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It comes from the depths
of a place unknown to the
keeper of dreams.
If it could then it would steal
the sun and the moon from the sky;
beware!

Human at sight,
monster at heart,
Don't let it inside;
it could tear you right apart!

No guilt, it feeds in plain sight.
Spirit crusher!
Stay strong and hold on tight.
Spirit crusher!

Speaking in killing words,
the vicious kind that crush and ****.
No mercy, its pleasure:
to taste the blood.
That's it, blood.

When it's time to feed,
to fulfill the need to consume a breath,
some will rise standing tall
breathing out all the breath from
the voice of a Soul.

Human at sight,
monster at heart.
Don't let it inside,
it would tear you right apart!

No guilt, it feeds in plain sight.
Spirit crusher!
Stay strong and hold on tight.
Spirit crusher!

Speaking in killing words;
the vicious kind that crush and ****.
No mercy, its pleasure to taste
the blood!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOXLc3rmK10

Song by the band Death;
written by Chuck Schuldiner
the poor fellow
got his nuts
overly crushed
in the nut crusher
on Christmas day
they were well crushed
in a mangled sort of way
he was so distraught
at having his Walnuts
too well crushed
and his face was so flushed
had he of not
put so much muscle
into his crusher
his Walnuts
would have been
less crushed
Chuck Jan 2013
Dis is one dream that won’t be pleasant
I’m the master, you the peasant
Broken Ankles and Totaled Cars
Really!? More like Strange Dreams from weird bars
Guess it can’t be, Queens too young
In a club, hands w’d get tied, like your tongue
More like a wanna be princess, than a true Queen
You got weak poems like Death by Dopamine
Mo like, Death by Dope Poet, me!
Ya best run back to the Prayer Closest gurll
Time for a Waking up, I’m da King of the world
There are two things you can take
That your Unabridged Loc Bat and your Mistake
Show some Self-Control SISS
Gonna get your ******* in a great big twist
Your right about one thing, it’s My Fault
That you’re stumblin’ in the hundred, an I’m winin the vault
BOO HOO! Handle With Care
My rhymes nock your teeth out and pull your hair         (Not me, rhymes. No violence towards women!)
I Release my poems, to be a my ****
You’ll be reciting’ Memories of You, like a drug
You asked the question, What I May Lose
It aint up to you B, it’s for me to choose
You were So Close, you could almost taste it
In stepped the King, now your poems aint worth sh…..

Yo Yo! Listen up all you shawtys
Ya steppin’ to the Kng, you must b chugging foties
Take a herd of ya’ll to get in my face
Talken to you, Somethin’ and Madison Grace
This is the toughest challenge you’ll ever face
Betta  get fifty of ya all pseudo poets
Cuz you’re the what?
And I’m the KNOW IT!!!!!!!
HAHAHAHAHA! Don't take this seriously! Fun with poetry not ment to offend. Something is in on this. Much love and respect to all poets and rappers.

Please read the Gangsta poem By Somethingweknewwasous!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tis is a retort to her retort to my original Gansta Poet.
When you are in love with one, and might love another. What do you do? Do you stay with one and leave the other? Or do you leave the other to be with another? These questions may not bother you. To others they haunt them in their sleep. They take over their lives till there is nothing. Nothing to live for.
     In these dreams you see two people. Your lover and your crusher. Which one do you pick? You can’t pick. You don’t know what happened. But your mouth is shut. You can’t open it to talk. You can only sit there and stare. You stare at the two and think. Then you can’t think any longer. You want to scream, but you cannot.
     To the people that have never felt this. You are probably wondering. Why do they feel this pain? What can I do? I can’t do anything. Unless… maybe I’m causing the pain. But I can’t stop it. I don’t if I’m the lover or the crusher. I don’t want to break their heart if I’m the lover. Then I don’t want to leave them if I’m the crusher. Oh GOD! What am I supposed to do? Why does life have to be so hard?  But I guess for the person that is in pain their life is worse.
     Has this ever happened to you? Have you been the one in pain? Or the one wondering? When you read this. Can you relate to these people?
Dylan McFadden May 2020
Behold the dreadful Horns of Red
The Beasts who trample o’er the dead
Who roar and gore and raise their heads
In challenge to the One who bled –

