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"cannibalistic" poems
Death you are seen so repugnant. Death you are sensed so vile. Death you are deemed so untimely. “Death can’t you wait for a while?” But Death, aren’t you Life’s true redeemer? Making everyone think well of the dead. Death aren’t you Life’s other half? Death don’t you tuck us to bed? When our wanderlust has faded, your embrace remains unjaded. Death you are humble in your infamy; Life the glory claims. Yet sickness, accidents and war are all Life’s macabre games. That which kills you comes from Life. Life will push to make that sale; living organs mere currency. Cannibalistic Life - advertising as a fairy tale. Death you are left to clear the carnage. Death – the coloseum’s sand – innocently soaked in the blood of Life’s cruel hand. Death you are Life’s psychologist; motivating each step, each trial. Making us get up every morning to make each moment worthwhile. Death you employ Time’s creation to set a deadline to Life. Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring Death you are a scalpel; Life a butcher’s knife. Famine, plague, disease, beast, Without glorious survival, why feast? Death your work with Time is inspired, for we created it to understand your course. With Time we can learn Life’s seasons and record it’s length before it’s divorce from our fragile clay. Death you make us frugal with our Time, yet generous with our Love. For to each heartbeat’s rhythm and rhyme, we fervently dance to give. To make another grief-stricken Death. For if Life is filled with meaning, it is Death’s boon to us all. Life becomes exhilarating – A race before the fall! Death remains a wallflower to the very close. Death only wants to meet us; a gentle lover with a rose. Encouraging, yet terrifying. But if we fear the Darkness, it is Life we fear not Death. How often has a blinding Light been reported on a final breath?
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Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
An Ode to Death
Death you are seen so repugnant. Death you are sensed so vile. Death you are deemed so untimely. “Death can’t you wait for a while?” But Death, aren’t you Life’s true redeemer? Making everyone think well of the dead. Death aren’t you Life’s other half? Death don’t you tuck us to bed? When our wanderlust has faded, your embrace remains unjaded. Death you are humble in your infamy; Life the glory claims. Yet sickness, accidents and war are all Life’s macabre games. That which kills you comes from Life. Life will push to make that sale; living organs mere currency. Cannibalistic Life - advertising as a fairy tale. Death you are left to clear the carnage. Death – the coloseum’s sand – innocently soaked in the blood of Life’s cruel hand. Death you are Life’s psychologist; motivating each step, each trial. Making us get up every morning to make each moment worthwhile. Death you employ Time’s creation to set a deadline to Life. Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring Death you are a scalpel; Life a butcher’s knife. Famine, plague, disease, beast, Without glorious survival, why feast? Death your work with Time is inspired, for we created it to understand your course. With Time we can learn Life’s seasons and record it’s length before it’s divorce from our fragile clay. Death you make us frugal with our Time, yet generous with our Love. For to each heartbeat’s rhythm and rhyme, we fervently dance to give. To make another grief-stricken Death. For if Life is filled with meaning, it is Death’s boon to us all. Life becomes exhilarating – A race before the fall! Death remains a wallflower to the very close. Death only wants to meet us; a gentle lover with a rose. Encouraging, yet terrifying. But if we fear the Darkness, it is Life we fear not Death. How often has a blinding Light been reported on a final breath?
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51
Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted. Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars. Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen. Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination. Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.
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Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Wendigo Psychosis
Say, what drives a narcissist to feed on their soul Their own being, their whole, a cannibalistic role I fold, into the answers that have never been told Because I disagree that life is less than silver or gold When I was young I was 'old', wiser than age would suggest I never looked from a problem I never strayed from a test I sought to better my self, pushing others away Rising alone but never understanding how I would pay Now look today and see a fate that I crafted off a clean slate Into a plate of half consumed variables that I never ate Or even paid any attention effectively painting dissention And not to mention my descent into a mental detention I locked my self in a prison of a dozen complications A box full of games, puzzles and some mindless sedation No relation to pain, bottomless gain and no patience I snap at every ******* body for the beast I am facing Imagine that you have a paper with some scribbles and lines Now try erasing the marks so the paper's perfect - just try It's impossible because you pretend to leave the past There's always something there to make a scar that will last So now because of my choices I sit alone with these voices Saying "you could do better", to me they're nothing but noises So now I write my emotions so that the world might just hold 'em Just ignoring commotion 'cause you can pass 'em or smoke 'em
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Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC
Selfish
How many milligrams a day must you take to fill the emptiness your body is so used too. depression feels like a fire, burning your insides endlessly. Bones wither away, embers barely lit light the skin that once knew it stood for more than just skin. Anxiety eats at you, unknowingly your body has become cannibalistic. There is a war raging inside your mind, destroying the ability to decipher what’s pain and what’s not. here’s a bottle with 35 pills I hope it helps. " Don’t over-doze "
0
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Pills
It's dark and cold here, frozen hand is creeping up my spine My lips are trembling as I recognize your scent and smell Of all the numb cadavers you left long untouched Piercing canines reflecting an end of my joy and pride And my fear of your claws getting near my crippled body, making more cuts And it hurts, it hurts so much But I won't scream tonight I'll cover myself with blood that's flowing from my wounds Making an art piece worth the gallery Of my own collapsing skeleton that's falling to pieces So you can take it Make me your trophy Cut off my limbs and make me believe That I'm an animal, a stupid omnivore who refuses to eat a soul Strip me out of my skin, I can't stand it anymore and make sheets out of it And eat me alive, chew my brain and break my heart in a habit In routine that's going in circles, 'cause you can't think of anything else to make me suffer Spitting my parts out, what a terrible taste of flesh that was once yours What a disappointment am I No good for mouth nor father's pride So why do you keep on me an eye? Hoping I'll be like you, so you Don't have to paint kitchen with my blood And keep my eyes under your pillow Or stitch with my hair another cut Making teeth and gut necklaces for those who follow Your cannibalistic rules, making their kids hollow If only you had the decency to bury my bones in a piece of silky cloth Instead of putting me back together like a jigsaw puzzle So you can make fun of me and say comments that make me weaker In an unfortunate attempt to make me a hunter But I won't be like you, I won't Eat another living being's soul or flesh I won't cut their veins open to swim in their liquids Because I'm not a cannibal
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Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
Cannibalism
It's dark and cold here, frozen hand is creeping up my spine My lips are trembling as I recognize your scent and smell Of all the numb cadavers you left long untouched Piercing canines reflecting an end of my joy and pride And my fear of your claws getting near my crippled body, making more cuts And it hurts, it hurts so much But I won't scream tonight I'll cover myself with blood that's flowing from my wounds Making an art piece worth the gallery Of my own collapsing skeleton that's falling to pieces So you can take it Make me your trophy Cut off my limbs and make me believe That I'm an animal, a stupid omnivore who refuses to eat a soul Strip me out of my skin, I can't stand it anymore and make sheets out of it And eat me alive, chew my brain and break my heart in a habit In routine that's going in circles, 'cause you can't think of anything else to make me suffer Spitting my parts out, what a terrible taste of flesh that was once yours What a disappointment am I No good for mouth nor father's pride So why do you keep on me an eye? Hoping I'll be like you, so you Don't have to paint kitchen with my blood And keep my eyes under your pillow Or stitch with my hair another cut Making teeth and gut necklaces for those who follow Your cannibalistic rules, making their kids hollow If only you had the decency to bury my bones in a piece of silky cloth Instead of putting me back together like a jigsaw puzzle So you can make fun of me and say comments that make me weaker In an unfortunate attempt to make me a hunter But I won't be like you, I won't Eat another living being's soul or flesh I won't cut their veins open to swim in their liquids Because I'm not a cannibal
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35
Cannibalistic killers Can at least claim They were simply trying to sustain Themselves On unconventional prey It's no different than the bush meat trade What makes you better than a Gorilla? To me or a cannibalistic killer, You look pretty tasty... I'd eat you in a heartbeat.
