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Danielle Jul 2015
They burn them, no remorse
They laugh at them, it's just a game
They whip them.  Afterall, they're the ones to blame
We watch in silence, lips zipped shut
in defiance, or is it fear?
Tear by tear we cry from them
Smelling the stench of burning flesh,
eyes stinging. Is this some kind of Test?
We hear their shrieks
until we are certain they are our own
Ears ringing, voices faint, noses clogged with ash
Take this gun and shoot me
I'll be free from this at last
mk Jul 2015
this year,
I'll wear purple on christmas
maybe add a little blue here & there
a splash of red near my sleeves
ah, yes, that'll do well
// it's gone too far //
Mel Little Jul 2015
Four Marines lost their lives to what is being called domestic terrorism.
Some sicko with a gun shoots these guys. One of the dead is just 19 years old.
I did not cry because I was sad that four American men lost their lives to violence.
I cried because for the first time, I'm so glad that you're in Japan, so glad that you're so far away.
I'm so glad you're alive.
I hate this. We lose mere children in uniform every day. And I'm always thankful that it's not mine instead of sorrowful to think that they were someone else's.
Falling into the eyes of the wise
Where blinds are pulled into the lies
Told by the blind who can see through
The disguise of the soul called home
With nowhere to go and burning visions
Of disastrous decisions made of truth
Secrets told void of proof and ruthless clues
All pointing to the death of the deaf
Who heard there was nothing to prove
No sins committed out of kindness
Hold any fondness from the innocent at heart
Whose shards and shattered parts collect dust
Upon the relevance of lust and love
With a weakness and craving for the below
Because the above has nothing to show
Nowhere to go in the minds of the irrelevant
And mindless arrogance of the righteous
With evidence against the likeness of violence
Yet, the morally adept find time to change the minds
Of every kind of sin felt towards the blind and deaf
With ears and eyes to hear and see through the lies
About the so called wise after their deaths
DawynSHunter Jul 2015
If i could
I would leave right now
Be stripped of my name
Be stripped of it now

All of the yelling and screaming
I've just had enough
of all the false statements
and all the false love
"Words have the power to change us"
I know this is true
From all the threats
and those words you
Threw at me
******* in me
That i could never be

Here
Breathing
Near death....
Yet still breathing
going backwards and forwards
Between the plams of your hand
Worth nothing yet
But my name is a brand
Slammed
Into me
Marking me with blotchy stains
I'm cuffed in chains, that hold me down

If i could
I would be stripped of my name
and leave right now
Kale Jul 2015
Do you ever have those
Dreadful moments
Where you thought
To blow up the world
Because nothing is going your way.
You curse the air you breathe
But the words come out in
Nimble squawks.
You try to bottle up
Every feeling you ever had
Because you know
If there was any slightest
Examination of your mind
You would be sent to jail
Or the psychiatric ward.
Anger the demon
That feeds off of every word
You said in past years
Is the reason behind many of these
Complex emotions.
We may try to stop it.
But eventually
It will consume us and hurt
Those who are near
elizabeth Jul 2015
he was always told not to be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf;
the big bad wolf and his big bad claws and his big bad fangs and the wicked way his eyes would gleam r e d in the dark.
do not be afraid,
                           liebling
, his mother would say,
brushing his hair from his forehead before kissing him goodnight.
he would curl under the covers,
                                                         ­ curl in,
                                                                ­        curl in,
                                                                ­                     curl –

oh, no.

do not be afraid of the big bad wolf, he tells himself,
staring at his mother’s coffin as it is lowered slowly into the ground.
(it was not an open casket. could not be an open casket. her lip was split and swelling and the bruise over her eye was too dark to cover and his father’s knuckles are still red and raw to the touch.)
do not be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf,
but when his father lays a meaty hand on his shoulder and squeezes,
                                                       ­                                                                 ­   he shivers.

“i am not afraid of the big bad wolf,” he says into the mirror,
staring at his own split and swelling lip.
he meets felix and loves felix and does not bring felix home with him –
until the day that he does.

“he’s not the big bad wolf anymore,” felix says when he tells him what he’s done.
his clothes are rank with smoke and burning flesh,
                                                          ­                                and he remembers his mother, and the closed casket at her funeral.
“i know,” he says, straightening his tie.
(this casket is closed, too.)

there is no such thing as the big bad wolf,
not now, not today, not when the time for fairy tales has long since passed.
now, his hands itch for a gun,
now, his fingers itch to pull the trigger,
now, he is restless and he is ****** and he is a criminal.
(who’s the big bad wolf now?)

“my father was a monster. and so are you. and so am i.”
his funeral will be a closed casket, too. he smiles.
                                                                ­                       kala weeps.
he sticks the gun in his back pocket and thinks of his mother.
do not be afraid,
                            liebling.

i am not, he wants to tell her. i am not. not anymore.

(but still he sleeps with the gun beneath his pillow still he dreams of retribution from hands dripping with blood still he wakes and forgets that he is safe still he breathes and is afraid, deep down, is afraid of the wolf he has become.)
insp. by wolfgang bogdanow from sense8
Soiled in fear, brandishing courage
They march on
To the cry of left-right-left
A far cry from the rhythm of nature,
Like horses wearing blinkers,
The uniform not quite merging
With the throbbing green-brown landscape,
I wonder, if they ever wonder,
If they’re chasing their enemy,
Or plotting an escape?
Do they know,
Whom they’re trying to hide from?
The men on the other side, or nature herself,
Committing an unnatural act as they were?
Or,
Is this a twisted version of
Survival of the fittest at play?
The soldiers retreat into the jungle
A flying bird on its way back to its nest,
Eclipses the setting sun for a split second,
They mistake it for a military plane,
Take aim and witness the giant shadow
Shrink to a fluttering blob of life
Writhe and then lie still,
As it landed on the ground,
The sun sets in this unnatural setting of
Survival of the fittest.
BarelyABard Jul 2015
You want to breathe my shadow?
You want to feel my rage?
You want to see me howl and roar like phantom wolves inside a cage?


They throw my body in cell,
I bare my teeth and grin.
They leave me where I tripped and fell but I remember
every
sin...
My eyes,
they stare,
my face is calm...
But creatures stir inside my veins...

If I let go of all control,
the fire of hell would swallow me whole.

What's this...?

But you my dear...
you wish to see,
the darkest parts I hide in me...
I find it strange,
I can't explain,
you choose to never turn and run.
You touch my lips and gently kiss
what burns like violence from the sun...

Well if you insist...

Show me your anger. Show me your rage.
Open my body,
page by page...
Give me wounds inside this cage.

Roar with my fear,
moan in my ear,
scream with me,
perhaps we'll see...
why your demons play so well with me...
Well this one is different...
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