"cutted" poems - Hello Poetry

The time sways Forth and back Through the light Happiness shines Smiling bright Everything that felt fine Now are crowded in a sack Closed, taped, not my way It kills me,little slow deaths To have them go with A part of me alive Why do the cure of emptyness Has to have an end Left with that painless ache That creates a hole deep in pain A member lost in my chaos Returned by their ignorance In the place which thy fitted Now asks for coverage It can't even be masked For they cutted it broad and wide It kills me,little slow deaths To have them go With a part of me alive. That they never feel How my elated heart smiled When their smiles were around They never cared for what I gave up in the flick of eyes Mesmerised by the sunkissed times All they did was, Find the ink to my page And filled me up with their Promising words All they did then was Give up on me When they found that I was filled up to brimm So they took away me from me With some that belonged there's And with some that I never cared. All they did was left me bereft.

0

Jun 15, 2015

Jun 15, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC

ananya-zootz

Bereft

The time sways Forth and back Through the light Happiness shines Smiling bright Everything that felt fine Now are crowded in a sack Closed, taped, not my way It kills me,little slow deaths To have them go with A part of me alive Why do the cure of emptyness Has to have an end Left with that painless ache That creates a hole deep in pain A member lost in my chaos Returned by their ignorance In the place which thy fitted Now asks for coverage It can't even be masked For they cutted it broad and wide It kills me,little slow deaths To have them go With a part of me alive. That they never feel How my elated heart smiled When their smiles were around They never cared for what I gave up in the flick of eyes Mesmerised by the sunkissed times All they did was, Find the ink to my page And filled me up with their Promising words All they did then was Give up on me When they found that I was filled up to brimm So they took away me from me With some that belonged there's And with some that I never cared. All they did was left me bereft.

42

Let me walk you through inside a writer's mind. Aren't you curious? How can someone write like that? How can someone have those sick emotions? How can someone be so dramatic? How can someone be that suicidal? How can someone be so sad? You know what? Being able to write about those things is a privilege. If I have no one to talk to, if I have no one to vent all my sentiments, poems are going to slap me with a pen and a paper. And i'm all good. Once i've let go of that burning pen, the moment I read what I wrote into that ****** paper. My diaphragm finally relaxed, I can finally breathe. And when a writer doesn't have any inspiration, that soul must do all thy take to feel everything and anything in order to fill those pages, those ****** pages. You must value every word you read inside a poem or any kind of literature. Because you didn't know what emotional ride that living flesh took just to serve you those burning hot raw words. But aren't you curious? Don't you want to know what it took? What it took to serve those emotions to you? A writer... Scream, screamed like a mad sicko. A writer... Cry, cried like a new born baby. A writer... Laugh, laughed like there's no tomorrow. A writer... Burn, burned in their own oil. A writer... Slit, slitted thy skin and... A writer... Cut, cutted thy flesh and... A writer... Bleed, bleed until there's no more left. Bleed until that living soul can write something. A writer... Is empty. A writer... Is a lost soul who can't find it's way back. A writer... Is dead... inside. Then, viola! A burning hot literature is served. And that, my friend, is what inside a writer's mind.

0

Dec 29, 2018

Dec 29, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC

alliyah

Inside A Writer's Mind

Let me walk you through inside a writer's mind. Aren't you curious? How can someone write like that? How can someone have those sick emotions? How can someone be so dramatic? How can someone be that suicidal? How can someone be so sad? You know what? Being able to write about those things is a privilege. If I have no one to talk to, if I have no one to vent all my sentiments, poems are going to slap me with a pen and a paper. And i'm all good. Once i've let go of that burning pen, the moment I read what I wrote into that ****** paper. My diaphragm finally relaxed, I can finally breathe. And when a writer doesn't have any inspiration, that soul must do all thy take to feel everything and anything in order to fill those pages, those ****** pages. You must value every word you read inside a poem or any kind of literature. Because you didn't know what emotional ride that living flesh took just to serve you those burning hot raw words. But aren't you curious? Don't you want to know what it took? What it took to serve those emotions to you? A writer... Scream, screamed like a mad sicko. A writer... Cry, cried like a new born baby. A writer... Laugh, laughed like there's no tomorrow. A writer... Burn, burned in their own oil. A writer... Slit, slitted thy skin and... A writer... Cut, cutted thy flesh and... A writer... Bleed, bleed until there's no more left. Bleed until that living soul can write something. A writer... Is empty. A writer... Is a lost soul who can't find it's way back. A writer... Is dead... inside. Then, viola! A burning hot literature is served. And that, my friend, is what inside a writer's mind.

