"assassinator" poems
Quack Doctor
Fake Supervisor
Bogus Professor
Deceitful Color
Common Denominator.
Bomb Inventor
Rifle Creator
Device Innovator
Reigning Terror
Common Denominator.
Untruthful Suitor
Promiscuous Actor
Love Collector
Artificial Amour
Common Denominator.
Abusive Creditor
Illegal Investor
Unlawful Director
Greed Factor
Common Denominator.
Rogue Investigator
Friendly Assassinator
Double Conspirator
Backstab Traitor
Common Denominator.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
Love is a thief.
I never asked for my
focus to be stolen.
You never meant to
take it from me, I'm sure,
but its gone now.
I've always said love should be a synergy of
two whole people. Despite this claim, I find myself
newly unwhole. I lust for wholeness.
You cliched me.
Love is a humaniser.
All my life I've been
an alien, grey specimen
trapped and bound in pale white skin.
I've never felt comfortable in this form.
I want to be light, energy, flowing out of here
and through the world
and the stars and all.
Only, you
make me now feel human.
Breath comes easy.
I still yearn for outer space,
but maybe we could go together.
If you wanted.
Love is a would-be assassinator.
It possesses your mind and your fists,
a dark green spirit. It targets wandering
eyes, and it loathes
replacers.
Love is a fear of inevitable "see you later"s.
Love is an all-conquering now.
The past is dead and
the future isn't real
but we believe in those illusions
until we come together.
Love is half-burnt coffee on a dark November morning, as mist haunts the air outside of the old kitchen we inhabit.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
He relishes in the dark
And lives among the dead
His presence is enough to cause the living dread
The assassinator of souls
And demise of men
He will strike, but you'll never know when
The fear of many yet the prayer of some
Known as the grim reaper
He'll come back again
The graveyard is his home
The dead are his friends
But today he stands among the silence of the dead
And wonders what its like to meet an end
With that thought in mind
He lights up his cigarette
Exhales the noxious smoke
And inhales the toxins
Whats fatal to the mortals
Is abortive on him
His heart is dark and existence is grim
And that burning cigarette is all of what he has
So he finds pleasure in its poison
And hopes to be its prey
Although he's aware
He'll never see that day
But that glowing cigarette
keeps his demons away...
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC