#antagonist
night has befallen your eyes agleam,
iris casting shadows on those unseen -
falling, falling deep; darling, dearest
my gaze will catch you from the darkest pits - you
crestfallen, asleep - weaping on the tower's peak.
© fey (27/05/22)
May 27, 2022
May 27, 2022 at 5:54 AM UTC
What does one do when the characters you hate
Are the ones you best construe?
Misgivings and flaws you can relate
To, tho venerable traits you eschew,
The green light gazers and "architect" praisers
Familial leeches or the confessor who preaches
That awareness absolves one of sin,
Compromisers and self-named kaisers
Resound and reverberate within
They pass by in my pages to be mocked and scorned
As evil, cruel, an oaf, or a tool
Too low to respect or too high on their horse
Despicable, maniacal, mediocre, or worse
And I do hate their vileness, I do hate their flaw
I want to shake them and claw at their skull
For nothing more than the gleam of recognition
That by some misfortune of natural law
They and I share a need for contrition.
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC
You said that I held my fate in my hands.
That everything happens for a reason.
Well I want you to know that this is what I'm choosing.
Because of you the world only looks worthy of destruction.
And I am going to burn this world down with me.
I choose to die the villain.
No ******* out there can tell me that there is still hope for me.
This is what I chose.
And I plan not to die a hero, no.
I'm going out with revenge served cold.
With drying blood on my hands.
Fallen from heaven, I hit the ground conscience first.
So if fate is really predestined then congratulations.
I am who I am now.
You can't save me.
This was always meant to be from the first moment I graced this world with my unstained eyes.
I welcome you to watch this Godforsaken Earth burn with me and you in it.
Be my guest, let's watch the world end.
-Kore
Jun 15, 2021
Jun 15, 2021 at 10:40 PM UTC
If he was anything
(Other than himself)
He would want to be a book
Resting on a shelf
He wanted to be a story
Told by a person who knew him well
He wanted to be all the character
Who didn't have any flaws
He wanted to be perfect
The best character you ever saw!
This man was fooled into believing a lie
A lie he had been told all his life
Anybody can be flawless
But with that logic,
All your flaws are amplified
Please believe me when I say
That I made his story true
He was the antagonist
He was the bad guy
But he wanted all the right things
The only thing he did wrong
Was believing in a lie.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 1:46 AM UTC
When someone is antagonising
my joy and happiness,
I do my best
to remain calm and unperturbed,
and refocus my mind
on calmly striving to achieve
my joy and happiness.
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 6:51 AM UTC
Dear protagonist, it is the antagonist writing a simple letter,
I am devoting myself to explain my faithfulness,
The only way I can, my love, for you to appreciate,
I’ll ruin the world, to prove my worth,
I’ll be unpleasant because that is the one path I understand,
How else, how else could you ever hold me?
It is not ballad humanity will sing,
However, please do consider; whom else can ever fathom my desire?
Ruin lies at our feet, fate and destiny is not ours to keep,
If I but for one moment could see your scarlet eyes, I would,
No river,
No god,
No queen,
No king,
No mountain,
No slaughter,
Would stand in the way of my pure black heart,
If I could see your smile as I fall,
As the world is victorious,
As I am imprisoned,
As I crumble,
As I fall,
At least I could see you once more,
There is an orchestra performing when you use that golden tongue of yours,
It is a pleasure; it has always been,
That the demons whom haunt me, you and you alone can control,
It is a paradise, my love, to be the wildfire you extinguish,
May hellfire consume me, as long as the last glimpse,
Is your face, protagonist, this is my faith, my belief,
I do love you, now, let me fall, further than ever,
Though never further than you can reach, my heart.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
No one ever knew
What it was like to be a ****
They never felt the unnerving sensation
Of the lingering touches and kisses
No one knew
How one's skin stings
From trying to scrub away
How ***** and disgusting they feel
They don't know
How it crushes a whore's heart
To be used but not remembered
How it's hard to find company
Who sees you for who you are
And not for your body
They don't know
How it's hard to live
Upto the society's restrictions
They judged but they were not aware
Of how this bítch was molded
They don't know
But still they criticized
They don't see
The gaping hole left
Within this slut's personality
They don't feel the pang of rejection
The pain of neglection
The sting of false accusations
They never listened
Their criticism never faltered
No one thought about the bìtch
No one cares for the whôre
What matters was that she destroys
And then get destroyed by her protagonist
They want a fairytale
And there's gotta be a villain.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
It’s not too late…
to be your own hero
and it’s always too late
to be the maiden in distress
but stop being the own
villain to your story
You are the main character
not the antagonist
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 10:08 AM UTC
One million dollars in between her fingers,
Chipped blue nail-varnish.
A cigarette; a tired frowning mouth.
Black denim jeans.
A petrol station, expensive perfume on her neck.
A flower patterned halterneck, a bottle of liquor.
The faded sun hides behind cloud bodyguards.
The woman is alone at midday,
The breeze is cool, the alcohol is sweet, her tears are hot, the mascara runs black.
She's tired; is she lonely?
She's lost, but a lone hunter.
The girl is beautiful, mid 20's with dark rolling hair and freckles.
The girl is tragic.
She wipes her eyes and leans back against the red brick wall, half concealed in shadow.
She eats an apple.. takes of her worn leather sandals,
Sits on the hot dirt, then the rainclouds come.
Rain falls and chills her clothes and skin.
She applies pale pink lipstick and calls a taxi from the payphone.
......
White peonies, 300 or more.
Dark oak coffin.
A lady in a grey fur coat, an embroidered handkerchief.