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Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 2:36 PM UTC
Bush Meat
All I know is monsters All I see is a cold world that gets darker as the *** stir's The future blurs to a point its so obscure it's not yours Can't seem to stop words from causing me to go backwards Maybe I need to go back and relearn like toddlers in diapers There's no cures All the fibers of my being are withering away like dead flowers Retreating like cowards The more I try the worse I fail, a living hell, crunch the numbers I've done the math, a chalk board full of blunders Nightmares occurring with my eyes wide shut It's more then a rut A candidate to win? Nope, I have a losing ballot No safety blanket and no bright colors on my pallet Hollow and cryptic Revisit the past like I'm stuck to it with a rivet This isn't just unfortunate it's inadequate Chew off my arm to be free or just cannibalistic Can I even resist it? This dark army that I have enlisted For to long happy never even existed And you wonder why I tend go ballistic... Man, *** this $hit! ©2018
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Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 12:39 AM UTC
~•§•~ Not A Winning Candidate ~•§•~
I think with my heart; not my head in my hand or buried deep under the sand. Because when everything comes from the core, i don’t need to wonder any more. Thinking is not a chore: like folding laundry into a tidy drawer. But that’s what draws our glass floor, and causes us to continully snore. But what we chose to ignore, should be infact, exactly what we adore. Then maybe we’d ask for an encore instead of a 24/7 drug store. ________________________ To you, i may be a boar, but we must bust down the door. Stop fighting the war! Live for evermore( if we wish to soar). _____________________ But today our biggest sore may be the us marine corp. i hurt for their souls, scattered galore. it is i who they fend for, it is why their blood continues to pour. But that doesn’t effect you, because it happens on another shore. Your questions? i have answer for, but please don’t ask me the baseball score. Those fact are not in my houses’ decor, all forms of politics, i choose to ignore. __________________________________ You can call me a dinosaur, regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore. _______________________________ I know you may ridicule, but i prefer to be the recluse, only coming out, when looking for a spruce. So, when i do explore, you will not find me with the busy bodies, you will find me with the mircoscopic spores. After all, it's we they provide for. After this adventure, i know they swore, they could create me a commodore. On our yaht, somewhere offshore. There would be no more war. just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore. Before, I was a skeptic, ******** i now believe holeheartedly in folklore. My faith in prewar, is now eternally restored. Because mother against man always out scores, that is why i look no more. Nature is my only mentor. ___________________________ now, i see myself as a matador. i can be anything, that is the underscore.
0
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Ostrich to the Core
I think with my heart; not my head in my hand or buried deep under the sand. Because when everything comes from the core, i don’t need to wonder any more. Thinking is not a chore: like folding laundry into a tidy drawer. But that’s what draws our glass floor, and causes us to continully snore. But what we chose to ignore, should be infact, exactly what we adore. Then maybe we’d ask for an encore instead of a 24/7 drug store. ________________________ To you, i may be a boar, but we must bust down the door. Stop fighting the war! Live for evermore( if we wish to soar). _____________________ But today our biggest sore may be the us marine corp. i hurt for their souls, scattered galore. it is i who they fend for, it is why their blood continues to pour. But that doesn’t effect you, because it happens on another shore. Your questions? i have answer for, but please don’t ask me the baseball score. Those fact are not in my houses’ decor, all forms of politics, i choose to ignore. __________________________________ You can call me a dinosaur, regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore. _______________________________ I know you may ridicule, but i prefer to be the recluse, only coming out, when looking for a spruce. So, when i do explore, you will not find me with the busy bodies, you will find me with the mircoscopic spores. After all, it's we they provide for. After this adventure, i know they swore, they could create me a commodore. On our yaht, somewhere offshore. There would be no more war. just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore. Before, I was a skeptic, ******** i now believe holeheartedly in folklore. My faith in prewar, is now eternally restored. Because mother against man always out scores, that is why i look no more. Nature is my only mentor. ___________________________ now, i see myself as a matador. i can be anything, that is the underscore.
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59
There are many limitations sometimes. Of course these are only restrictions we place on ourselves, but we groom certain communities to fulfill a certain appearance and dismiss the breakers of unspoken rules. Don't drop the status quo. Paradigm. I want to write and not write about things. I don't know. No, I do know. I want to write without the stigma that these topics bring. I want to write a poem about Facebook. See how much appreciation that gets. Poetry about Facebook won't be liked often. Write about how it ****** me off that your ex boyfriend (that I dumped, by the way) has a new girlfriend with better taste and better photography skills than me. Remember how I made fun of his ex's for that? They're doing that about me now, I stomped on his heart. I teem with insecurity thinking about it. ******* selfish, I feel like a ***** How I'm tired of being self-depricating because I don't want to seem like an ******* I've come a long way as a person and I'm not allowed to brag about it. I'm barely allowed to take a compliment or I'll look like I'm preening. Write about how I'm tired of being kinda ugly sometimes. Write about how I had *** with someone, how when I told someone else, I could see them and society drawing a big **** crown of judgement, and how that's ****** I wish we could all grow up. I wish I could explain that my apathy is, to a certain degree, purposeful. Because looking at feminism articles every day made me feel like **** I felt like a victim constantly, and I alienated myself from making friends with normal people because I was an extremist. I got tired of constant misery and misinformation. The feminist community was cannibalistic too, and I don't think I wanted to make friends with such hyper-aggressive people. Write about how I want to be a writer and how I can only write three sentences and then I look at the screen hopelessly. How lame. I'M SO ******* NAIVE BECAUSE I want so badly to be different in a better way, but I know I'm just the same. I want to be able to change the world and I know I can't, it doesn't matter anyway. I haven't been able to cry in three months. I'm tired of trying to find my brand of catharsis.
