Sliver of silver moonlight beams.
From the other side of the  window gleams.
Shines so bright in this dark lit room.
But I cant get out of this awful gloom.
Heart aches and I feel it cracking.
But I cant think of reasons for it to be happening.
I hate myself and I'm so fucking sad.
I'm no good at anything and it makes me mad.
I cant make music, I'm an awful writer.
I have no degree so I'm impossible to hire.
I grew up never knowing what to do.
With no interests, talents, or will to give clue.
I'm stuck as an adult with what feels like no future.
I'm stuck in my head and I feel like a loser.
I don't know anything and I hate myself.
Wish there was a way to escape this hell.

One4u2nv Jul 2013

As a child I would eat crayons and then purge oceans onto paper.

I need you
to write to me,
to hide little poems for me.

I need you
to paint for me,
to create little portraits for me.

I need you
to bake for me,
to make little cupcakes for me.

I need you
to create for me,
to give me little droplets of you.

I need you to be my artist.

April Watson Nov 2012

I read so much poetry i've started to think in rhymes,
then I start to wonder if i'm good enough to write a few lines.

Always thinking in words that'll get me some kind of verse.
Something that sounds not too predictable and hopefully not rehearsed.

I wonder if it in my head is as good as it is written down.
And if out loud it doesn't sound too profound.

I want to create something that has a hook.
Something that makes you take a second look.

It'll be simple but deep from the heart.
Some one will read it and say "that's fine art".

Gary Sep 2014

We do not choose our lives,
Nor can we change our lives.
-at times
We can learn to accept our lives,
Take responsibility for - our lives.
Then live our lives,
To their fullest capabilities,
For life.

L T Winter Sep 2014

I've always itched
For perfect mahogany
Chimera doubles.

Cavorting into her,
Fullest emptiness.

Drastic is the

One which
Most perceive.

I let it
My sheathing...

And my entrails
Lay open...
As she played cello.

With intestines of mine,
Her smile planted
In mist.

Painted on sawmill
It began.

To sieve serrating
Back to my tissues

My bones; refused
Seeping aqueducts.

Only to quail from sin.

We wetted; our contour
Tongues on....
O-negative streams.

So animalistic,
I dwindled upon
Her lancet...

And we let our
Collage begin.

Cure me within the seize
     of artistic rapture
capturing human spirit in
      boundless creativity,
lay 'pon my breasts a sonata
    written of affection's simpatico,
whisper me a sonnet
        scripted 'neath my skin,
  soar me to limitless grandeur
     elevated beyond cloud vapors,
beckoning rhythmical renditions of
    abstract layers in love, splendor & art,
amidst the harmony and lavish
            poetry of a soulful heart

Devon Aug 2013

I feel artistic tonight
meaning a mess
I feel like a true poet
who knows of tie dye emotions;
heartbreak within passion
and sorrow for missing someone I haven't lost
well, yet

NewAgeOfAnarchy Apr 2015

I'm the nightmare, you can't wake up from.
I'm the monster look back at  you, from the cracks in the mirror.
The shadows that haunted you, the darkness in your heart.

My sanity cracking with each stroke of my pen.
Torture artist with torture soul, madness running wild again.

I'm you and you are me, I'm your artistic nightmare of you.

2015 copyright Michael Cross

I've succeeded in pissing off
Both Liberals and Conservatives
Neither the Democrats
Nor the Republicans want me,
But I stick to my Artistic Integrity.
If I compromise my Artistic Integrity,
I'll have
No Vision at all.

Naomi Sa'Rai Feb 2012

Creamy purple
Steamy bed
Silver hugs your bones
Lungs blackened
Triple blue tones
Sexy yellow green
Legs wrapped
Canvas lain down
Work of art
Wood carved
Amber brown
Luscious lips
Painted frown
Orange sex
Tastes of grey
This is art
Hushed cries
You came
Creamy purple red
Whitish mixture
Stained bed...
This is art


alexis hill Dec 2013

if to let live
is all there is
then let me

let me smoke till I can't breathe anymore / choke on the tar / lose the lungs / paint the esophagus an ivory black / draw with that charcoal / sketch my soul / illustrate it /

right onto
a canvas.

-let me make art
out of this.

written at 3:17 a.m.
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