#straightedge - Hello Poetry

I'm an Artist. So I don't have to go out on Saturday to feel cool. I can just stay in and get artsy. ∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

0

Sep 30, 2017

Sep 30, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC

aaronlalux

I'm Not Going Out Tonight

I'm an Artist. So I don't have to go out on Saturday to feel cool. I can just stay in and get artsy. ∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

4

Just one One guy Who doesn't want to **** me more than anything Just one One guy I used to know who was content with intellectual intimacy Just one One guy I'll always love him so much more than anything Just one One guy I tried to give him my entire self but he was to quick to go

0

Mar 25, 2016

Mar 25, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC

WickedHope

Deep Sighs and Regrets

Just one One guy Who doesn't want to **** me more than anything Just one One guy I used to know who was content with intellectual intimacy Just one One guy I'll always love him so much more than anything Just one One guy I tried to give him my entire self but he was to quick to go

12

Hungry teeth razors Slice to scar my hand. Watching the black symbol redden Quenches my thirst like a cold beer. Shield me from their fear; and with clear eyes, among socialite imbued rags, I shall face my pain Or live a conscious death.

0

Dec 30, 2015

Dec 30, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC

price_poetics

X is for Minors

Hungry teeth razors Slice to scar my hand. Watching the black symbol redden Quenches my thirst like a cold beer. Shield me from their fear; and with clear eyes, among socialite imbued rags, I shall face my pain Or live a conscious death.

9

Words tumbled out of an aluminum commode into a hungry mouth: naïveté. Libations atop a tin altar in a squalid temple rife with the stench of lascivious youth bemoaned battle cry transcendent in the sound of forever. Coming of Age a cleverly disguised charade kept in place by a smile that never breaks until dawn. White noise cryptic static proselytize vomiting mucus-draining corpses a parade of mindless disciples dancing to the beat of the heart in a distant star whose life perished in the forgotten past. Fabricated promises of maturation facetiae in the frozen teeth that only part for the stubborn tongue to lap up remaining consciousness on the floor like a begging dog. By himself he's weak but among many he's a god. A song bludgeons the eardrums "Tonight, tonight, to-night": Repetitio est mater studiorum. There's a voice in my head but you put a hand o'er it's mouth and pried mine open with the monkey's paw clutching a rose goblet containing spiritual cleansing. I've got a good idea but bad intentions and there's enough feculence wrapped in flesh and lies to make this place feel like Heaven. Stuffing my mouth with promises and fallacies that won't become clear until the bottle is empty. I'm washing away all the pain and the hurt right? I'm a man now, risen from the dirt right? I'll put my trust in the siren's call reaching through the fog to grasp her by the hair I fall into the murky bog beleaguered by strangulating tendrils wrapping around my frail bones I feel I'm being pulled under and I'm all alone I see their shimmering faces on the surface distorted in the reflection peering into the soul as I make my descent into the abyss. Waking up a man with a battered conscience Compromise wraps a warm blanket around me and places coffee between crusty and brittle fingers A gentle kiss on my forehead is the finishing touch leaving me alone with my baleful torment. Coming of Age is a charade.