0
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
bleaky bleaker doesn't fit in his sneakers
There are many limitations sometimes. Of course these are only restrictions we place on ourselves, but we groom certain communities to fulfill a certain appearance and dismiss the breakers of unspoken rules. Don't drop the status quo. Paradigm. I want to write and not write about things. I don't know. No, I do know. I want to write without the stigma that these topics bring. I want to write a poem about Facebook. See how much appreciation that gets. Poetry about Facebook won't be liked often. Write about how it ****** me off that your ex boyfriend (that I dumped, by the way) has a new girlfriend with better taste and better photography skills than me. Remember how I made fun of his ex's for that? They're doing that about me now, I stomped on his heart. I teem with insecurity thinking about it. ******* selfish, I feel like a ***** How I'm tired of being self-depricating because I don't want to seem like an ******* I've come a long way as a person and I'm not allowed to brag about it. I'm barely allowed to take a compliment or I'll look like I'm preening. Write about how I'm tired of being kinda ugly sometimes. Write about how I had *** with someone, how when I told someone else, I could see them and society drawing a big **** crown of judgement, and how that's ****** I wish we could all grow up. I wish I could explain that my apathy is, to a certain degree, purposeful. Because looking at feminism articles every day made me feel like **** I felt like a victim constantly, and I alienated myself from making friends with normal people because I was an extremist. I got tired of constant misery and misinformation. The feminist community was cannibalistic too, and I don't think I wanted to make friends with such hyper-aggressive people. Write about how I want to be a writer and how I can only write three sentences and then I look at the screen hopelessly. How lame. I'M SO ******* NAIVE BECAUSE I want so badly to be different in a better way, but I know I'm just the same. I want to be able to change the world and I know I can't, it doesn't matter anyway. I haven't been able to cry in three months. I'm tired of trying to find my brand of catharsis.
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17
There is no avenue for escape Forever dreams now will cease For hiding in the dark With ravenous glistening eyes Is a viscous snarling beast Cannibalistic   Is its insanity of imagination Conjuring up visions of Emotional disembowelment The soul's evisceration This immortal predator of the time An avid consumer of synonyms and rhyme For it comes to satisfy its appetite Savoring its prey Baring broken worn teeth Blackness will swallow the shimmering day Peer round the corner Pools of thought Cool translucent eyes Hear the echoes of coming destiny It is the satisfaction of the blood hunt   The breath of a warm sigh Venture past the gift of madness Deep into the shadowed heart Barely Interlaced edges The snarling beasts lie waiting Lurking in the dark This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Jan. 30, 2015
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Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
The Snarling Beast
(insert generic death metal song title here one) Human blood bath Soak in ********* and human waste Got a taste for the diseased human race Acid melting face Drink from the spewing flesh Gurgle and gargle to the dying beat Of a victims last gulp of tarnished breath (insert generic death metal song title here two) Skull cracked and bleeding Blood **** filled wounds seeping Immaculate Christ unjaded Aborted abortion Born and bathed in afterbirth Blown and constipated in foreign ***** matter Torn from arms of zombie flesh Decaying in the hot summer sun Baked in the hot summer sun (insert generic death metal song title here three) Trash my intended victim with nothing better to do Than torture **** **** and torture some more Death does not last in the flesh Emancipated from life Just a breath away from dying Hang on to the threads of the noose Strangulating the frustrating last gasp of air Torture **** **** and torture some more Out of boredom and out of time Boredom kills You better watch out I’m coming for you (insert generic death metal song title here four) Hollow eye sockets Wretched Reeking Filthy **** Plastered on crimson caked hands ****** dirt beneath the fingernails Scratches scraped in the walls From bodies dragged thru the hall Down the stairs to the killing room Meat hook art show of disembodied And disemboweled corpses Dismembered in some horrorshow freakshow Bowl of human remains cooked on the stove For this years All-You-Can-Eat chili fest Lick savory lips with salted tongue Hunger pains from cannibalistic urges The brain tastes best when paired with a good wine Eat, drink, and be merry Tomorrow you’re on the menu