The One who willfully was pierced
Whose will is strong, whose love is fierce
Who crushes Altars men revere
That they may see through their veneer

.
Chris D Aechtner Nov 2021
BLAST   —   direct focus on a terrorist virus
that swims in breath and touch,
in globules of spittle and ssnot see,
waiting to plant roadside RNA bombs
in nostrils—from flesh to newsflash fantasies

with

a Fear-O-Meter Lockdown grip
of Crisis Management Economics:
Gaslit Fiat economy crash test dummies
tested within psychosocioschizological
experiments of the psychobacteriological

transfer of power, control, and wealth—

stats data for thinktanks and simulations:
which strategies are best to get the peasants  
to willingly offer up their lives for an illusion
of safety and protection, what causes people
to remain compliant or to become renegades.

Capitalism, the revolutionary meant to usurp
Queens and Kings, corrupted into a negative
Technocratic Corporatocracy: a Royal Trash
death cult that feeds on its young, sacrifices
its youth to scams, wars, and stolen futures:

a Technocrat Herr Doktor drug pusher
that plies the skin of trial control groups
for the venom of Warpspeed fangs—wraps
its coil around a bundle of willow switches
supple with youth, its victims kept alive

as a fuel source to burn in the corporate engine, and kept weak enough to require another fix "For the betterment of the whole."

(Gaslighting fills mandated shower-coops:
"Trust us, you're sick, and it's your fault.")

Pollute people into isolation against an enemy that has never been truthfully isolated and purified—
an Orwellian leap of faith that breaks:
a crusher of foundational laws,
a crusher of critical thought and bones.

"Destroy (transform) your dreams, milestones, and livelihoods for your safety and protection. We are doing this for you. We care about you. These numbers, these awful numbers are your fault! You're to blame! It's all your fault!"

"Make sure to vote for me come next election."

As much as North America is a globalist,
the New World is also its own experiment.
Fortress North America: the Eugenicist Manager founded upon colonialism and slavery that outsources its crisis economics—
highly contagious, bit with its own snake oil,
an experiment observed to show symptoms
of AIDS, North America attacking itself
in many ways, symptoms of having been
grazed and groomed for decades

in contagion-based sociopolitical templates
that result in acquired bipolar autoimmune
disease: past enemies and geists attained
boosted immunity to defend, adapt—learned
to deflect Sun Tzu's Art of War into itself

with its own momentum. "Unrestricted
Psychological Warfare": a process of confusion and doubt that leads to the demoralization and dehumanization of the target enemy via the subversive tactics of propaganda plowing, cultural memetic warfare, the infection of economy, politics, military, scientific and educational institutions and systems—
cybertech and media espionage and warfare,
all of it leading to symptoms of extreme

polarization and social moral tribalism—
a decades-long psychological, physical
and spiritual draining of the enemy
into a weakened, toxic state, barely worthwhile to conquer fully. The enemy does the rest,

finishes itself off with:

Acquired (Red Auto)ImmunoDefiency Syndrome

Red CONtroll COVID-19 debt slavery—
pandemic crisis, CoVfefe crisis, energy crisis,
population crisis, climate crisis, racism crisis,
market crisis, war crisis, terrorism crisis,
ISIS is is cry sis in crisis and crisis
in crisis debt slavery to the State: Toadies

for the "New Normal" Big Pharma-Big Tech
mechanical heart engine that thrums
with a beat that Zooms in on, Zooms out from
false-positive test results amplified

and distorted into AIDS:

Amplified Information Distortion Syndrome

and

an Acquired ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome
in conjunction with a near-infinite number
of variables and determining factors—
an Auto-ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome of
body, mind, soul, and political systems
cruising along an acquired, contagious loop
of a negative-sense RNA socialist Autobahn—

highly contagious, highly experimental in
unprecedented moments of crisis and mirrors: reflections of reflections of reflections
amplified and bent
in sleight-of-hand misdirection and deflection with the virus holding a mirror's face outwards

while

an mRNA 'treatment' infects human cells
to conquer and command them to become
bomb making factories that create
SARS-CoV-2 S-proteins—yes, yes, "inactively" teach T-cells with double-think McCure-all bandAIDS to 'help' identify SARS-CoV-2 RNA. Understood. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction

(for the Terrorist within)

"Here's a fast-tracked vaccine that supposedly boosts the immune system that you're being commanded to weaken."