0

Dec 15, 2015

Dec 15, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC

jarjarrhine

Coming of Age

Words tumbled out of an aluminum commode into a hungry mouth: naïveté. Libations atop a tin altar in a squalid temple rife with the stench of lascivious youth bemoaned battle cry transcendent in the sound of forever. Coming of Age a cleverly disguised charade kept in place by a smile that never breaks until dawn. White noise cryptic static proselytize vomiting mucus-draining corpses a parade of mindless disciples dancing to the beat of the heart in a distant star whose life perished in the forgotten past. Fabricated promises of maturation facetiae in the frozen teeth that only part for the stubborn tongue to lap up remaining consciousness on the floor like a begging dog. By himself he's weak but among many he's a god. A song bludgeons the eardrums "Tonight, tonight, to-night": Repetitio est mater studiorum. There's a voice in my head but you put a hand o'er it's mouth and pried mine open with the monkey's paw clutching a rose goblet containing spiritual cleansing. I've got a good idea but bad intentions and there's enough feculence wrapped in flesh and lies to make this place feel like Heaven. Stuffing my mouth with promises and fallacies that won't become clear until the bottle is empty. I'm washing away all the pain and the hurt right? I'm a man now, risen from the dirt right? I'll put my trust in the siren's call reaching through the fog to grasp her by the hair I fall into the murky bog beleaguered by strangulating tendrils wrapping around my frail bones I feel I'm being pulled under and I'm all alone I see their shimmering faces on the surface distorted in the reflection peering into the soul as I make my descent into the abyss. Waking up a man with a battered conscience Compromise wraps a warm blanket around me and places coffee between crusty and brittle fingers A gentle kiss on my forehead is the finishing touch leaving me alone with my baleful torment. Coming of Age is a charade.

71

My days are grey, my nights are treacherous I've spent so long sleeping but paranoid Too many vices, I chose temperance Vapid flings give way to the perilous My slow conversations with life devoid My days are grey, my nights are treacherous One edge is straight, a knife, my preference Trivial suffering makes me avoid Too many vices, I chose temperance I've cloaked myself, remain ambiguous So, in midday, I have tempted the void My days are grey, my nights are treacherous No addiction equates to elegance What is the point in a teen self destroyed Too many vices, I chose temperance With depression, I remain decorous My mind flirts with bloodstains and carcinoids My days are grey, my nights are treacherous Too many vices, I chose temperance

0

Dec 4, 2015

Dec 4, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC

scott-horror

Wattage (through depression without drink)

My days are grey, my nights are treacherous I've spent so long sleeping but paranoid Too many vices, I chose temperance Vapid flings give way to the perilous My slow conversations with life devoid My days are grey, my nights are treacherous One edge is straight, a knife, my preference Trivial suffering makes me avoid Too many vices, I chose temperance I've cloaked myself, remain ambiguous So, in midday, I have tempted the void My days are grey, my nights are treacherous No addiction equates to elegance What is the point in a teen self destroyed Too many vices, I chose temperance With depression, I remain decorous My mind flirts with bloodstains and carcinoids My days are grey, my nights are treacherous Too many vices, I chose temperance

19

i stopped doing drugs because you were the only thing that made me high now we're just fiction your mouth is stained on my cheeks, still echoed with a sad goodbye we're out with the garbage you so angrily tossed and you're drinking wine and i'm still lost

0

Sep 10, 2015

Sep 10, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC

caroline-wonder

straightedge

i stopped doing drugs because you were the only thing that made me high now we're just fiction your mouth is stained on my cheeks, still echoed with a sad goodbye we're out with the garbage you so angrily tossed and you're drinking wine and i'm still lost

6

He calls me his bitch's quiet, straight edge friend, but he doesn't know the dark things I do when I'm alone and screaming. No one does, really.

0

Dec 28, 2014

Dec 28, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC

WickedHope

Straight Edge?

He calls me his bitch's quiet, straight edge friend, but he doesn't know the dark things I do when I'm alone and screaming. No one does, really.

8

Put down the bottle, Step away from the drugs, The procedure of life is hard enough. It's good in the moment, The euphoric high. But once you come down, All you can do is cry. Depression sets in, And you look at your life. Broken pieces, Withered and dead. Like a rose on the ground. You do it again, Just to feel whole. But this time, the high doesn't come 'round. You took too much, Trying to numb the pain. Life flashes before you, And you see it slip away...

0

Jun 8, 2014

Jun 8, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC

ashlei-cottom

Not Worth It

Put down the bottle, Step away from the drugs, The procedure of life is hard enough. It's good in the moment, The euphoric high. But once you come down, All you can do is cry. Depression sets in, And you look at your life. Broken pieces, Withered and dead. Like a rose on the ground. You do it again, Just to feel whole. But this time, the high doesn't come 'round. You took too much, Trying to numb the pain. Life flashes before you, And you see it slip away...

19