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Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
This Is Why I Don't Write Death Metal Lyrics
(insert generic death metal song title here one) Human blood bath Soak in ********* and human waste Got a taste for the diseased human race Acid melting face Drink from the spewing flesh Gurgle and gargle to the dying beat Of a victims last gulp of tarnished breath (insert generic death metal song title here two) Skull cracked and bleeding Blood **** filled wounds seeping Immaculate Christ unjaded Aborted abortion Born and bathed in afterbirth Blown and constipated in foreign ***** matter Torn from arms of zombie flesh Decaying in the hot summer sun Baked in the hot summer sun (insert generic death metal song title here three) Trash my intended victim with nothing better to do Than torture **** **** and torture some more Death does not last in the flesh Emancipated from life Just a breath away from dying Hang on to the threads of the noose Strangulating the frustrating last gasp of air Torture **** **** and torture some more Out of boredom and out of time Boredom kills You better watch out I’m coming for you (insert generic death metal song title here four) Hollow eye sockets Wretched Reeking Filthy **** Plastered on crimson caked hands ****** dirt beneath the fingernails Scratches scraped in the walls From bodies dragged thru the hall Down the stairs to the killing room Meat hook art show of disembodied And disemboweled corpses Dismembered in some horrorshow freakshow Bowl of human remains cooked on the stove For this years All-You-Can-Eat chili fest Lick savory lips with salted tongue Hunger pains from cannibalistic urges The brain tastes best when paired with a good wine Eat, drink, and be merry Tomorrow you’re on the menu
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51
The love bite to his neck reeks of the betrayal woven into his blood like a caffeinated web. He contorts in the aftermath of cannibalistic copulation, the last of his eight legs twitch in a silky spasm before he stills, dead and defeated by the mother of his newly conceived children cradled in my warm womb.
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Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
Black Widow
The town is flashing it’s colours Bright prisms of lights Windows open and lively leaves Shut the door, close your eyes. So much beauty, and so many things to do maybe one day we’ll meet again At an empty railway station The cannibalistic metropolis Seeking ways to make words Untrue, unspoken, wanted and alive. Eat the fear of the writer Give me a warm hand, So I can touch the soluble skies Take me away from the spotlight Make sure I can withstand The town is missing It’s soft colours And I’m missing The wholeness through words
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May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
Inadequacy
I was born in a pauper’s grave, with the metallic taste of a silver spoon still lingering on my palate. A passed life of exuberance, lost like the previous days’ sunrise. Golden beams; symbolic of only a desire for an intangible ecstasy. I grew with a sharp tongue and a black heart, the quality of my soul marred by the bitterness of regret. I craved a euphoria that I could never quite attain, a deranged obsession to feel at home again. Though, I knew I would ne'er again experience, the touch of fine lace on my flesh. There is now a palpable separation of the wicked and the righteous, and I have been caste down from my glimmering throne, to walk among the dead. I cringe away from their decrepit hands, and the sickly-sweet, decaying smell of their breath. These rats eating rats, this cannibalistic life, I feel its effect moving through my layers of psychosis. It gives me that déjà vu feeling that the sky and sea, unfeeling as they are, have heard enumerable cries like mine, all too many times before. I have a yearning in my bones for the days of Summers' passed, with the smell of sweet honeysuckles and red roses perfuming the air. Delicate words whispered through the vines of cherry blossoms, dressed in soft, white cotton and lying amongst the Juniper trees. It calls a tender feeling of nostalgia, but my vision is shattered and beaten by a retched reality. That of broken moon beams and a devastatingly darkened, burgundy-lined sky. There is a perpetual insanity that lingers after every passerby, like a dense trail that is all consuming. The residents of this apocalyptic dimension are all obscene and ****** they all ooze a voracious odor of lingering death meat, and no one seems to mind at all.
