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Simon Sep 2020
Kyle, you are the unsocial demerit point, because you tame that which isn't within the same parameters as your own guilt of never being able to essentially see past your own guilt, firstly. (Which is entirely filled too the absolute brimful of shame!) Shame that doesn't detest your own abstract mind from taming the logic that truly demands the official reasoning for you too cost more energy for yourself too bear (in order to suit your own needs from depleting even quicker. Then what was first realized.) While being at the demanding odds of something either unfortunate to ALWAYS come your way. Or (for the very first time in my very own simulation full of nothing more than completely realistic prolonged "shackled" days) that doesn't EVER seem to count the reasoning you need the very most. Mostly because life is truly never fair when it ONLY operates anyways, (for your very self first and foremost). On an operating system full of very tempting, unusual, unnatural and a seemingly unrealistic taste for more demerit points to be added in a complete collection full of both "wonder and detachment." Kyle, you’re also the unsocial demerit point, because you have yet to discover your own highs and lows upon your own governing system. It's not bad to be one's own demerit point. (Hell, I've been my own "demerit point" ever since the very beginning when I truly first popped out into this world full of "realistic advantages.)" Realistic advantages full to the absolute brimful of "factually chained uncertainties!" Your nothing more than a sense in your own details that doesn't limit one's own ideology against the world head-on! Instead, you devise a proper program for yourself against the desires of an even more proper exercise in order to free yourself full of the (not so rich) details that blind your own choices, from seeing the choice in it's own decision-making...from ever being able to reach the extension of your own actions. Actions that suddenly prompt its own inadvertent consequences, because the notion is in the very specifics that again demand you too see the odds that try to impress you (without even seeing "why that is)?"
Concluding what exactly...? Well, isn't it already obvious enough for you too "effectively" notice (ahead of time)?! Or are you too busy thinking on raising the bar of the current potential rate of your still rising (to this very day)...demerit points? Because that's what you should always be focusing on "separating" from your very structure of life, altogether. Versus the still ever-increasing rate of such a demerit succession!
Kyle, your more than just ANY ole demerit point. Because you don't lack which other's apparently do (ALL DAY LONG)! Compassion in your very heart!
some had liberal voices
speedily stowed away
so they'd observe silence
at the locale's cay

speaking freely was
deemed over the top
it wasn't viewed to be
a permissible cop

never utter loose dialogue
inside it walls
or you'll feel the marshal's
quietening squalls

be mindful of any
unrestricted tongue action
as it will provoke
an instantaneous reaction

would seem that all blurb
must be checked
if not it'll promptly get
well and truly decked

the judging panel like those
who stay within the limit
and to stray outside of it
will incur a demerit
A sweet, chirping grey jungle tree;
Stirring up bloodied doses within me,
I hath been abducted by morose darkness;
And its fetal, yet obnoxious messes,
For t'is flowered cave smelling just like death!
And to me, death is more like an obsession
In a glaze this phony, and dripping wet
Cold that I hath met about, in person.
One that hath fascinated me; with wronged tears
A single soul is not yet there to hear;
And lurking pools of fears, all blended
Into the versatile skin of the unfriended
Moon, being the beige universe, and evil—
Although he knows not how I should feel.

I, had been enslaved by the worst sun;
And tied to the post of unwanted salvation.
I, not being the privilege of Life now;
I shall go tonight, and not return tomorrow.
I had enough love, but with no love to be,
I shall not halt to see this side of me.
And hark! By the solitary lights of the moon;
The Earth was once my saluted destination;
But who could fight for a savage battle
In an attempt to experience rebirth,
Born with no contempt for the world;
But with Remorse bludgeoned, and hurt,
As though I had committed but treason;
And living was just to hold a vain reason.

For such reasons would be censured venom;
To them, who raved not at my longest poems,
And my guilt’s blood would be their songs,
They had committed justice, and no wrong;
Which a dour soul could adore at a lonely night,
Whilst being mute towards the shifting trees,
Torture and denial were the nail of Sunlight,
Waking me up to the enchantment of ragged bliss.
Had I, another day, woken up to another peril;
I acknowledged my embedded fate as an Evil,
To recite the spells that had infuriated me,
An indolent vice that had but been meant to be.
An insult, that such straggled **** may hate;
But so, forgiveness is far a threat too late.