GMO sleeper cells and non-celled sequences
that can attain causality and symbiosis with
drug and antibiotic resistant organisms,
are sold as the cure that ills

and

misdiagnosed and misunderstood symptoms
of anything and everything
in-between that we've known and seen
are blamed on a laboratory Chimera:

the scapegoat terrorist virus designed
to be highly contagious and gentle to its host
for vaccine programs: Mary's Monster attaining the flame of life within
its Promethean host.

Who made who?

Who knew that the FDA NIH CDC
WHO-Fang North American China Flu Clan

flew the fear and media spread. "Wait for our
next update." Live TV, live virus

with billions of shortsighted treatments
adding ripples to an overflowing soup bowl
of trillions x trillions of RNA particulates,

inactive/active — off/on — negative/positive

Switch:

Spin PCR in the Petri dish:
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish!
What a lot of fish there are!

This one has a little yellow star.....

("Mission Accomplished")
1 17 2021
Angela Marie Feb 2018
Your a soul crusher
Giving no **** to the wake you leave behind
Pretending to satisfy my soul
But you lie in wait to make your move

You bend for no one
Buckets of blood torn hearts scream revenge

But you are heartless
Your a soul crusher....and you know it

Your future, your fait is already written in stone......

Your fait is hopeless, consumed by the ******* that you called once, yours

They sharpen their nails against the walls and they walk the halls to find your soul
Jeremy Lately May 2015
I may wish on stars as the rain drops unto you
Today
Although the Rain gets to me too,
I still miss your sunny rays

If only you'd direct some of that sun toward me,
I'd be " " in every other way.

But you are a sunflower that can only be kissed in the rain.
Yet, I am transparent; Diphylleiac and Gray

And as the sun comes out,
I hesitate, and
you face the other way.

You're a dying breed
Amongst the dust and in a druzy,
You do not see me

Yet

She is your sunshine and I'm not.
We're full of no promise;
Forget-me-not.
I try not to be the one-sided crusher
but I
can't
stop.
I also have this posted somewhere on DA.

Unrequited Love is a pretty powerful muse.
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
I. Summer pictures litter her walls
Glitter infestations
Second grade yearbook
And a signed portrait of that one indie celebrity.
What’s his name?
Jimi Hendrix?
Or Rob the Bone Crusher?
Was it that guy from New England?
With the Iced Tea, and the apartment?
You know that really, really big condo.

II. in 1995 you were all hot and heavy
******* and bumping in the clubs
Sinking your teeth into whatever
Or whoever you could find
Like ****** and some of that crystal ****
You said you liked the way it felt
When it ran down your veins

III. I remember the nights you cried
You said you’d feel this way forever
And I said well…probably.

IV. 7 AM, you’re still out clubbing.
Out on the streets like a little hoodlum
Looking for your fix in the alleys
Of a suburb of your suburb of Minneapolis.
Anything you can shoot, smoke, snort or swallow
You’re down.
You can't safely have a cigarette outside of the bus terminal
without a couple of folk asking for one.
You can't safely have a cigarette in general.
But, if five of them have to last you a night and a sunrise,
you don't really mind turning down a few nameless hands.
Some of the bus drivers like to talk about football, weather;
others complain about management or the patrons;
a few don't say much at all, avoiding sympathy.
They're probably the smart ones.
They don't want to learn the sad stories in between stops.
I usually like to just sit in the back and ride out the best bumps.
The handrails jiggle and crash with every pothole.
-
The men who work at the metal scrap yard
usually get on in front of Debbie's Diner on 22nd street.
Bundled up for warmth and firm of face, they only speak to each other.
Small talk about who almost missed the bus, broken crane joints,
and who moved the most barrels of copper piping fill the blocks.
They tend to pick on the guy who runs the aluminum can crusher;
big guy, they call him "Boose" and he couldn't be much older than I am.
His hands and lips are dry and cracked from exposure,
but his face still shows ember of teenage years, though jilted.
There is a bar that serves three-dollar chili across the street, spicy.
The workers go there when they miss the first bus, have a beer,
down a bowl of boiling chili, and catch the return bus in better moods.
-
The railroads on Brush College road tend to hold up traffic.
The ADM plant doesn't really mind if a few twenty-something mothers
are late to their practical nursing and phlebotomy classes,
but they voice their complaints out of a cracked window to the side
of a ten story soybean silo nonetheless; steaming ears and all.
I stare at the graffiti on the laggard train cars, each unique
in color, quality, style, and message; the industrial Louvre.
These waits sometimes last a half hour or more.
In the days before Pell grant rewards come in,
when students still feel like they're working toward tangible cash,
the seats are all packed with heavy breathers.
The air becomes thick with community college carbon coughs.
tlp
Drew Renquest Sep 2014
I saw it, them kiss.
It intoxicated me, fueled me.
The pit sank and my smile grew as I felt the heat spread.
Out of my eyes and into her body it started to bend into the fibers.
I could feel it, the throat peeling off it's char from the painless flame. It slithered up further into the false passion that she was swimming in, swallowing and searing along the way. A silent scream was made but not heard. Their lips seared as the flame made it's final conquest.
Smile faded, but happiness achieved . I take their heads, bonded by sealed lips in a temporary lust forever. Staring at each other in agony until the dirt rotted around their filthy skulls.
Kathleen Apr 2011
I've succumbed to the fact that I am not good.