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Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
the fall of a voodoo queen
I was born in a pauper’s grave, with the metallic taste of a silver spoon still lingering on my palate. A passed life of exuberance, lost like the previous days’ sunrise. Golden beams; symbolic of only a desire for an intangible ecstasy. I grew with a sharp tongue and a black heart, the quality of my soul marred by the bitterness of regret. I craved a euphoria that I could never quite attain, a deranged obsession to feel at home again. Though, I knew I would ne'er again experience, the touch of fine lace on my flesh. There is now a palpable separation of the wicked and the righteous, and I have been caste down from my glimmering throne, to walk among the dead. I cringe away from their decrepit hands, and the sickly-sweet, decaying smell of their breath. These rats eating rats, this cannibalistic life, I feel its effect moving through my layers of psychosis. It gives me that déjà vu feeling that the sky and sea, unfeeling as they are, have heard enumerable cries like mine, all too many times before. I have a yearning in my bones for the days of Summers' passed, with the smell of sweet honeysuckles and red roses perfuming the air. Delicate words whispered through the vines of cherry blossoms, dressed in soft, white cotton and lying amongst the Juniper trees. It calls a tender feeling of nostalgia, but my vision is shattered and beaten by a retched reality. That of broken moon beams and a devastatingly darkened, burgundy-lined sky. There is a perpetual insanity that lingers after every passerby, like a dense trail that is all consuming. The residents of this apocalyptic dimension are all obscene and ****** they all ooze a voracious odor of lingering death meat, and no one seems to mind at all.
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32
***** stories make front pages, Massacres and killings, Mayhem and ****** , A mad man is dealing, This masked man antics Is masking the city , The mind behind the gore Is on 30th floor, In a dormitory with no door, Only a window, With which The nocturnal tenant tends to Look over. Watching The overnight onlookers Night walkers, Alley cats, Insomniacs, And boulevard hookers..." "....My eyes lay On a prominent, candidate For cannibalistic practices, My dominant traits Widows peak, Vampirical feats, Long, hollow teeth, With massive molars, Used to chewing meat, Which sit beside my Sharp Canines. But my sizable incisors Scissor inside the side of my Silent victim Select venom in him Bereft of vocalism Vocal cords torn I violently vanquish His speech. He’s paralyzed from his Neck to his feet I throw him over My shoulder, Escape the obscene scene Before I am seen..."
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Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC
The Cannibal
I reminisce quite often of your touch and the unabashed ****** experimentation's we've shared. I know my worth, so don't you go forgetting, I had you with your mouth agape, your toe's curling as you cried out my name... call my conceit one of a kind, because I know the way you stare, the way your  eyes lustfully & licentiously devourer me, the way you crave me and how you cling to the memories of us, in bed. Your priapic lust for me is equally accepted & measure, almost to a point where I could have bodily-combusted since you always seem unable to stop, but you must know, I have a very arcane little list and lucky for you I've let you in... hahaha lucky indeed & better for me. My concupiscence  language and metaphors simplify & convey my lustful intent. In simpler terms just know I want to repeat are coupling, I'd like you to to bend me over and stretch me to my fullest. open me widely and dance with in my silken  Venus’ cradle, entangle me into a dreamlike haze, in which my  fantasy and reality are indistinguishable. I know you've  harboured about me & the many ways, all the very excitingly different ways you could defile and desecrate my ripe tight little body, I see more clarity and certainty of what might happen,    if ever I'd allow you to spend the night with me again, I still remember our passionate nights together,    oh so very well,   I can see it, I taste us and worst yet, I can feel your animalistic and sometimes brutal ****** assault on me, I still feel you deep within my seductive tight little love box. Your a cannibalistic-cunnalinguist master, causing havoc within me, as you attack hungrily between my thighs, sending me spinning, sending me on a  intoxicating high. Our last encounter,   left me unable to breathe, barely able to walk and yet I have no regrets, well maybe just one, and that is; all good things must come to an end! (until I heal.) Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®          K.A.C.L.N ©      All right reserved ® Copyright 1977 - Present ©
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Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
Until I Heal.