Such fortuities, I hath not cornered to embrace;
And I shall not be back to sing conned waste,
And by being gratuitous and to *******,
I want to be the handsome rebellion to my fate;
Had I found myself trapped on the defunct floors;
I could not escape marked death at Midnight's door,
And at that sick moment I had been flawed,
Frightened, slackened to my rawest flesh,
By the metal edge of a cut sword, and then;
I was but Death at the rotten night, my friend!
Such fiends, such rage—were far in their summer bliss,
And yet I but grew as a faint shadow in peace;
I watched their flaked nostrils from inside my tomb,
My tomb, and its scraped walls—my quiet home,
I could not breathe now, nor bend towards a kiss;
I was the soul the Earth had forgot, had missed;

I, roused again now as a darling apparition;
I wear a black mask and utter repetitions,
No soul shall want to collapse in my steps—and bolt!
I hath entrapped many daydreaming in sloth,
Those with looser complacency, and breath
In their nostrils lives such straggly wrath;
And in such hair so ricocheted and unkempt,
How canst one but find a stranded scarf, a lamp?
With the odour of blood I can taste, and yet
Makes my hungered mouth groaning wet,
I hath drunk from too many souls, and I
That shan’t live any more, nor shall I die;
Ah! Now I shall ****, and begin with the dirt—
Cleansing such Earth off of malignant worlds!

What a disgrace, a scraggly—yet resilient disgrace!
A bend in the road had I been, and was I mean
To the world but sought not to know me?
And at times of need, their race but leaned to me;
And their fair promises, and royals, had not been true—
Unlike the verity of the justice I had found, and knew.
Unlike my bosoms, that had faced too much sorrow,
These ghastly sighs and temptations shall know now;
I hath found the world to lay my head silently,
With no love to be, and cut my love reverently;
That the stars should watch us meanly, but sure
They would not be a stale aura to my picture.
But to die, to cease demurely without a certain name
Shall be one that feels not my pool of shame;
And t’is crime is no exception, o my lover—
I am exempt now, from the insolent love, forever!

What an imbecile, that we embraced to softly!
What a butterfly that cannot fly in me;
Not a life that holds my chest, nor my blossom
Not a purity that holds clear my poem, o thee!
An ink on the page, but yet ‘tis my story
That I want freedom to writ my fierce destiny.
What a blurred visage to my vision such is,
What a menacing world to want a kneeling kiss!
With no love to see, and with no called name,
They hath no trifling tales nor misspelled shame;
That I had perhaps been too morally confused,
That Death was ethereal, but coldly infused;
Ah, thou, so to thee Death is no exception—
Having not thought of my hurt, my inflammation!

For a living fate can be unassuming, and uncertain;
For humans can die, and be nauseous;
For such lives are a demerit; and for a friend;
For a destiny that can be true, but tedious.
From a love that I am already free,
From a love so ubiquitous; and in unison,
I am obliged to no merits, nor tragic beauty;
I shall seek and give no compassion, nor reason.
And in a vain attempt had I hastily tried;
And in a vain triumph had I sullenly dried;
And in bewitching the silky skies had I died;
So shan’t I return to the boisterous Heavens,
The Lord bitterly misplaced me, and lied
To me behind the graves, and rained gardens.

For in the days that followed my death, hath I sworn
To kidnap back the life that had been blown;
And be the Black Spirit they would find pertinent
To hear the trespassing of death, and their moments
To crunch the life of the ones before me;
Amicable as they were in their apposite defence,
But not as the lush presentation of their beauty;
That I should entrance and ****** them, hence.
Who couldst defend my murdered youth but me;
Who couldst strongly step on my bursts of anger;
Who couldst restore my prone poetry but ******;
Who couldst live but I, who lives forever;
Who couldst separate my from my agony;
Who couldst live but with ill fate, and be?

For the age that I hath lost, and thoughtless’ burnt
And of being grace, and kind hath I not heard;
And with delight, shan’t I stop and turn;
For no obvious reason, for no maddened alert.
I am stronger in my rebirth, and with sharp, strident
Steps, hath I grown more braced and confident;
For no reason, for no further light hath I doubted;
For no marks, nor discourse hath I faulted;
For such apologies, and humility are obsolete,
For my imagination of such is clear, and yet;
I hath no more obligations so, to be met—
And with such unwavering strength crystal clear,
And everlasting sleep to me so near,
I am to grow out of the vines of my grave;
And descend carefully on the midnight’s cape.
And yet, who is sleeping sweetly in his wife’s bed;
I shall soon send him into delicious death.