Tears, blonde hair, the smell of hairspray.
A young couple with dark eyes and bronze skin, their hands grasped.
'True Colours', a male pianist, stained glass, high ceiling, arches.
Loneliness.
Heartache.
Loss of friendship.
Aching.
Hopeful,
Fingers crossed.
Will love enter and lightning strike some wonder into the girl-woman's life?
.......
She holds her sister's cold porcelain-white hand, stops a moment to take in the tattoo of a shallow in black ink.
Elisa,
Gone.
29 years old.
Always one year between them but there might as well have been 20.
It's been four months since they met for coffee out near
the motorway where Helen was working at the time.
A golden locket; Helen places it around her sister's slim neck.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
The imbalance on my rivals
Shows the lack of knowledge
Can not compete against me,
Elevated in enlightenment / of vivid devotion...
Solitary thoughts made me bias,
Cipher rivals got me satire -
Y'all know my chicness, can't compare.
I am emitted to make a decision,
I will not give none my "treasure chest",
I will take a chance and risk my on,
Facing my decision it's a funny feeling...
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
Real grief is not shared nor uttered.
Real grief is bottled and fermented in it's host.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
Once upon a time
a long time ago
in a land far away
there lived a princess,
a damsel in distress;
with a hope
that one day
her life would be made whole
with a kiss from a prince.
A prince,
a hero of sorts.
He’s fought dragons and
monsters and
thieves.
He defended his kingdom
with all his might
with the hope
that his life would be made whole
with a perfect
damsel in distress.
At the center of the tower,
the one in which the princess lives
is a man,
of an unfortunate, horrible
evil.
And just like the princess,
and the prince,
the antagonist, the
king
is just as cliché as the rest
with a hope
That he will rule the kingdom.
The one guarding the girl,
the damsel in distress,
is the monster -
the dragon,
the one from childhood stories.
He shoots fire from his mouth
the color of blood
and he defends
the princess with all his might,
with a hope that one day
he’ll taste the prince’s blood.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
Not prison, nor killed,
But his memoir's fulfilled
He named me Ann Williams
Amidst hints he instilled.
His fact is our fiction - demurely disguised.
Bad move, Tomas Gregory
You're tied to your lies
Unwise, catalyzed
Your pathetic demise.
**|
|
|
|
\/
'**
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
When I was younger I wrote of cops and robbers
Killers, chases, drugs and thrillers
One specific story that was my favorite chiller-
Hitting big money houses in a quiet town,
What a young burglar grabbed was something he'd better off not found
A suitcase full of treasures not
What he thought was heavy with cash, commodities
Was weighted with remains of bodies.
Can't risk jail, no, he can't pay his bail
So when the killer came looking
The only thing to do was to cover up his trail.
I never finished the story, writing it was kind of boring.
I was busy drinking and exploring when
One night I met a man, and he was telling me this story
How he was almost caught robbing this old man's home
And of the couple things he gathered, a suitcase was one.
No- it wasn't full of literal bodies
Maybe this time, some actual commodities.
But he sold them soon after, to get money for his drugs and whatever else he revered.
That he introduced to his friends that he turned to cold bodies with his endeavors.
So my story plays out in metaphors and its true that rich old men can be killers too
Like the one in my town with the corpses in the walls
I wondered, if plundered, would the killer turn the burglar into another number
And finish my story for me.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
*Rigid, my mind
Tight fastened in thought
Alone, save the loudest
Of volumes you sought;
A rhythm surrounds me:
The beat never stops.
My wrist – ever pounding
Sleeve dripping, nonstop.*
**These sounds are resources
You’ll never see bought –
So rare, and so special
Yet, mine? They are not.
“Gems?” You do ponder,
As pure as could be.
You hear not this beating?
Live hearts seal my sleeve!
I gathered each one
From men and from lovers
Then, left them undone
To never recover
These hearts I collect
As one might a stamp,
Each choking my wrist;
All broken and damp
As wet hearts do bleed
Each torn from one’s chest
The blood, you’ll not see
It’s ink they express!
“Now, why not your own?”
You wonder, distressed
But my chest is empty:
Forlorn, dispossessed.
My heart is no more –
I searched sea to see.
“How so?” You deplore.
‘Twas taken from me!
In place of a heart
I now hold a pen;
I’ll never be whole –
Likewise to all them:
I **** all these lovers
Must spare not these men
For one sole ingredient
Will satisfy pen.
Such hearts I do mention
Once, twice, and again
Draw ribbons of ink,
Gliding fresh to my pen**
*Rigid, your mind
Interrupting my thoughts
Becoming the loudest
Of volumes not sought
“Release and replace!”
A mere noise; you infest;
Oh, leave me alone,
Or your heart will be next!*
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
I don't stalk the night,
I am it.
I am not a predator.
I hunt them.
I do not fear the light,
I blind it.
I am not a monster,
I scare them.
My skeleton is my body
and Su-Fan is my name.
Beware it!
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
Something special is dying here.
I'm going against a pattern,
and even though it ends
in my misfortune,
I can't stop. I won't stop.
How do I draw blood from stones
as a miracle whispered through
the tonsils of demons? Simple.
I am a monument.
A testament of free will gone awry.
I'm a mustache twirling antagonist;
I made Christ weep,
and bound his mother
to the railroad tracks.
I know, I know,
that hero is going to save your day,
and I'll be in chains or
in a bottomless hole somewhere,
but let me ask these victims,
"What would the other monument be,
if not for myself?"
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
I'm living in a
Static state-of-mind.
You're the antagonist
In this story
That has become
My strife.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC