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seethroughme Sep 2018
i used you
as a weapon
to beat myself
senseless
until all that was left was
meat
i made you my weapon
and i am sorry
Leavin' aint always gone
Because your soul cries out in confusion
Cries out in anger's anger
Cries out in protest

Leavin' ain't always gone
It's just harder to seek reason
Harder to make insanity sane
Harder to make the wrong right

Leavin' ain't always gone
Because the loss of life opens pain
Opens the past anxiety
Opens healed over wounds

Leavin' ain't always gone
Just finding a new resonance
Finding a new resistance
Finding its strength in numbers

Cause leavin' ain't always gone
When it's buried

For Trayvon Martin
2012
This was produced from my anxiety upon hearing of a young Black man's ****** in FL USA
April Sep 2018
I fear our world is going mad
This place that we call home
With fires, gunshots, protests, panic,
Chaos rules and we react

Our laws mean nothing in the cosmos
Nature cares naught for our lives
I fear the world will end in fire
Lit by flames of our unrest
Janelle M Rivera Sep 2018
The cries I never had to hear
ring in my head;
keep my heart heavy.
Cries of loved ones;
cries of lost ones.
        Gunshots ring louder.
        Voices grow quieter.
Faces become shadows.
Lights once flickering bright,
fade into the night.
We scroll quickly with mindless fingers
while they fade like distant memories.
Faces to be forgotten.
Until it happens,
        again.
        No time to mourn.
I fade into an abyss
of news and media
filled with violence;
an abyss called hopelessness.
       We disappear
              into its darkness
                       together.
This piece came from the numbness I felt in reading about all of the shootings that had been done this year. I was overwhelmed and wanted to take time to mourn but even trying to do that was overwhelming. I believe that real change can happen but, there are times when you just feel paralyzed. This poem doesn’t have to only apply to shootings in the U.S. but can be related to any systematic acts of violence in the world. I hope that those who read this won’t feel alone in their numbness and know that it’s okay to feel this way.
Anya Sep 2018
How much conscience must one lack to
**** a fictional character
But it’s not a matter of how much one lacks
Because to them,
The video game
Board game
Character
That lies in the figments of one’s thoughts
Is not living
Simply empty shells
With a name
Easy
Too easy to swipe off a board
To swipe off a screen

But then again,
Are they easy to erase because they are not living?

For, there are people in the profession of-
People who raise to slaughter-
People who make sport out of-
Animals
Specifically,
Their deaths
To raise, end, and eat
Wilder animals to catch
And place in a cage
Loss of freedom
Or loss of live
What kind of a choice is that?

So then, if not living
The
Line must be drawn at humans
Isn’t that the case?
But, isn’t it also true
That a human life can disappear at a simple,
...
neth jones Sep 2018
I don't understand violence
In the moment it does not come to hand
I do feel violence
I fantasise violence
I fever my brain with panting anger
But
It's a testing station within a fiction
My practices trace other patterns
And these aggressive thoughts are just obstacles
Yet
I pray host
And I know that
I truly am
A violent man

                                - Mr. Sands
cleo May 2018
i had a dream about you last night.

i’m wearing mismatched socks.
my face, bruised and ******
my body, slumped
in the corner of the handicap stall.
you’re standing above me
smiling, happy even.

“not happy, just killing time”.
your voice so soft, so sweet
the perfect lullaby
to put me to sleep.
i pass out from your love.

i woke up this morning
phone cord wrapped around my neck.
felt like a noose,
felt like you.
“i didn’t mean to hurt you”
(but you’ll do it again).

cigarettes in the backyard.
crossed legs on the patio table.
it feels like my stomach is filled with acid
and my head is filled with smoke.
you grabbed me and it stung like a bee.
i want to drink ’til i forget you.
i want to get so high that i forget myself.

i’m no angel.
i’m just a little dolly who gets broken easily.
i’m an artist using their own body as a canvas,
razor blades for brushes, blood for paint.
be a disaster with me.
ruin me with your eyes,
fill my soul with *****
and break my bones.

i’m feeling emotionally dead inside.
like forgotten flowers in the attic,
unfilled holes in the ceiling.
i’m hollow.
like vintage television sitcoms,
trap doors in old houses.

the chambers of my heart are filled
with cobwebs and spider eggs.
eyelids swollen shut.
mud up to my ears;
i’m choking on worms.
you’re killing me
but a very muffled “i forgive you”
still manages to escape my lips.

there is no remedy for a sickness quite like this.
M Solav Sep 2018
La porte qui claque
A creusé un trou
Plus noir que noir
Dans le silence
De ta mémoire.