48

blessed from the lord or cursed by the devil scared of death or afraid of punishment well i don’t know anymore maybe both obsessed by you or possessed by the devil pretend to die or already dead what a messy girl i am and what a messy world i’m living in haunted house or confused mind cutted head or buried alive well i don’t know anymore maybe both a sinner or a saint pretend to die or already dead

0

Sep 7, 2014

Sep 7, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC

zeineb-bouhaouel

messy

blessed from the lord or cursed by the devil scared of death or afraid of punishment well i don’t know anymore maybe both obsessed by you or possessed by the devil pretend to die or already dead what a messy girl i am and what a messy world i’m living in haunted house or confused mind cutted head or buried alive well i don’t know anymore maybe both a sinner or a saint pretend to die or already dead

19

you cut me down like an old abandoned tree, now i shall leave with what is left of me, Yes I am not the wisest nor the faintest but i have seen the hate and felt the love. you are different for you hurt me and now you see my heart is not easily changed. because you cut me down like that old abandoned tree now is shall leave with what is left of me. the person i used to be yes the one who willingly handed the key has passed and now is utterly free when the day of love comes with its sweet smelling sweets and its pink cutted hearts i will sit there on the hill upon a stump thinking of how you cut me down cut me down just like that old abandoned tree.

0

Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC

Heretheirony

Abandoned Tree

you cut me down like an old abandoned tree, now i shall leave with what is left of me, Yes I am not the wisest nor the faintest but i have seen the hate and felt the love. you are different for you hurt me and now you see my heart is not easily changed. because you cut me down like that old abandoned tree now is shall leave with what is left of me. the person i used to be yes the one who willingly handed the key has passed and now is utterly free when the day of love comes with its sweet smelling sweets and its pink cutted hearts i will sit there on the hill upon a stump thinking of how you cut me down cut me down just like that old abandoned tree.

24

blessed from the lord or cursed by the devil scared of death or afraid of punishment well i don’t know anymore maybe both obsessed by you or possessed by the devil pretend to die or already dead what a messy girl i am and what a messy world i’m living in haunted house or confused mind cutted head or buried alive well i don’t know anymore maybe both a sinner or a saint pretend to die or already dead

0

Jan 8, 2015

Jan 8, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC

bouhaouel-zeineb

messy

blessed from the lord or cursed by the devil scared of death or afraid of punishment well i don’t know anymore maybe both obsessed by you or possessed by the devil pretend to die or already dead what a messy girl i am and what a messy world i’m living in haunted house or confused mind cutted head or buried alive well i don’t know anymore maybe both a sinner or a saint pretend to die or already dead

19

*Needles under my nails. Spoons behind my eyes. You notice all the trails. I wish you wouldn’t realize. Robe around my neck. Wild fire burning my skin. Why did you have to check. You don't have to win. . My cutted fingers lies everywhere Blood is flushing out. Why did you have to care. “Die your ***** is all they go about. Now you have to go through the same. Ripping every hair out. This is not just a game. They won’t hear even if you shout. Now I’m not alone because of you. Even though you cared. You can see out of my point of view. Death is what you dared. Life is our drug we all share. While death is our remedies. We all share the same nightmare. Now I lie with our Dead Memories.*

0

Sep 12, 2016

Sep 12, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC

DarkDelusion

Dead Memories

*Needles under my nails. Spoons behind my eyes. You notice all the trails. I wish you wouldn’t realize. Robe around my neck. Wild fire burning my skin. Why did you have to check. You don't have to win. . My cutted fingers lies everywhere Blood is flushing out. Why did you have to care. “Die your ***** is all they go about. Now you have to go through the same. Ripping every hair out. This is not just a game. They won’t hear even if you shout. Now I’m not alone because of you. Even though you cared. You can see out of my point of view. Death is what you dared. Life is our drug we all share. While death is our remedies. We all share the same nightmare. Now I lie with our Dead Memories.*

