"destructiveness" poems
There are things I don’t want to talk about
Her destructiveness, my destructiveness
The nature of destruction
To surrender, allow, withstand
Her beautiful soft eyes looking off
The force of her scorn
There are things I never imagined
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
Imperialistic meddlers,
men of power greed and wealth
Western Imperialism
not too long ago
was once put on the shelf
Not too long ago
this name was never heard
Its name is New Order of DiSoRdEr
But still us folk of sanity
with eyes wide open
we see their compliance
lock-step herd vanity
In White House spin gone amuck
they throw their bolts of anger
to all countries on the globe
And with more and more displeasure
we witness their destructiveness
from sea to shining sea
But now I hear, see and feel
a distant faint rumbling the rising Valorous
the rumbling stampeding of democracy
by the forceful rightful anger,
the free-spirited valiant word
a word of truth and dignity,
the echo of today,
and aaah yes
to hear the thundering of the mass
To hear the thundering of the mass...
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
you tap
into my sickness
turning me on
to the nth degree
pure heroine
main lined
into an artery
i know it
i feel it
how wrong it is
how bad
you are for me
i’ve tried
to stop
this vicious
cycle
of self
destructiveness
kiss or ****
**** or fight
which one
will it be
tonight
Sep 23, 2021
Sep 23, 2021 at 9:25 PM UTC
Love of justice perverted to revenge and spite,
*These are the words of anger and hatred.
Self-destructiveness, violence, and impatience,
My anger will go on for ages to come.
My vengeance never ending,
My spite full of fury.
My rage never complete,
My life full of hatred.
I am a fighter,
But I fight for no one.
I am weak,
But I am weak for no one.
I am a black knight.
Not your black knight.
Not God's black knight.
Not Hell's black knight.
I am my own knight of impure justice
I am the black knight of un-distilled wrath.*
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
why are there people who believe its "poetic" to self harm
it frightens me that there are teenagers who are doing this
to themselves, they're self harming because they think it
is "darkly beautiful" or "sadly romantic" there is nothing
beautiful about the scars covering my skin there is nothing
romantic about being terrified someone, anyone, might see
them, these lines of weakness, that i've placed there myself
it's an addiction, a sick way i clean my head, because
the thoughts jumble up, thoughts of; missing, emptiness,
time, space, names, locations, people, dates, stories, sadness
wrongness, hurt, longing, hate, self loathing, destructiveness
i am no where near proud i fell this deep into a hole this dark
i'm scared of being close to people, i shut myself away,
starving myself to reach "perfection"
because maybe if i am skinny enough to be considered "perfect"
then people wont care, wont notice the pink and purple lines
covering my form. no. there is nothing poetic about sadness
nothing. so stop convincing yourself you want to be a sad
lonely, scared, self destructive "poet"
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
creation is the principle
caught between life
and death,
between the succulence of sustenance
and erratic destructiveness,
the gestations of hereafter,
cascading novelties heretofore,
a reflective dynamism,
in the moving mirror,
the bitter-sweet
sweet-bitterness,
of paradoxes pumping,
a living death
that is,
what dies
into loves thrusting,
the fecund surge of heart,
upon the looming edge,
between the past lined birth place,
and the precipice.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Skin flaking away to shreds
Breathing a fresh whiff of mockery your way, my way,
Shrouding their compliments and
My pride that turned stale
As they were uttered.
Alphabets
Lisping out of my mouth
Numbers
Trickling out of my mind
(Not a hospitable host,
This existence of mine, they recount.)
Fears & dreams
Going into comatose.
Clock-hands pointing at me,
At the stroke of wakeful realization
Like arrows, yanking out and
Darting past me, in all directions
On a time-bound mission.
Sounds, gone out of tune inside of me
Screeching out of my ears
Favourite colors, smells, sights
Now driving me nauseous
A choking cough that echoes
(Was it not supposed to stifle it, like in movies?)
Of all of these
Crashing at me,
Trying to weave again
That familiar path on that train
That leads to the crossroads of that maze
Of self- destructiveness
That I seemed destined for,
No matter where I'd exit from.