For the life that had been obediently drawn;
For the miraculous night that turned to dawn,
For the life that had belonged to me, and so
I am to be above the stars, and ever in the know
All my victims so sternly, thoughtfully, and deeply
I am to **** reverently, and by sweetness, vigilantly:
“I am to drink the redness, and be the Sun’s equal”
My voice singing through the forest’s damp halls.
And now yet, with the futile man dead in my arm,
I fling myself into another chained woman’s charms!
With her blood so capricious dripping down my throat;
I can feel myself furiously sweat, and sweetly float;
I am to rouse in transparency through the roof;
And be the midnight, no more aloof!

And to be the Spear of the universe, and hell;
I would like to wish every fault and demerit well;
Soon, there shan’t be the raucous singing of jingle bells,
Death is in everyone—eating off of their shells.
Ah! My lover’s flesh, that I am devouring eagerly;
Now is but a piece of provision so sweet to me;
In which I canst indulge in but a locked pain;
Feeding off of his blood and its red rain;
Ah, I am so hungry, and those eyes are for me!
He gasps, and I am free now, as the flannel sky;
I am free to haunt and grasp all about me,
I can feel their smell descend about so nigh.
My lover, and his vain woman of the scorched past
Are now in death, far from their sly voices and hearts!

And to be the Sword of the Space, and devils;
I feel honoured to be part of the evils;
And be the taunt and haunting to all men,
To all this Earth’s visions, emblazoned fiends!
To me, all of their deaths hath been inscribed;
Ever since I was grown from dead, and my lungs
Hath been imbibed with more pronounced vibes,
And choruses more awesomely sung;
I am to assimilate those humans, now, ha-ha!—
And be a creature of the night, the Hailed One,
They shall bow to me in flash, and in my old Stanza;
All murders are to be spoken, to be done!
My enemy, and his once powerful screeching speech;
Gunned down into his last breath, the gospel’s ditch!

And the vitriolic dream, now, that is too high;
I shall not stop until all petrified souls shall die,
There, above me, the afterlife writing in agony,
Justified in every sense, and be the last poem
That I shall write in my dated prose of destiny;
I hath become the Satan to destroy, and numb
All the rhymed births and breaths of life, ah!
I hath been ****** into this fate, of my own;
And be I never a praised, nor a soft wife—
Yet I am impressed already, by closed immortality;
And my youth forever, with its endless passion
And latest bursts that happen in eternity,
I am to counter and cure all my halted questions;
I shall go and return, I hath all the time in me!

And Ruthlessness, then, that is too holy;
I hath admired thee with all the blood in me,
And to restore the humanity in me prominently;
I shall **** all, and make their deaths permanently!
For all deaths are idyll to me, and my abode,
An abundance as I roam, and float about!
What hath happened to my human, and bold songs,
For they hath not been a sky to me, all along;
What a condescending spirit a human is,
For they think what a fierce not is;
Whilst all that is thin is bold, and a rose;
What a singing displeasure to my prose!
Ah, to **** all, and cherish all their dyings,
I shall cut and devour with my heart singing!

Then, into the skies, as I ascend I hear
All flowered flesh is but towering so near;
They hath heartbeats and clueless rainbow;
They are not to fight me with violence,
They hath no tyranny, nor are above my shadow;
They hath no abode—but my impertinence!
Ah, and blessed am I, so meekly blessed;
This is but the best day I hath ever had,
For so anger and betrayal are not unwise at all;
And so holy are miseries, and miseries are ******.
I am to **** more, and bring my joys to Fall,
I am to eat, and devour more in summer.
I am to drink more, and bleed in winter;
To celebrate deaths, and merry more in my walls!

Then, into the Earth, as I descend I see
That I descend with a later moon, and be
For all who loved me, there shall still be death;
For I shall arise amidst these unhearing walls,
For the many teardrops that were shed,
For the shrieking pains I shared, and their toll;
For the world, that hath not been too exquisite,
For the crowds, that hath all along lacked such wit,
For the Sun, that hath ne’er been a soul sweet;
For a love that ne’er had a single beat!
For a love that I hath fragrantly cursed,
For a love I hath determined to make worst.
I am to eat, as though I am the Sun, the West;
I shall put its whole black pit to sleep, to eternal rest!