That I am some sadistic crusher of dreams, fates, wonder.

I am thus, I do thusly.


I am a destroyer of dreams.

Of all those good things.

A crusher of moths.


Foaming at the mouth.

Drooling at the prospect of all at once.

The want.

The need.

The cake and the presence of cake.


You look at me.

Sad.

Pathetic.

Endearing in being so weak.


The conquering of the mountain of you.

Done.

Complete.


I am the master here.

I win the game.

Every game.

Pick a game.

I win.


Everywhere I go

I can get you.

Have gotten you.

Could drop you and get you again.

Could craft an army of You's.

Them's

Us's


The luck of being the shade that I'm looking at currently.

So finite a selection of people.

Raise your glass to that if anything.

Enjoy the ride while you're on it.


At least be conscious of it.

Set yourself apart in that way.

Impress me with your special qualities.

Make me notice you.

Don't lose my interest.


I grow bored.
Alex Acosta Oct 2010
I'd like to call you Father,
But that would be a lie.
For a Father's there for his child,
So to me you're just some Guy.
I'd like to call you a Man,
But that would not be true.
For a Man has morals and respect,
And that was never you.
Even though you were in my life,
You were never actually in it.
To you parent was just a title,
You were never actually committed.
I remember the soccer games I had,
And how I had so much fun.
The ones you never went to,
Because my team had never won.
I remember when you tried to fight me,
And how you kicked me out your house,
Took the car that you gave me,
Said I'll never be a man, and to get out.
At 16, I cried like a baby,
But not because I was scared.
It was because I loved you deeply,
And you didn't seem to care.
You cut me out of your world,
As if we had no relation.
You disappeared from my life,
No sign of you at my high school graduation.
But now, at 18 years old,
I finally understand.
You are just a grown Child,
Who doesn't know how to be a Man.
But what is a Man to you Dad?
Will you please explain?
Is it someone who treats women like ****?
And causes there sons daily pain?
Is it someone who would rather send a check,
Then to rather see his boy?
A crusher of all dreams and hopes,
Who leaves their child completely destroyed?
Is it a guy that shows no love?
A person who has constantly hated?
A Father to a child,
That he's ashamed to have created?
Well if that's your definition,
All I have to say is ****.
You were right this whole time,
I'll never be a Man.
harmony crescent Jun 2015
"You sounded great up there."
"You totally failed, but I don't want to be a dream-crusher so I'll lie"

Smiles at you when someone compliments you on how you did
"You're lucky that I even let you sing up there, even if you're horrible"

"I look forward to hearing you next week"
*"JK, I'm not coming back again, no way"
DONT SUGAR-COAT IT! I KNOW THAT YOU ARE LYING ANYWAY
Jonny Angel Mar 2015
I think about her every night.
Certainly she was Heavensent.
She struck all of my nerves.
She gave me everything.
She let me steal her breaths,
she even let me taste us.
Then she told me to get bent,
more or less.
I must confess,
sometimes
I don't speak right.
Sacrelicious Jul 2012
Trading in my
used, old day dreams.
At the
dream crusher's junk yard.