("The exit is only a dead-end!", a fleeting voice quivers)
As I stagger under weightlessness
While familiarity squints into a blur
and
Alienation burrows a happy home
Mute stares from my end lasting three nanoseconds
Angry for they still don't get it
Thrilled, breathing a sigh of relief.
For I get it, lest I should forget it,
This, where I had arrived.
Or
Was I inhaling stagnant complacency
Slipping into the reprieve of familiarity again,
Of accursed i-dent-ity
Wait. Am I getting familiar with myself?
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
Playing dare with self destructiveness
Brave
Alive
This game I don't always win
Demands my attention
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
**Hate not blood course through my veins
I want to laugh in your face, when you feel the pain
My fury is my story not yours to tell
Mine to yell, demonstrate, remonstrate
Wrath, in its purest form, presents with self-destructiveness, violence, and hate that provokes feuds that go on for centuries.
Wrath persists long after the person who did another a grievous wrong is dead. But, wrath is mine to feel, to touch, to taste.
Feelings of anger impatience, revenge, and lividity.
Wrath is allowing my revenge, call it self-destructive, call it
bad behaviour, my sin of wrath is directed internally toward me.
Suicide, deemed as the ultimate, albeit tragic, expression of hatred directed inwardly, a final rejection of God's gifts.
But,you made me angry so it's you I reject.
When cold tempered steel,
meets hot vengeful blood**
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
I have this quote in my diary. apparently I was already reading Erich Fromm as a teenager. I don't remember reading Fromm that long ago BUT I can definitely recommend the books: "the Art of Love" and "The Art of Human Destructiveness" because those are two books I have given to friends.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
I am from the tears of an aged woman,
who cried happily to a worn down man.
I am from bare grass,
where my shoeless feet felt the gentle blades,
and my tender hands gripped the bark.
I am from the countless fights,
the destructiveness of different personalities
all forced into one home.
I am from the coffee-stained house,
from the yeses and no's,
from the broken glass.
I am from the ballerina-pink room
where I spent most of my time.
I'm from the unwelcomed situations,
naked and unbearably lost.
From the broken bones,
to the broken hearts.
I am from emotions.
There, in my mind,
all these memories,
good and bad,
are the important stuff.
I am from what she made,
but I created,
and I will destroy.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
Where are thou, O Childhood of mine?
Did you bury the years of despise and despair?
Anger took the best of me, quiet in a room,
diggin' deep a hole, preparing my own funeral.
I gave up living, while feeding the Demons in my mind,
I went berserk and crazy too, but oh so perfect I behaved for you.
I was a good boy, decent, easy, beautiful and chaotic inside,
my heart closed, a Spirit drowning, yet none could see,
for unfortunately it is but rather normal, that all are "mental".
Oh those years of isolation, I found the virtual and lower pleasures, my only consolation. Friends were gone, a brother out having his fun, and a family blinded by their sickness. O I pitied myself. I wanted to destroy everyone! Hatred grew. Anger raged! Love dead and I truly became a Starving Vampire! I loved the night, I lived in the dark and I could not stand the Sun and I despised the day. I, like the Vampire, needed my blood, the drug to silence the wolves inside.
Divided I was, torn inside, an Angel and Demon fought their Battle, for never did I totally surrender, to a dark and rebellious force, but never did I give in to a light and giving love. Standing with one leg on each side I never did commit, and Truth had to come in a very strong way.
Now, older, yet still a child, I receive back my lonely days. I live the Manifestation of a sick and ignorant mind, and I walk through the isolation of a desperate soul screaming to connect and participate in the World.
Hope is ahead. I am re-minding my mind to remind itself of who I AM and that such silly desires to exclude myself of a World and Civilization is nothing but destructiveness and childish ideas. I welcome my Childhood, as it lives in each of us, burning to break free and rediscover itself beyond a child's ignorant mind. I begin to see with the Eyes of Spirit and I re-embrace it all in the Name of Freedom and Mastery.
Healing. Liberating. Mastery. Responsibility. A New Chance and New Beginning.
Adonai!...
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
You were the one whom breathe life into my soul.
It was you that has restore my life , when I fell .
It was you whom rescue me, from the h3ll that I made.
It was you that had rescue me from self destructiveness.