With all good cheer hath I spoken, and thus I turned
To see further stomachs and chests lying down, churned
And eating off of them is a swarm of butterflies
That were stirred to life by my own puke of frights;
And I, spitting out but flames and fires from within me
And my mouth that hath burnt thousands of thee,
I am not afraid to claim my rights, as I please;
And to destruct far more indeed, as I wish—
Which I celebrate as an ordinary gift, and yet
Hath made and shall render all conscious souls mad!
And all about me hath gone to precious sleep
In their admiration of my prominence, and weep;
And all about me hath turned to obstinate death;
Ripped down of breath, and any traces of life, of late.

With sainted grand glory hath I writ, and rejoiced
The merry and cordial pleasures of deathly bliss;
For such splendour, are not lovingly present every day,
And the vanished worlds have become dear to me today;
That now, as I devour another’s wrist, and arms
I am absorbed within death’s knocking charms;
And his limbs offer farther delicacy than the stars,
And his soul be a playful drink two worlds apart;
Another one, that tastes like those fine vines,
And grapes, and the fruits smelling like Truths.
Ah! I sit there, leaning softly against the Cedar Mine;
Sipping his blood by the humming Eolian lute;
His veins dry and graze me, sickly, too fast;
I hath not had a drink and feast too vast!

And with deadening love hath I lived, and existed
In the world into which Faith hath not fitted;
Like the ode in me, trying to tie the Moon
Whilst such dimmed favours laid in the Sun;
I had been crafted only, but in vain
I had been transmitted also, but in pain
And all despaired, with my talents, to death
To be woken again in renewed hate;
What a fault of thine, o thee, and perhaps mine;
At times a rustic stupor to me, and yet is fine!
I am the Evil to be, and Satan so free,
At peaceful hours shall I come to thee;
Finding my ecstasy in Death and ******;
My civilian songs to the Earth, forever.
Alireza Zibaie Feb 2011
Loneliness is consuming me
Solitude is the only road to salvation
For the purist
For the one who
Excruciates a life time
To die at ease
For the one who
Has an idea of happiness
evolving in a nest

Madness sheltered in order
Chaos ceased with institute
Love meant being apart
Freedom meant demerit of attitude

Free as a falcon
Flew to spread the wings
Not to reach a destination
Roamed to feel the wind
Not to discover a new dimension
Explored the darkest nights
Never let down by apprehension

I am a bad man with a good deed
I will burn in heaven
gene Feb 2016
Baring your soul to someone is like offering your love without expecting something in return—either good or bad.
You give someone the chance to skin you slowly and infiltrate your mortal demerit.
And lastly, you're wide open as you welcome wreckage.
Jowlough Oct 2013
carry your bones
all alone to your throne
never needing help all along
shoulder the weight
you dictate on your own,
you **** us with the gun in your tongue.

you spread and you get
demerit's all you bet.
the gold is in your hands my friend

We run and we hide
own victory's on the side
the crown is in your head, my friend.

carry your bones
with your army unknown
guide our decisions until gone.
shoulder that weight
you say you drive our fate
we are the frail followers
blood and sweat, merits you take
Jowlough Sep 2010
Evil grin for your proposal,
Mastered tactics of evidence disposal
Ill gotten wealth in hidden flicks,
Lustrous attack on his chosen picks!

Temper rises when your in contrast,
In accordance when he's wearing his mask!
Over impressing on higher grounds,
Not a merit, but demerit sounds!

Going over, how far will you go,
Carrying your super immoral role!
Omitting efforts by naming it as yours,
Irritated people, Losing their course!

Seeing the dull side, as always,
Taking the tasks,but in dismay!.
Hearse master! your the very worst we know,
Evil King, you'll reap what you sow!

Witness the rise of these poor people,
In the coming future we'll get the apple!
Craving and calling for a little anticipation,
Killing time for self detonation!

Even now I cannot imagine,
Doing your thing is extremely annoying.
Man power you say is just preparing,
Act what you preach, is what we're saying!!

Stupidity, Hoax, Corruption,
Throwing nothing but deception,
Everlasting Gluttony and greed,
Rowing the boat, making a wicked lead.
(C) 2010 Sept 21 jcjuatco The Wicked Master III.
For Vincent van Gogh

Vincent! There is no living star so sweet
As that I saw at thy starry night;
And none bears such grand merits
As those I caught in your sights.

