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Liz Jan 2015
My couch is a wasteland,
Pulls me down, I cannot stand.
It scares me that I’m drawn to gore,
I see destruction, I want more.
I don’t know if its anger,
Or if it’s something stranger.
I want to shatter glass,
I need to make this feeling pass.
I want to throw things and scream,
I want to get out of this dream.
Running isn’t satisfying,
I feel like I need to break something.
Jan Harak Jan 2015
Rain comes
the flood
from her eyes
and she tries
to resist desire

Torment
disguised
as a love
as a friend
as her lover

Rain drops
falling down
touch the ground
cold as ice
extinguished her fire

He touched her face
and she bites
and she screams
and she cries
but it doesn't matter

And she tries
to hit him hard
to make it stop
as the clothes
are ripped apart

She does not like
the taste of ***
his dead eyes
how he cringes her hand
doesn't matter

Doesn't matter
she screams
she cries
she's passed out
but he keeps making "love"
Just a story...
Sally A Bayan Jan 2015
This morning was cold and a foggy one.
It reminded me of a past colder morning,
When the holiday hustle and bustle had just ended.
I was here....at Windwood Park,
My arms squeezed across my chest.
While briskly I walked, a strong wind blew
And by me, a flock of black birds flew...

I passed along house gardens, with Christmas trees,
With angels and stars on their tops still lighted.
Further on was a row of evergreens,
Upright, unaffected by the cold December winds,
High above the Magnolias and Hollies.
Beside the orange-purplish Birds of Paradise
Stood two smaller, obliquely grown pine trees;
Leaning, but undaunted by the sway of the winds,
No angels, or stars to show....instead, I watched as
The Crows approached, and on the tree tops, they alighted...
And then came another group of three,
And then several more followed suit,
And settled
On the nearby trees,
Blurring the tree line...until
The treetops were darkly shaded....

High above, they perch...on the grass, they search,
On the streets, they cross, pick up food, doing
What birds of the same feathers do---to survive...
A group of beaked, footed, dark crescent creatures
On top of those trees, so green with life,
Against a sky pleasantly clear and blue...
The contrasts, the events I witnessed, lingered with the cold...
A small patch of darkness...emerging,
Widening, prevailing, gaining power,
Can eventually conquer a whole world.

The White Egrets, Herons, the Finch,
The Bluebirds, Junkos and the Parrots
Usually grace Windwood Park with their presence...
Only the Blue Jay was brave enough that cold morning,
While a large number of Crows scattered,
And bravely, skillfully scavenged,
Through the wet, verdant grass,
Through the tall cans of thrash...

This morning, the cold brought back these events...and
I thought of the violence and starvation existing in places worldwide,
The prevailing restlessness, the senseless killings...the children....
No more concern for human lives...and
I thought of Nigeria...
And Pakistan,
And Paris, France,
And those that happened before them,
And those that are about to happen...

Sally

Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


...we never know what we may witness when we step out of our
   comfort zones...
*Just a flash of a thought....I have nothing against these persistent birds.
  I watch the urban Crows everyday, as they fearlessly do their scavenging, with or without  people around. They even come to our doorway. They are not afraid...*
Knead your problems into dough
none of them can survive
at 375 degrees Fahrenheit

When you wake up late
add one chocolate chip
for every minute of morning you missed
take out one chocolate chip
for every time you are unkind

A teaspoon of sugar
for every crumb
that he left on your eggshell heart
a tablespoon of salt
for each time you’ve missed the way
his callused hands felt on your voice box

Drift away on clouds of flour
float down rivers of vanilla extract
a dozen cookies for every time you’ve flinched
at the sound of your own breath

On your knees
burn your throat
watch the cookies resurrect
flush to decompose.
Chloe Jan 2015
You say that you love me,
Passion screaming in your eyes,
As your fingers caress my skin,
Adorning my limbs with green and black.

You say that you need me,
Desperation in every tremble,
As you wrap your fingers round my neck,
Marking me as 'yours'.

You cry that you're sorry,
Hunching over me with guilt,
That hits you like a wave,
Looking at the broken girl lying on the floor.

If love is always this twisted,
This deceitful and manipulative,
Then I'd rather not love at all,
Than go through this twisted hell,

**That they call love.
Parker Louis Jan 2015
You used to like the word **** until it was screamed at you with sheer malice
You used to like green tea until a mug of it was thrown at you and it shattered against the wall
You used to like smoking until a cigarette scorched your skin
You used to like letters until one was never sent back
You used to like adventures until you got lost
You used to love me
You used to
2/22/2014. I wrote this while at a friend of the girl I was dating's house  when her mom yelled "****"t (Which to me is sexist and shouldn't be used) and it made me uncomfortable and inspired this.
Silence Screamz Jan 2015
Smack me
Hit me
Lock me in the dark

Stain me
Drain me
Falling off my mark

Hurt me
Break me
Hide all my pain

Stab you
**** you
Gone with all the rain
Violence from inside..mental torture
SMN Jan 2015
I sometimes wonder
how my life would have turned out
if I had just told them those unspoken feelings
back then when I could but I couldn't
but now it's time
the feelings locked up inside of me
is now ready to be released and unlocked
maybe my life will change
6 years to late

*(s.m)
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