For I did not deserve your Love or Grace that you gave me.
But you chose to ignore it and rescue me anyway God.
It was all for your Perfect purpose that you have save me.
Even though you did not have to you save me anyway.
So you could use me to help others to see your truth.
That you are Good and that you love us all no matter.
How evil that we been in this here world we live in.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
I find beauty in the wrong things.
But at least i can find beauty in something.
I find it in cigarettes.
In destructiveness.
In boys with fiery lips.
And serpent tongues.
Especially in ***
But at least i'm having fun,
even if it's in the wrong things.
God i love to sin.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
I am a spoon
in a cathedral
extravagantly decorated
yet, internally empty
in the echoes of the hymns
I exist, a manifestation
of dreams conquered
by divine intervention
a minuscule cloud
in a land-bound hurricane
growing in voracity paired
with destructiveness
my God is a razor blade
blood my only hope
of absolution
the last moments of sanity
hope fades
faith and violence inseparable
eternitys mates annually ovulating
giving birth to consciousness
awareness a sword
decimating free will
at the end of the day, it remains
we are no more than a rat in an electrified maze
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
When it came to her
I had a slender grasp
Though unintentional.
When I think about it.
Deep down it was I rearing
a lack of confidence.
Living up our anonymous
expectation.
Though she was around
My arms would always cross up.
I was righteously liberated.
The perfect punctuation
of how I'd run on mentally,
Constantly around & around.
I wasn't embarrassed.
Revealing which part of her made me tick.
I can tell she didn't expect my answer
But with such a slender grasp,
every second spent with her made me tick.
At least for a little while
Perhaps the most un-thought thought.
Where do we place the batteries when they run out
Or will my arms be crossed up forever
Constantly around & around.
I find that time- such a strange & unusual thing.
Brings focus to things outside of all the crazy
ways arms move.
All in a beautiful destructiveness I can't describe.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 9:34 AM UTC
You were comfortable,
when you abused in native speech.
After the conviction,
there was smoke and ash.
Bring down the white plumes
from the volcano's crater,
and begin the swan song
for the sake of vanishing grace.
It is my turn now to
walk in penumbra, wrapping
off the dark core of human mind
and give a prelude to matephors.
Below the wings, the
trapped wind lifts the fallacy
of a fall when you were
already buried in a shadowless flesh.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
She sits in the back and never says a word,
Her voice is something that's been left unheard.
She chews her nails in a comforting nervousness,
Keeping her calm in this destructiveness.
When people see her coming they turn the other way,
Never knowing just what to say.
They don't know the story behind the beautiful brown eyes,
How almost every night to fall asleep she cries.
They don't know that her dad doesn't make an effort to contact her,
The fact that who she is she's unsure.
They don't know that all she really want's is a friend,
That she wishes the pain would just end.
They don't seem to care that she comes to school eyes red,
The question of "are you okay" seems to go unsaid.
She thinks life is unfair,
And yet, no one seems to care.
This was me in highschool...
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
Shapeless love.
Can I call it love?
My parents co-exist.
My parents are strangers in a legal contract and they are destroying me slowly.
I am burning up, I am burning out trying to stay afloat
I am trying to hold onto a hope that is not them.
Bound merely by chance and children, in a loose hapless form.
Why won't she leave?
Mum, neglect is abuse too.
Mum, manipulation is abuse too.
Open your eyes, I want to scream to her. I want to pry and hold her eyes open till they begin to tear up from the wind of his destructiveness.
Mum, please put your first.
She has given till she has no more, and he's taken till he has no satisfaction.
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 4:43 PM UTC
i am the toxins
melting into my brain.
i am drunk, i am midnight, i am destructiveness.
i want to be better,
not because you told me to,
but because i'm still melted in the melancholy
seeping out of my flesh
and dripping in between my fingers.
i want to be better
because the crushed up powder
still lingers on my hands
like fingerprints at a crime scene,
and it's slipping through the cracks in my skin.
i want to be clean and kind,
i want to be carnival lights and sweetness.
i want you to see me sober again
and i want you to know that i'm sorry.
Aug 1, 2021
Aug 1, 2021 at 9:59 AM UTC