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Elihu Barachel Jan 2015
Fifty Thousand dee-grees hot  
Burn your *** right on the spot  
-
Great big flash of light and heat  
Fry your *** from head to feet  
-
Mushroom clouds rise to the sky  
No time to kiss your *** good by  
-
‘Tomic bombs are coming soon  
Blow your *** right to the moon  
-
If by chance the blast you miss  
Fall-out's gunna end your bliss
-
In the dark your *** glow
Retirement you can forgo
-
Two weeks it takes for you to croak
You'll puke and **** and wretch and choak  
-
Are you ready ready for your death?  
Go and snort more crystal ****
-
So Hail! Hail! WW3
Very shortly it will be
Pebbles Jul 2011
One day my words will scream in side my head
There will be a thirst unquenched
A hand unheld
And a million moments lost within the framework we call life
How to hold on when everyone about is drowning
Hold me up
Chuck me a life jacket
Where the hell am I
Sinking
Further
Faster
Hell this is no fun anymore
And as I turn to look into your eyes
Your laughing
This world is for the rich
The mighty sword holds tight
Across my chest
I breath in air
And choak out blood
Look down at your hands
Blood
As red as the lips in which you kiss goodnight
In the shade of the shining moon
Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days? Thou lookest
    from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desart
    comes: it howls in thy empty court.—Ossian.

I

Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle:
  Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
  Have choak’d up the rose, which late bloom’d in the way.


II

Of the mail-cover’d Barons, who, proudly, to battle,
  Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev’ry blast rattle,
  Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.


III

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
  Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell’d wreath;
Near Askalon’s towers, John of Horistan slumbers,
  Unnerv’d is the hand of his minstrel, by death.


IV

Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy;
  For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye:
  How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.


V

On Marston, with Rupert, ‘gainst traitors contending,
  Four brothers enrich’d, with their blood, the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
  Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d.


VI

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
  From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
  New courage, he’ll think upon glory and you.


VII

Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
  ’Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
  The fame of his Fathers he ne’er can forget.


VIII

That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;
  He vows that he ne’er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
  When decay’d, may he mingle his dust with your own!
CRobinson Oct 2018
my mind has turned against me
images of being tortured
bounce like a red hot molecule inside my skull

"you deserve this"
"you're worthless"

they scream in my ear
its like a non stop 747 flying by my head
but today was different

i grabbed the thoughts by the throat
and pressed them against the wall

with my eyes burning with righteous anger
i throw them to the ground

i press my boot against its throat
and press with all my wieght

they begin to choak
gasping for air
they utter a single phrase
"please have mercy on me"

you didn't have mercy on me
you didn't give me an ounce of joy
you didn't allow me to get out of bed

so no
i will not have mercy on you
i will end your miserable existence

in the trunk
and down the street
i throw you in a ditch

shovel to the head (1)
i bury you far away from me

i'm not stupid though
i know you'll come back

but this time i'm prepared
if you come on my doorstep again
i will not be held accountable for my actions
(1) INTRO III by NF
I deeply touching
my lips
from inside
out /
and all in
head
and the
rest of heart /
is only
a picture of
Slyvia Plath /
and my
abnormal desire
of holding her /
by her chest /
and choak
her to death /
with a large kiss
on kitchen
stand /
and before
a handsome coffee /
pouring my
already
husband love
for her

— The End —