I think.
I am just ready to start over.

& So the crawling caterpillar
crawled back into his cocoon.

To sit-sulk-suffer.

Until he grew, big enough to break the walls
risen before him.
And exit his self-perfecting prison.
One wing at a time.

Stab my back,
watch me bleed
lightening and scream "revenge".

I see myself as something.....
Greater than myself.
By the power invested in me,
I declare myself, god.
brandon nagley Sep 2015
O' Earl Jane nagley
For thee;
I shalt.

Be keelhauled
Tied to a rope;
With mine flesh torn off, for thee to be happy.

I shalt haveth mine head chopped off
By a two man blade saw;
Mine top flopping into the basket.

I shalt taketh the head crusher
Where mine eye's pop, mine teeth chatter;
As mine bone's caveth in on me.

Squeezed, I shalt be
Into the iron maiden;
Spike's pushing to mine *****'s, cruor to paint the town.

Mine rose, I shalt be staked for day's
Hot coal's to light the wood ablazed;
As the crowd's watching mine agony.

Mine angel, around the wheel
I shalt spin, joint's ripped, leg's to bend;
Humiliation to maketh me a mockery as I moan.

O' Earl Jane nagley
Seashore Scaphism wouldst erode me;
As the summer putrid shalt burn me, as insect's feast their table.


©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
©,Lonesome poet's poetry
The invalids,
misanthropes-

Spell-check your ego at the dooooooooooooor
And though I fancy that fancy liqueur
I'm of sound mind and jaded-
Gore doesn't bother me and my eyes are all faded-
I'm a child of the devil
So let me level with you-
I don't know what I abhor more,
All this violence in the world, or the lack of haberdashery stores
So I'm of reasonable theory,
And awfully good at this-
So let me circumvent this infinite abyss-
Yeah, I'm *******-
Send me your tired, your weary,
your weird and your eerie,
and I'll eat them with a spoonful of peacock ore-

So I'm better at this than you are-
And I'm from France-
That probably makes you leery,
But my pants are clean and I'm the God of War-
Inadequate!
Mundane!
The pedestrian,

Heretofore-

I crush you, I'm a crusher-
A garbage compacter pall bearer usher-
I'm of appropriate quality-
I spit at inequality with a certain measure of frivolity-

I'm the benefactor of a luster-
So let me rush you into a hasty decision-
"I don't know about that," I hear you utter,
"Stuff it, yo!" I tell you, this is intermission, not the gutter-
So I'm a trap-

As comforting as a spinal tap-
Happy as a lark but fashionable as a jester's cap-
and with a wire cutter mouth-
With which I eat things with a forkful of infidelities-
Though I find the rings hard to chew-
Sam May 2016
just a ****** busker wishing he was a **** buster
he swam lack-lustre,
a salmon unable to muster
the will to cut the custard,
and flutter upstream to meet a lover

stuck in the gutter singing covers
a crushed sucker, tasteless kfc crusher
ominous as a dawn-less dusk and
useless as a ham sandwich with no mustard
playin
GaryFairy Dec 2013
Wasted father other
twisted ******* brother
suffer further under
cover crusher mother

patient silent action
stagnant talent tangent
casket habit magnet
vibrant fragment fraction

soulless sister seller
better error dealer
shelter peddler killer
vendor trader dweller

(This is a new style I am working on. I am going to call it a 2-3-4 poem since it must have three, two syllable words in each line, and four lines per stanza. Also, the first and last line of each stanza must end in a rhyme.)
Don Bouchard Mar 2013
Who is this old man sitting in the tattered old chair,
Yelling French at Mad Dog Vachon,
Bragging about the Crusher's capacity for beer,
Chortling at the desolation of the British Bull Dogs?

Smoking his cigars to their very ends in his old pipe,
Spitting plug tobacco juice
Mostly in the can beside us as my Grandma gags....
The French they speak to each other
Should include requests for pardon....

This raving lunatic is my Grandpa Charles,
And I am five and six and seven,
Sitting on his lap,
Believing every word the Gospel truth:
Seeing Vachon as the savior of French Canada,
The Bulldogs for the evil nation they proclaim,
Kegs of beer as quantities strong men crush.