Vincent! There is no delicate air
As that around your auburn hair,
And another with sincere blue eyes;
With a love enough for the whole skies!

Vincent! There is no fairer paint
Than that of thee, o handsome friend;
And see, how thou hath drowned in me
A beauty more infinite than the sea.

Vincent! None is more conscious
And no crowded souls are ever alert;
Thou hath made the dark so spacious,
And sane voices more deeply heard.

Vincent! None is more innocuous
Than thy once tortured heart;
And thy prominence was virtuous
That they dared to tear apart!

Vincent! There is no faint dream today
Than that the world has coldly torn;
Now I hear what thou wanted to say
Back at that time, all alone.

Vincent! There was no colder wind
Than that thy mind had fondly seen;
And who but thou couldst love more gently
And see my fates more charmingly?

Vincent! I myself saith no poor voice
That creatures alike shan’t rejoice;
Who else but the Sun could be sour
At thy most romantic hours?

Vincent! I myself hark no shortest bliss
That such cynics feelest not at ease;
Who else but the Earth could not see
Our last wishes to be free?

Vincent! I myself had no southern time
Nor had my tales come true;
None but thou canst see our sublime
Ah, none but thou, anew!

Vincent! I myself had no eastern kiss
And those, solely wanting to fly my wings;
Away from me, and my latest wishes
Away from my grief, and its tears springing.

Ah, Vincent! Shall I paint again your gray sky;
And behold such lies slowly fade;
That my words can make thee fly;
And protect thee under their shade.

Ah, Vincent! Shall I relate to thy sad sighs,
And witness the winters rocket up high;
I cannot be with thee again, but now
I shall dream and fulfill hearts, tomorrow.

Vincent! And shall I remind myself of thee;
Of a friend that would confide in me;
Here, I want to look at you into the sky;
To be your poem and human goodbye;

Vincent! Shall I remember thou wert there;
Thou wert freedom, and thy confused stare;
Was but the virtue they could not tame,
The hidden love unworthy of your name.

Vincent! Shall I recall thy picture from nature;
Of a talent so precious and mature;
And I, for endless years would see
Such an odd, but kind creature like he.

Vincent! Shall I seek again such virtues;
That nowadays shan’t become true;
But be a discordant chord to the Night;
And the bliss above, but a fright!

Vincent! Shall I read again such blossoms;
Even more tender than that in my *****,
Although they said thou wert so frail
Thou wert a comforted, and silent well!

Vincent! Shall I catch again such martyrdom;
That is sweeter than my longest poem;
To recite glumly across the moors;
But to dream of at every door!

Vincent! Shall I bewitch again such a heart;
That I voice in silence and obscurity;
That such clear memories can be apart;
That these poems are as handsome as thee.

Vincent! Shall I witness again such souls;
That I oft’ writ of in ease and warmth;
That no such colours are as beautiful;
That I found only in your charms.

Vincent! Shall I speak again of the spell;
That thou breathed into the summer rose;
That thy colours are more than my prose;
That they sounded fine, and grew well.

Vincent! Shall I own again such fineness;
That I found even in thy demerit;
That I singled out in thy oneness;
That thou painted once, so sweet!

Vincent! Shall I hold again such sorrows;
That my poems can just shyly be;
That this remembrance shall be now;
That thou hath believed in me.

Vincent! Shall I have again such love;
That fate itself can manifest enough;
That thou drew sincerely those days;
That thou art real to me today.
Corset Jul 2015
An erudite belief is
that one soul can be
tortured quite more
effectively;
whether one of
virtue or demerit;
with eminent hope
than threat of
imminent pain
or death.
Carrey C Jan 2016
I measure my worth

by the texts you’ve sent

and the texts you replied.

Every one I’ve sent

that weren’t replied

is a demerit,

a subtraction,

of the tiny hopes

the merit points have built.

Like hitting a snake on the game

(there are no ladders though)

and every lack of words from you

is that awful step that slips

down.

And though I hope to climb up again

slowly

I think I wish more than that

for this game to end.

(Or maybe not.)
Jack Jenkins Dec 2016
You
I have the crowning achievement of never being dumped.
I had the miserable demerit of never being truly loved.
Until you.
Written 6 February 2016... didn't last... ****

— The End —