I have swallowed dirt
With its unkind taste
Such horror has grown inside of me
Of things filthy and disgusting
I cannot take anymore...

I keep on falling
Yet my blood continues to flow

My feelings are true
Valid and real.
My mind races,
Wonders..
Simply thinking of you.
I love your attention,
Crave your presence.
Need your touch..
But darling I am dangerous
I hurt all that comes near
Run, run far away darling
For I love you my dear,
But that does not matter,
You will simply become the next victim

She was a girl no one could understand.
Her body was her voice
And she was screaming for someone to hear
The unwept tears that were caged by that night,
When she learnt stillness after the storm
Was the earths brave face mourning
What was lost in the fight.

Created to destroy us there deadly poisonous, you pay for it, you pray to quit, but truth be told, you cant kick it. ******* these cancer sticks, that are sold through out our nation. Purposely designed for the decline of our population.  

I'm just another victim with the sickness, no stoping now addiction. This poem is called addicted, for those who smoke the death sticks, of tobacco but try to quit.

Its a habit you cant lift, and even packaged like a gift. Just try one have it, light another with matches. I started smoking to fit in, then it developed into a habit. These demons in a pack of 20, constrict my lungs and turn them black. I know the risks yet still I smoke, why must I buy this pack.

Oblivious  to you lies and
Distracted by your smile only gave you
  More time to play me for awhile
          But we ended so you had to find a new victim ,somehow I became the victim
Of your new relationship guess I couldn't  
                      Escape your grip
I used a bat and some pliers to free myself
                           It worked
I thought I was too poise to get physical
     But sometimes when your pushed
To the edge ,falling is theonly way to go
        Next time dont disturb a goddess at peace they dont like to be bothered.

if victims were the cause we'd rearrange the letters to say *******
because its like taking a gun and aiming it at your morality, involuntarily
do you know how that feels? while you're sitting behind 5-star meals talking about how you arranged your latest will
but nobody was listening when I read the will for my morality
that died not a natural death, but a heart wrenching punch to the chest
that took all the air from the rest of my body and left me lifeless
do you know how that feels?
because being a victim is not victorious its vicious
when my wishes change from wishing to have the life back
to have the knife withdrawn from my back
of everyone who couldn't find positive words to respond
but they had to say something
so they found shallow
chastising
silence
because somehow I caused myself to be broken
but this story has a bright end
because none of that happened
because it took me 18 years to mention it to anyone
while I was still figuring out the definition of victim
and its just one

No. 1

there is a pane of glass
which now occupies the air between us

an indifferent arrow has flown through it
leaving a web of cracks

for which I am trapped
reaching for you

No. 2

the light you bend reaches across room
the same distance travels your voice

it makes me a ghost not to touch you with all that I am
exhaling wanting in your direction

as stars are brought down over head
by the weight of unfulfilled wishes

No. 3

victim to a whisper
pious to an echo

tomorrow I'll be swallowed
I didn't even need a name

lost and unwanted things are entitled
to each other so long as they don't hide

no. 4

it's an open hand
it's a broken window

it's a perpetually naive sky
it's off beat but we're out of line

and I'm waiting for you
one hundred percent of the time

no. 5

out of context
misshapened in parallax

past my expiration date
but you looked at me in a way that dared both of us to exist

when all this is dust
the loudest we'll ever get to be is a secret

It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4
      Beginnings of the Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the
      Jews, flat perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not
      especially Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone.
      Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler       on the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to
      My Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to
      the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.

Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride
      to my eye.

Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the
      European, African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of
      elements, bags of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily
      compassionate toward the mother, earth, the goddess,
      history, or some such abstraction and, thus, acted on a
      fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting ****** for the burning of the Jews.

i.
you will flinch everytime someone mentions his name. actually, you will flinch anytime anyone says anything which even vaguely sounds like his name. sometimes it seems that half the town has his name, when the truth is that you're just oversensitive about it.

 **ii.
when someone touches you accidently or stares at you for a moment too long, you will feel the need to rush home and scrub every inch of your body until it bleeds because you feel so disgusted with yourself, inside & out.

iii.
when someone makes ***** jokes about you, you will look at the floor & listen to every word silently because a part of you still believes that all you are good for is your body

iv.
you feel the need to delete every conversation, every call history, every account on social media, every mark of a past with anyone and everyone because you're afraid that somehow, it will be used against you

v.
when someone asks you for a picture of you (even if they're in the picture with you), you will be incredibly hesitant and will have to force yourself to send it over. you don't want anyone to have any living proof of contact with you. you want to hide away.

vi.
whenever you are in a situation where you are not 100% in control, you will start having severe anxiety attacks. you cannot let yourself go. you cannot relax.

vii.
in relationships, you will always want the option to walk out because you feel claustrophobic the second it seems as if there's no way out. even if you never plan on walking away, you need the option. you need to know you're free, and for once, not bound to anyone forcefully

viii.
the thought of promising someone to be there's forever scares you because the idea of being tied down suffocates you

ix.
enclosed spaces will scare you. you will be unable to breathe and/or function in situations where there is no way out of a specific area such as in an elevator or a plane. you never had an issue with closed spaces before him.

x.
when someone brings up topics like domestic abuse and **** and shrugs them off as if they're nothing, your heart shrivels inside as memories flood your mind. but you have to remind yourself that not everyone knows that you're a survivor. and just because to you it seems as if there's a red label on your forehead saying "look at her, look at the disgusting things she's done", doesn't mean the label actually exists

xi.
every sector of your life will be influenced by the scars he left upon your mind, body & soul

xii.
you will never forgive nor forget

xiii.
some nights, you still won't be able to sleep in fear of waking up next to him

xiv.
at times, you'll still feel him on your skin

xv.
you will still feel him deep within

xvi.
this is never going to end. it'll never get easier, you'll just learn to live with it.

xvii.
& they'll call you a survivor, but all you'll ever be is a broken kid forced to give up your innocence long before you even had the chance to learn how valuable innocence is

xviii.
you'll never be the dictionary definition of "okay"

xix
what scares you the most, however, are the thoughts which enter your mind late at night, making you question whether, after everything has been said and done, *you still love him