This old Frenchman whose horse days are done,
Who barely knows to sit still
Though he is a passenger now,
Beside my father...
Knows magical tricks to stun and spell me:
Pushing his teeth out with his tongue,
Leaking smoke from his ears,
Tamping burning coals with his thumb...
An old man who refuses to be old,
Who sits and raves at wrestlers on TV.
RebelJohnny Jan 2015
Heart thief, Dream crusher,
You fooled me,
disabled my defenses.

Invader with tortured eyes
I gave you the
keys to the kingdom
Why?

Why did I fall again
for a wounded heart
And a brilliant mind
And your silver tongue?

Why baby, what a big heart you have.
All the better to distract you with!
Why baby, what a rough past.
All the better to fool you!
What a great communicator
All the better to lull your suspicion...

You disappeared into the night
a bunch of empty promises
a mirage in the desert

Heart thief, soldier
in the night, hope assassin
just another man
who left too quickly
to see my tears

I hope I haunt you
that the desperate thump!
Thump! THUMP!
Of my heart
drives you mad

I hope you
notice the chips in
that treasure you stole

The scars where men
Deceived me like you
And dug nails into my
once-soft heart

I hope....
you come back
And lie to me
convince me there was a reason...

Drug me into
the blissful submission
that was our potential

Dream crusher, heart breaker,
broker of lies, silence dealer,
Poison lips... I wish you had
Kissed me goodbye.
Olivia Kent May 2016
Cold creature.
Dislocated jaws.
Rippling musculature.
Urging in.
BMI increased.
Mega girth.
Crusher fed.
First time ever.
Watched the serpent feed.
Fascinating.
Sleeping now.
(c)LIVVI
I have 3 snakes and 4 lizards in my house. I have never watched the snakes feed before..
Amazing experience.
AK93 May 2016
Thoughts like insects,
Six legged sadness carriers.
I bash my head against the wall,
To hear them pop and splatter.
I am Goliath!
And you will not survive!
I am the World Eater
And there is no David.
I was conceived by minds
More advanced than you are
Capable of comprehending,
With the sole purpose of
Complete and utter annihilation.
I am the Star Crusher
Your sun is feeble in comparison
To the first stars I destroyed,
And this planet is minuscule,
Insignificant to all of time.
I am Goliath!
No entity is capable of
Conquering me for I am
The sole Conqueror of Time.
Get on your knees and
Clasp your hands,
For the final moments of life.
I will not be merciful.
The execution of Earth,
The ignorant planet of faith,
Will be total in completion.
I am Goliath!
After the demise of your world,
I will reveal the undeniable truth
When you are obliterated.
Death is final.
There is no afterlife, no heaven.
But this is hell for you,
As I gleefully devour all
Of humanity.
Wrote this one today as well. Again, enjoy!
shireliiy Dec 2015
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Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
"Taking It Home to Jerome"**
by David Kirby


~~~

In Baton Rouge, there was a DJ on the soul station who was
always urging his listeners to ‘‘take it on home to Jerome.’’

No one knew who Jerome was. And nobody cared. So it
didn’t matter. I was, what, ten, twelve? I didn’t have anything

to take home to anyone. Parents and teachers told us that all
we needed to do in this world were three things: be happy,

do good, and find work that fulfills you. But I also wanted
to learn that trick where you grab your left ankle in your

right hand and then jump through with your other leg.
Everything else was to come, everything about love:

the sadness of it, knowing it can’t last, that all lives must end,
all hearts are broken. Sometimes when I’m writing a poem,

I feel as though I’m operating that crusher that turns
a full-sized car into a metal cube the size of a suitcase.

At other times, I’m just a secretary: the world has so much
to say, and I’m writing it down. This great tenderness.



---


A professor at Florida State University, David Kirby is the author of 12 collections of poetry, including ‘‘Get Up, Please,’’ which will be published next month by LSU Press.
J M Surgent Mar 2014
You
I can’t wait to never need to speak to you again, you raging *****, you breaker of hearts, you crusher of dreams, you cold sore on the black mark of my current love...
I can't wait
To de-friend you on Facebook,
Because that's all that really matters.

I hate you,
I really do.
Triceratops.
I needed one last line.
CJ M Apr 2015
IDK
Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results, right? So what should I call it if I do this one more time and get the different answers? Someone forgot to factor in the unpredictability rate of females.
But I didn't.