25

She who cutted her wrist And got scars She who drink Until she get drunk She who doesn't care But with herself She who hurts anybody But was so sorry She who won't listen to anyone But have regrets She who feel pain And hatred She who seeks attention And still searching She who needs Love Was No One But I

0

Jun 20, 2015

Jun 20, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC

georje-galimba

No One But I

She who cutted her wrist And got scars She who drink Until she get drunk She who doesn't care But with herself She who hurts anybody But was so sorry She who won't listen to anyone But have regrets She who feel pain And hatred She who seeks attention And still searching She who needs Love Was No One But I

16

i can't even express my extreme hate for myself properly without crying during the start of it, my words get shaky and stupid, eyes start to sting, that ****** feeling in your throat, and more hatred swarming through my veins and out of my silent screams and as i stare at the ugly tears i shed that have fallen on my pillow, more hatred pierces my toungue and makes my appetite bitter with only satisfaction coming with an empty tummy and a deep cutted wrist.

0

Jun 29, 2014

Jun 29, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC

khan-ib

hold me

i can't even express my extreme hate for myself properly without crying during the start of it, my words get shaky and stupid, eyes start to sting, that ****** feeling in your throat, and more hatred swarming through my veins and out of my silent screams and as i stare at the ugly tears i shed that have fallen on my pillow, more hatred pierces my toungue and makes my appetite bitter with only satisfaction coming with an empty tummy and a deep cutted wrist.

1

The stench from liquid, almost transparent wallpaper glue stunk up the room for a long time. It took half a day to stick merely few of those soggy and vile rolls. Though the desire to change the overall palette of the room to a favorite blue existed anyway. However by night, the area around the window had dried up and peeled off the wall, holding only around the ceiling and the floor. The draft from the window was probably to blame, the old frame even closed still let the wind through the cracks. The worst pieces had to be throw away and new ones were cutted out. Those wallpapers, which were still more or less holding on, were put back on a simple office glue. While leaving the room for re-drying, the most dangerous sections of the window frame were covered with rags, the door - with foam rubber and old clothes. It took 8 rolls in total. In the 4 by 2.5 m bedroom, at a height of about three meters, one roll covered almost a full two meters of the perimeter. Therefore, excluding the window, but taking into account the gaps to adjust the pattern, seven rolls were used for the walls. The eighth remained spare but never came in handy. Eight rolls cost (roughly) 230 UAH. Also glue for 83 UAH.

0

Jan 13, 2020

Jan 13, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC

ptaxkuro

Walls 2

The stench from liquid, almost transparent wallpaper glue stunk up the room for a long time. It took half a day to stick merely few of those soggy and vile rolls. Though the desire to change the overall palette of the room to a favorite blue existed anyway. However by night, the area around the window had dried up and peeled off the wall, holding only around the ceiling and the floor. The draft from the window was probably to blame, the old frame even closed still let the wind through the cracks. The worst pieces had to be throw away and new ones were cutted out. Those wallpapers, which were still more or less holding on, were put back on a simple office glue. While leaving the room for re-drying, the most dangerous sections of the window frame were covered with rags, the door - with foam rubber and old clothes. It took 8 rolls in total. In the 4 by 2.5 m bedroom, at a height of about three meters, one roll covered almost a full two meters of the perimeter. Therefore, excluding the window, but taking into account the gaps to adjust the pattern, seven rolls were used for the walls. The eighth remained spare but never came in handy. Eight rolls cost (roughly) 230 UAH. Also glue for 83 UAH.

33

I've been cutted into pieces, Pieces I can't find myself Pieces I can't glue by my own, I'm falling apart through this I'm not complete anymore, Maybe I've never been full Maybe I need more than glue.

0

Sep 19, 2017

Sep 19, 2017 at 6:49 PM UTC

tulipinthetropics

Glue

I've been cutted into pieces, Pieces I can't find myself Pieces I can't glue by my own, I'm falling apart through this I'm not complete anymore, Maybe I've never been full Maybe I need more than glue.

7