Le silence qui frappe -
Qui luit partout -
Quand vient le soir,
Il plaie les panses
Et te rend fou.

Ces plaies ouvertes
Se taisent et pleurent;
Le vacarme discret
Te couvre de secousses
Et disparaît.

Enveloppé dans tes draps,
La lumière devenue ligne,
Une porte entre-ouverte -
Tu voudrais qu'elle t’explique
Cet état d'alerte.

Le temps fait violence
Mais s'apaise comme le vent.
Très vite tu t'endors,
Et les mots se font tendre
Arrivé à bon port.

La veille se couvre d'un voile
Enroulé sur tes nuits.
Toujours l'éclat de noirceur
Qui alors t'attaqua
Luira sur ta vie.
Écrit en janvier 2018 sous le titre « Trauma ».


— Droits d'auteur © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

Cette oeuvre ne peut être utilisée ni en partie ni dans son intégrité sans l'accord préalable de l'auteur. Veuillez s'il vous plaît contacter marsolav@outlook.com pour toute requête d'usage. Merci beaucoup.
__________
Aa Harvey Sep 2018
This is my Blood Bowl.


Thank you Games Workshop for giving us Blood Bowl;
I’ve played it all my life and I’ve completely re-written the rules.
It allows my imagination to run wild carrying a sword,
Attacking all sorts of creatures, whilst playing American Football.
It has magic, magic items and you may think it’s just for kids;
But without Blood Bowl,
I wouldn’t have imagined half of the things that I did.


People need a release from the real world;
Mine is found on a football pitch in the game of Blood Bowl.
People cheat, steal and bribe referees and do almost anything.
If you give this game to your kid,
They could imagine the impossible
And some day, maybe, write random poetry like me!  He, he.


…And now down to the pitch to see the kickoff!...


The humans line up against the bad boy orcs;
The dwarfs and elves are in support.
Chaos lords and chaos spawn (twisted creatures);
Rain down pain and death on the undead and the living.


The undead walk slowly, the goblins flee!
Rat Ogres and trolls are invading the pitch!
The referee blows his whistle to send the giant off!
The deadly dark elves chop the referee’s up with chainsaws,
Or use swords and axes, grenades and clubs.
They are all fighting to win the B.B.C. cup.


The Blood Bowl Championship;
It’s like the NFL Superbowl trophy.
I’ve made leagues and cups
And every single thing possible, just for fun; just for me.


The Official Blood Bowl Organization,
Try to make all weapons illegal, but oh no, no, no!
This is the sport of death!  
This is Blood Bowl!


Use spells and magic items and cause suffering;
The tiny snotling is beaten by the little Halfling.
The ***** in there somewhere, though nobody cares;
The Beastmen are just here to fight,
Whilst the gnomes laugh at the high elves hair.
Such pampered fools, in love with themselves;
Vanity and self-love?  That must be the elves.


Here comes a chaos dwarf, driving a steam roller;
He flattens the Fimir and another vampire.
The zombies are clueless and one fumbles the ball,
Before he is decapitated, by the Reikland Reavers’ Mighty Zug!


The ghoul’s are hungry for blood;
Here come the orks, the band of goffs.
Crazy *** gitz, just having a laugh.
Here are the sneaky Skaven to stab someone in the back.


Amazonian women are running around screaming,
Like the banshee’s and all sorts of scary demons.
The Sisters of Battle are from the future;
A bear charges at a Treeman and look!  There’s a little Gnoblar.


Giant bats, giant snails, giant rats and giant eagles,
Giant leeches, giant frogs, giant spiders and giant scorpions.
The norse are Vikings, (ranked titles include kings);
There’s a termagant from the year 40,000 and something.
There are space marines, and space wolf marines,
All armed to the teeth with weapons.


