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quinn silverman Sep 2018
dark tendrils flirt with her eyes
people pass her ugly
she daydreams of throats split open
you think she’s pretty
smiling to herself

using her ***
to get you excited
it’s better when the blood is flowing
at her dinner table
long fingers confident
pouring a pitiful glass of wine
creeping up your thighs
touching herself,
fantasizing of what you’ll look like

you catch yourself whining
attracted to this fear
teeth biting the broken lip
yes, this is good
scratching at the pretty ankles
searching beneath this gushing blood

loving the smell of it
dripping
blood pools under her french tips
mouth aching in ecstasy
licking her poison lips
she loves the feeling of this
“i could get used to this”
Anya Sep 2018
I'm not saying
that this is how it is
But,
In all my years of school
the one thing I've been taught
Again
and
Again
...
is the American Revolutionary war

Which makes sense
since,
it was technically the official formation
of the country I currently live in

But really,
In 10th grade
I'm having deja-vu back
to fourth grade
when we even had a musical
about it
(I was student #2 by the way)

And now
we have the Broadway musical Alexander Hamilton
which,
I am TOTALLY a fan of
Despite
the numerous reoccurring themes
I've had stuck in my face
enough to remember
for the
rest
of
my
lifeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
...
Okaaay,
So, Revolutionary War:
...
...
...
AftertheFrenchandIndianwarBritianwasindebtsothey­triedtaxingthecollonieswhichthecolloniesweretotallyagainst.Miscom­munication(allthewayacrossthesea)alongwithotherthingsincludingphr­asessuchas"notaxationwithoutrepresentation"werethrownaround.Event­uallyitjustblewupintotheactualwarwhichAmericaendedupwinningdespit­eBritain'ssuperiorarmyandinthenAmericawasleftwithamessofstatestan­ddisagreeablefoundingfatherstocometoaconsensusandfiguresomethingo­ut.

Okay, I don't know if you actually
got anything from that
but basically
it was a rushed (sort of) summaryish
of the American Revolutionary war
...
ish.

Well, I mean I've only learned
about it from one side

Anyway, by now I almost know the facts
we learn in school here
as well
as the back of my hand
...
which I don't know very well by the way
why do people even use that?

Anyway, it's not completely old material
that we're learning
because
now,
there's analyzing too

Just today we analyzed the differences
between
Federalists
and Anti-federalists
...
Okay,
you probably don't want the
nitty-gritty details
...
And that concludes my
(Strange)
tirade/(I can't really call it a tirade because it wasn't angry
so maybe narration?)
About history class
...
Hope this quirky
piece of writing
gave you a few smiles!

(Or if not confusion works too.)
In all honesty I started this as a valid poem but my strange mood made it spiral seriously off track.
MisfitOfSociety Sep 2018
Okay,
It goes like this you see.

10pm, on a late thursday evening. I was sweating like a ****** in church. I grabbed my armbands and turned on the shower. It was cold as ice to the touch, but begun to warm up eventually. Thank god my wife remembered to turn the geezer on or else I was going to slap a *****, create waves of flesh on that ugly *** face of hers.


Anyway.
After stripping down to my birthday suit, I popped on some shampoo and spreaded that **** in my hair. Creating a burning sensation, tingly, like ants crawling in my head.
Suddenly I was smacked like an unwanted child by the smell of burnt toast in the air,
with the shampoo still sitting in my hair.
I turned around and right before me, something was coming out of the plug hole, like something out of a b-rated horror movie.
Looking like my wife's homemade cooking, **** was alive, and then it lunged at me.
I tell you, if it was not for those Tom Cruise movies lecturing me in the art of total *** kicking, I would be a dead naked man with armbands in a tub, being eaten by the unholy guacamole.

You gotta believe me,
when I tell this story,
This was not all in my head,
You can't just write off what I have said.
I know it must sound insane,
But a mexican's lunch crawled out of the drain,
I beat it's *** like a drum,
like Lars Ulrich at a metallica concert ,
and sent the **** back down the hole it crawled out of.
The devil wanted to bring me down to the deep end,
It is a good thing I bought my arm bands.
What the absolute ****.
EP Robles Sep 2018
"i" is Atlas holding up the World.  