I recognize how you do, what you do, so please don't underestimate the things done to or by any of us.
We are the angels of heaven, the gods of rome, the royals of England. Shall I go on? It seems needless if you get the points I'm making.
SO to start off, how are you today? Sure, I see you everyday, but that's the point. I wanna give you your deserved space, so when I stay at my table as you walk passed, don't think I'm ignoring you, I'm just trying to give you the space you are due, for I want to preserve this romance like strawberries in the winter.We
are what you seek, but I believe you seek more. WHat is it? Please, be straight with me, my heart cannot bare another user nor another usery. DO you see what I see when we lock eyes in class? Do you understand the concept of MY love? For my love, regardless of long or short, is different in comparison.
I know I've spit this before, I know you're tired of the same words to describe a different game. This isn't me anymore, it's us. This isn't courtship anymore, it's love. Actual love, I've never felt it before, never had it's taste on my tongue nor it's thought in my head.
But you've put it there. The chance for a real relationship!!! Am I really ready? Are you? then get ready, get set, let's go!!!!!!! The race is on, now I realize what the true effect you have on me is.
Now I can tell you how much I love you and how much I care for you, even if it's just a telepathic wish, you will feel the presence of it in  your forethought.
You make me want to overdose on love music, chillin on the bed in complete darkness, just marinating on the words and anylising there meanings, yes you, my heart and soul, sold to me by an unlikely vender, your soul.
So we traded, bartered actually. your heart for mine, a likely trade. But what are the expected drawbacks? No, I'm no skeptic, but I am real, so what are the real intentions of so magnificent a spirit?
I will be yours, for you are mine, but don't hurt me, please. I stay on my knees in prayer of an unbroken heart, yet so often it is. Alas, you are the one, so will my heart be safe? So often I asked that, so often it was answered with the same words, same attitude, yet at first chance they pulverised me as if I were a stone on a stone crusher, so all I ask is for you not to do that to me, my love.

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, it's all on me. Why try to fool me again? My heart's already withering...
another piece I concocted in a teenink thread :)
a m a n d a Apr 2014
i am blunted
i am    
     f l a t
(but not about all things)
in fact,
i find myself quite hilarious
when i speak of sword-fighting
people to the death
you cannot feel blunted about something
   and simultaneously have a desire for
   fantastical violence
someday,
someone will understand
   my flair for dramatic words
   my disorganized thinking that
can only be worked out with rambling story-telling
someday,
someone will understand
   my utter despair and hopelessness
   the massive curiosity about the universe
that plagues my sense of being
in the meantime,
i build mind walls
when thoughts stray
in a regrettable direction
   i add bricks to the mind wall
   surrounding the phantom
   heartbreaker
      soul-crusher
   betrayer
      liar
   hypocrite
you know, the usual cast of characters
(growing at an alarming rate)
i visualize each mind wall
each phantom
each misdeed
and i visualize bricks getting stacked up
hiding the phantom
blocking all thoughts and feelings
blocking all memories
rendering me flat.
rendering me blunted.
but sometimes mind walls
erode slowly or
explode suddenly
and then i say crazy things
like for instance,
i may challenge someone
to a duel.
   or declare my undying love.
or my most blatant disgust.
after word explosions
comes wall repair and
silent fury.
Joel Hayward Apr 2017
Uselessly I watched you
glide with her
holding her tightly
while she sank into your embrace

You drew her breath
made her heart race
placed a hand upon her shoulder

It hurt

You cast me a you-can't-do-anything glance
and I winced at how light-footed you are

It was obvious
you have done this often
thief with a devilish grin
crusher of hopes

When you left with your arm around her
you looked back smugly
You're used to getting what you want
Your gloating broke me

I curse you cancer
brutal romancer
irresistible lover
****** good dancer
Clovina Dec 2013
What if I told you...
Dreams aren't real...
Am I considered a dream crusher?

What if I told you...
They never loved you...
Would you call me a liar?

What if I really I am a bad person?
Would you still take me as your friend?
Would you...
Still call me your friend?

Haha, of course we all know that yes  I  may be lying....but...think about it...

— The End —