I reminisce quite often of your touch and the unabashed ****** experimentation's we've shared. I know my worth, so don't you go forgetting, I had you with your mouth agape, your toe's curling as you cried out my name... call my conceit one of a kind, because I know the way you stare, the way your  eyes lustfully & licentiously devourer me, the way you crave me and how you cling to the memories of us, in bed. Your priapic lust for me is equally accepted & measure, almost to a point where I could have bodily-combusted since you always seem unable to stop, but you must know, I have a very arcane little list and lucky for you I've let you in... hahaha lucky indeed & better for me. My concupiscence  language and metaphors simplify & convey my lustful intent. In simpler terms just know I want to repeat are coupling, I'd like you to to bend me over and stretch me to my fullest. open me widely and dance with in my silken  Venus’ cradle, entangle me into a dreamlike haze, in which my  fantasy and reality are indistinguishable. I know you've  harboured about me & the many ways, all the very excitingly different ways you could defile and desecrate my ripe tight little body, I see more clarity and certainty of what might happen,    if ever I'd allow you to spend the night with me again, I still remember our passionate nights together,    oh so very well,   I can see it, I taste us and worst yet, I can feel your animalistic and sometimes brutal ****** assault on me, I still feel you deep within my seductive tight little love box. Your a cannibalistic-cunnalinguist master, causing havoc within me, as you attack hungrily between my thighs, sending me spinning, sending me on a  intoxicating high. Our last encounter,   left me unable to breathe, barely able to walk and yet I have no regrets, well maybe just one, and that is; all good things must come to an end! (until I heal.) Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®          K.A.C.L.N ©      All right reserved ® Copyright 1977 - Present ©
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76
I think with my heart; not my head in my hand or buried deep under the sand. Because when everything comes from the core, i don’t need to wonder any more. Thinking is not a chore: like folding laundry into a tidy drawer. But that’s what draws our glass floor, and causes us to continully snore. But what we chose to ignore, should be infact, exactly what we adore. Then maybe we’d ask for an encore instead of a 24/7 drug store. _______ To you, i may be a boar, but we must bust down the door. Stop fighting the war! Live for evermore( if we wish to soar). _____ But today our biggest sore may be the us marine corp. i hurt for their souls, scattered galore. it is i who they fend for, it is why their blood continues to pour. But that doesn’t effect you, because it happens on another shore. Your questions? i have answer for, but please don’t ask me the baseball score. Those fact are not in my houses’ decor, all forms of politics, i choose to ignore. __________ You can call me a dinosaur, regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore. _________ I know you may ridicule, but i prefer to be the recluse, only coming out, when looking for a spruce. So, when i do explore, you will not find me with the busy bodies, you will find me with the mircoscopic spores. After all, it's we they provide for. After this adventure, i know they swore, they could create me a commodore. On our yaht, somewhere offshore. There would be no more war. just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore. Before, I was a skeptic, ******** i now believe holeheartedly in folklore. My faith in prewar, is now eternally restored. Because mother against man always out scores, that is why i look no more. Nature is my only mentor. ________ now, i see myself as a matador. i can be anything, that is the underscore.
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Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Ostrich to the Core
I think with my heart; not my head in my hand or buried deep under the sand. Because when everything comes from the core, i don’t need to wonder any more. Thinking is not a chore: like folding laundry into a tidy drawer. But that’s what draws our glass floor, and causes us to continully snore. But what we chose to ignore, should be infact, exactly what we adore. Then maybe we’d ask for an encore instead of a 24/7 drug store. _______ To you, i may be a boar, but we must bust down the door. Stop fighting the war! Live for evermore( if we wish to soar). _____ But today our biggest sore may be the us marine corp. i hurt for their souls, scattered galore. it is i who they fend for, it is why their blood continues to pour. But that doesn’t effect you, because it happens on another shore. Your questions? i have answer for, but please don’t ask me the baseball score. Those fact are not in my houses’ decor, all forms of politics, i choose to ignore. __________ You can call me a dinosaur, regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore. _________ I know you may ridicule, but i prefer to be the recluse, only coming out, when looking for a spruce. So, when i do explore, you will not find me with the busy bodies, you will find me with the mircoscopic spores. After all, it's we they provide for. After this adventure, i know they swore, they could create me a commodore. On our yaht, somewhere offshore. There would be no more war. just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore. Before, I was a skeptic, ******** i now believe holeheartedly in folklore. My faith in prewar, is now eternally restored. Because mother against man always out scores, that is why i look no more. Nature is my only mentor. ________ now, i see myself as a matador. i can be anything, that is the underscore.
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59
Cannibalistic animals Feeding off of each others pain Blood ******* leaches Reaching for their own personal gain Civilized savages Educated fools Empire of vampires Rearranging the rules Disguised in neckties Briefcases and smiling faces Cloaked in lies Spiritual wickedness in high places Coagulated rivers Calculated killers Cryptic crimes Comprised by Gifted minds Concrete jungle Play the game "or be the game The weak who stumble Are hunted down and maimed If you can’t beat ‘em -join ‘em It’s the only way to survive Stepping on the heads of others Just to stay alive Its dog eat dog And every dog has its day Today is mines- so be smart When you hear the bark Stay the hell out of my way
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Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
Civilized Savages
What if all the species on earth except humans Got united and attacked us:- For being so stupid and inhuman For being so idiotic to destroy our own common place of living .. For mining our own resources to the bottom so that nothing is left for future.. even for our future generations.. For being so cannibalistic, for being in war, for being parasitic, for killing our own species.. In the name of religion, caste, colour and creed That big nations manufacture weapons To be sold to terrorists To **** its own people? And then hunt the so called terrorists Which are their own making? What if there were no religions? What if there were no castes? What if there were no Gods? What if there were no fights? What if if there were no wars? What if there was only peace?