The genestealer’s steal genes to make new creatures/weapons;
There are evil gnomes, evil ewoks, ewoks and evil Treemen.
Lesser demons fight lesser goblins and run from the Lictor!
The werebear’s and werewolves fight the wolves and Saurus creatures.
There is no victor.


The skinks fire poisoned blowpipes at the Large beasts & minions.
Chaos Halflings beat up people on camels and horses
And they beat up Khemri with anything.
Mummies climb out of their crypts to bring death to the mutants;
The slayers are here to bring down the mighty bone giants.


The noble Brettonians see Blue and Pink Horrors running around;
Tyranids, Tyranid warriors and tyrants send people underground.
Dead now in this game of Blood Bowl; the game of death!
Witch elves are being hunted by Witch Hunters;
There’s only three left.


To the right is a Zoat fighting a huge Yeti.
A chaos human rides a chaos horse; look out Goddess Betty.
Greater demons bring down Griffons and **** the crazy monkeys;
The mushlings and snotrooms are simply fleeing and screaming.


Skeletons on skeletal horses, fight salamanders and satyrs.
Jabberwocks and Juggernauts,
Destroy Hydra’s with the Hydra’s own fire.
Chaos Warriors and Chaos human cowboys, slug it out with Gods;
Norse dwarves fight Nurgles rotter’s and nurgling’s fight ogres.


The slann were the originators of the game of Blood Bowl;
The Ushabti Tomb Kings come from Khemri to fight the robotic Tau.
Vostroyan drunks are fighting with Wood elves.
Oh my God!  That troglodyte really does smell!


Warhounds race Gladehounds and cyborg’s fight cyboar’s;
Big cats include tigers and lions, so we must quickly carry on.
A carrion is an undead bird and they are ****** huge!
The imperial guard are like the rebels in Terminator;
They are humans.


Kroxigor’s smash boney clubs & break Kroot’s predator-like heads;
Kislevite Horsemen and Cowboy’s ride horses onto the pitch.
Night goblin’s and forest goblin’s steal from all including the Eldar.
They are elves of the future and there are chaos space marines…

They have travelled far.


Every creature has come to take part in this game of football.
Its American football with death included; it’s so much fun!
Harpy fly above Haradhrim as a Necron breaks his own jaw;
He fell over when dodging the tomb scorpion’s claw.


Thrall and Wights march to battle on the pitch against the living;
Undead champions are leaders of death
And the minotaur’s eat the dead.  
Nobody knows who is winning.
Chimera and other daemonic beasts are really tough to ****, I see;
But that boar just exploded, thanks to the grenade…
Bye life, hello death; he, he.


Elementals are like Gods of earth, wind, water and fire.
Dragon ogres are going to **** anything that gets in their way!
Dreadnoughts are made to ****; there’s a wolf!
This undead one’s dire.
Dryad are small Treemen; there are some Elite Skaven!
Open fire!


Savage orcs fight sea elves as squig hopper’s bounce past randomly.
Ungor’s are little Beastmen, but there are still quite deadly.
Manticores destroy lizardmen and there’s a blood-soaked cold one.
Bull centaur’s charge at black orc’s,
Who are ganging up with a chaos champion.


Centaurs crash into carnosaur’s,
As Dark eldar fly down from their space ships.
Hobgoblins can’t be trusted; the thieving gits!
Orc leaders are warlords, bosses and big bosses too;
The Redemptionists are the priest from aliens 3 or aliens 2.
Whichever I can’t remember and haven’t got time to look;
Oh yeah let’s watch the game again and see who has got the ball.


Golem!  (phlegm!)  Golem!  No; not that one!
These golems are Flesh golem’s and some are made of stone.
They are creature of magic and are here to smack some heads;
And this is the end of the poem…

Dedicated to Games workshop (thank you) and the sport of death!


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jack L Martin Aug 2018
What do you know of war?  
First person shooter
Simulated gun fire
computerized blood splatter

What do you know of war?
Tag team alliance
Kids slaying kids
for virtual dollars

What do i know of war?
I saw the carnage
Devastation, the horrors
The smell of death

What do i know of war?
The pain haunts me
every day
every hour
It NEVER goes away!

War ain't no game, bro!
These words need no explanation.
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