge of this collective reality.
Stuck in a cycle of decline and reassign.
You stand in limbo, observing your own mistakes.
But in your created reality, there are no such mistakes...
A ghost broken down by their choice of travel,
But blames the damage on the road itself.
You can only twist a story so far before the pages tear and split.
sick of all the
games everyone plays,
and all the
rules I have to abide to,
sick of all the things
I need to do,
and all the times
I must silence
sick of going
through the hardships
just to enjoy the
good times for
a little while,
sick of proving
my success, my self-love,
sick of stressing
about life before it happens,
and forgetting to just live.
jumping in the middle of the ocean,
hoping you know how to swim.
you thought it wouldn’t hurt anymore
it wasn’t supposed to
when they took advantage of you again
or stabbed you in the back
but no matter how many times you built up your wall
it was never thick enough to stop the knife