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Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
what if...
When I read, I speak, And when I speak, I read Words rolling off my eyes, Filling my tongue full of free-- Style rhyming and rhythm. The canons of thought rolling out with a boom. Pachelbel changing your direction of flow Through some Perverse, Obscure, Rehearsal Suddenly Reversed. Back where you started, Starting over again, With a pen in your hand The words crowding your head. Gotta jump and tumble To the jiggle and flow Of the individualistic, Unrealistic, Even cannibalistic Creations that grow. From your stylus, Rife. Words. They're the stuff of life.
0
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 7:47 PM UTC
Freestyle
When I was not so old, yelling from light poles. On the corner streets, steaming sidewalks gleaming. I was screaming, serenading myself into wishful thinking. Humming songs sent from the sun, I was blissfully young. My naivety was a yellow narcissus flower behind my ear. I was eagerly waiting with the world for it's wonders. Now, I'm hidden halfway behind shadows and secrets. Sitting on benches built of bones and burnt out cigarettes. Smearing the skin around my eyes because it hangs so heavily. Managing, the only major motion I move, aside from breathing. My chest a cavernous cornucopia for cannibalistic feelings. I'm alone even when I'm surrounded by so many souls. I falter as I find myself daydreaming about old days and their details. Realizing, reluctantly, that days of delightful delusions didn't really occur. I'm just a mixed mirage of mindless hopes and hollow wishes. Weaved a tender web of wanting, at least I had been mortal for a moment. I tried to believe I didn't think I was always so desperately discontinuous. But that's a lie, I'm a lie, and I'll always be an allusion of an actual human.
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Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Origins
Cannibalistic are the teeth jagged in curl and grin. They grip fastened between gums of grime and sin. They prey leeched to toys strung under webs so few. My fingers creeped between their eyes so suffice and blind. Like storms choked in stark sky and drying rain, my views christen and bloom. Eyes bleached gold, lavish the corners donning streets and side shop. I myself lark on apartment edges and strewn roof tops, balancing death and door bells along my crooked spine. Wide faces swirl in faded lights along morbid streets blazed in night. They the oh so happy and innocent leech the drinks and sway the narcotics. Hand on breath, tongue on tip. It’s so heart full to stare from the roofs so grimaced. All words muddled in dread, lick their rosy lips, as stare catches the late night shift. All the blossomed couples curl and constrict in arms so selfish I must keep edges sharp and dull in bliss. Balance sways in dim, darkest are the days flattering night and cursing day. I wait amongst the walls above wavering innocence to demand. I shift on roofs so frail and wary that life seeks no bounds as the heights do not scare me. I will slip feudal in their creviced minds, but merely of pity to all their credible crimes. Here the world cries and here the cannibal lies. I break to be broken, but never to die, only to fall within the world’s eye.
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Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:01 AM UTC
Cannibal of the Night
whispering... calling... Reaching out for me What am I to do Arms of death gripped corpses Attaching themselves to every limb Trying to drag me To the darkest pits of the unknown whispering... calling... Pulling on my flesh Tearing me to pieces As I try to reject the conclusion That these hollow point glares Are drilling into my body But the pain is numbed whispering... calling... I don't want to reply For if I do I accept defeat And let this cancerous nuisance Plunge me into my own insanity Of cannibalistic voices Crawling on the walls like shadow phantoms whispering... calling... I'm dead No point in denying it I'm a nobody Who will remember me These joker grins around me Knew my fate long before I did Because they were pushing me off The edge of life's lonely cliff Into swarming piranha infested darkness
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Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
Whispering...Calling...
**his body is bread, made of dough kneaded through generations she knew.                he sensed her cannibalistic  urge, even before, from her irregular breath, now, under her garter belt half untied he feels                a knife. he knew she was the exquisite red wine matured in the      wooden barrels in darkness of time,       found only  on the table angels dine. her blood red intoxicates even from a distance, he desired the sweet and sour of her tender flesh, goosebumps infest like pox when he closes his eyes and imagine licking clean the chalice                          filled with her. The jealous moon looking down at them, from her high perch whisper: "You are made for each other no doubt"**
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Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:32 AM UTC
Bread and wine