  A permission granted by the writer
of letters.  

And 'i' never shrugs as it does not
have the writer's license to do so.

For if it did the mnemonic rule of
'i before E, except after C' could
not exist.

Weird!  <--very weird!

:: 09-26-2018 ::
strangeness of the English language and it's silly old rules! :P
Anne Webb Sep 2018
His name was Jamie Lee
and in all my humble life
he and only he
always stuck by my side

Whenever I felt alone
I looked up at the sky
a shiver ran through me, skin and bone
when his ghostly hand held mine

Only because of him
I know the word love
whenever my day was a little grim
I could count on his tender smile

to make me feel
to make me feel more
to make me feel more alive
In order to keep my ghostly friend anonymous I used a different name.
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Can’t sleep at night,
what’s worse I’m not that alert during the day,
not sure which cam first attentiveness or the sedatives,
not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg,

which came first,
the Chicken or the Egg,
which came first,
the bliss or this pain,

whatever never mind,
who cares anyways,
because the real question is,
who cares anyways,

who cares anyways?

These days most are too inattentive to pay attention,
too unobservant to deserve my service so they’re only purpose is to be subservient,
too distracted by everything expect the instance that they’re in,
don’t even have the strength to concentrate for the length of an entire sentence,

can’t focus on this moment,
when in fact that’s all we ever have,
so really if we don’t hold the moment we hold nothing,
guess is why I only wrote this poem to remind us of that,

as I lay here in this bed,
with so many thought crowding my head,
that I have no room inside my head for Z’s,
can’t sleep I’m wide awake again,

can’t sleep at night,
what’s worse I’m not that alert during the day,
not sure which cam first attentiveness or the sedatives,
not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg…

∆ LaLux ∆
Venus Sep 2018
Glancing to your left
Your eyes focus on the familiar sight of your girlfriend

Driving away from the sunset and toward the house you both own
You pass the abandoned houses until you reach the best-looking one
You take your bag from the car
Step inside the home

The light coming through the ceiling
Familiar pets scurrying along the floor
You lay your sleeping bag on the hard floor next to each other

The white lead paint peels from the walls
And you hold onto your future wife

You look through the holes in the ceiling to the stars above you

Glancing to your right there is a pile of needles
The scurrying mice from before greeting you

And nest in your past girlfriend's hair across the room
Your girlfriend doesn't know what she has gotten herself into
Until she sees the knife you have against her throat.
Just read it...otherwise, you won't fully understand
Abdulrhman Sep 2018
isn't weird to say to your love that you need him
what's weird is that
there's no love
there's no you
but you still feel need
Anya Sep 2018
One may be straight
like a saturated fat

One maybe bent
like an unsaturated fat

Or, one could be bent,
disguised as straight
Like a trans fat
Another weird but true science analogy poem. If you don't understand look up the difference between saturated, unsaturated, and trans fats. If this offends you feel free to message me.
david mitchell Sep 2018
"He was not unwhole, merely bent and jaded. And though he held nothing but love for those around him, the darker details bled through. Hindered from an honest delivery of his gratefulness and his grievance, he withdrew into himself.
The darker facets fulfilled his quiet desires of complexity but cost him his emotional presence; cold but comfortable.
He lost his happiness, his memories,
His charm, and above all else,
He lost his time.
His eyes grew sad,
His fingers wrinkled.
Though his eyes remained sharp,
His heart had been lost to atrophy.
Another person to love more than anyone could love him, is what he wanted, but never got.
To fall in love again was the escape,
An open and powerful rebellion against the vast sorrow that imprisoned him.
And so he tried his hand, sad eyes sought for someone to pour into.
He found none, but some found him.
Twisted and attractive, they wove together long conversations and hints of double meanings. They even almost learned how to care, but didn't.
Even among those he wished only to love, and only to gift,
He could never feel free.
For they hated him,
And so did he."
but when he looked at his pitiful reflection on the floor, he noticed something a little less bleak. the mop was as a rose, twirling and spreading, inking, and swelling. it was really nothing like a rose. what a drab day, what a drag.
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