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you said you fell in love
I said that's wrong

You said you're looking to stay
while I'm making you go away

you want emotions and time
I want nothing and emptiness

you're holding on
I'm fallen

you write about them in your diary
I'm done talking to them

please you're hurting yourself being too open
please let go
I'm afraid

no more
I'm cutting off my ears
I want no more

have you not felt disappointment before

let it go

I don't want to hear from you anymore
Connor Apr 2018
I've been having disturbing dreams
That make me question reality.

They take me to a place
Beyond comprehension.

I am a criminal, with my
Monkey accomplice, Chester,
Running from an unknown
Enemy, who wants me so badly.

Now I am in a dark place,
And don't know where I am.
All I know is that I'm being
Chased by something, in the dark.

I am now on a dangerous journey
In which my comrades have left me.
Yet I cannot continue as I had
Previously thought I would and could.

These are disturbing dreams
That have made me question reality.

They have taken me to a place
Beyond comprehension.
I had three nightmares in a row the other night, and I don't know what any of them mean, and only could recall 1. The others I mentioned are just there.
Sammie wells Nov 2013
Storms stirring
  Winds surging
 Thunder roaring  
          Lightening cracking
             Rains lashing
          Waves bashing  
Grounds Shaking
                  Lakes Bursting
Cracks Emerging
   Lands Overturning
       Sky's Blurring
                      Streets Burning              
         World's Disturbing
        all Submerging

                         Life's Fading

                    No Escaping!  

                         No Returning!!
**** hath no fury like mother nature scorned.
quinn silverman Sep 2018
dark tendrils flirt with her eyes
people pass her ****
she daydreams of throats split open
you think she’s pretty
smiling to herself

using her ***
to get you excited
it’s better when the blood is flowing
at her dinner table
long fingers confident
pouring a pitiful glass of wine
creeping up your thighs
touching herself,
fantasizing of what you’ll look like

you catch yourself whining
attracted to this fear
teeth biting the broken lip
yes, this is good
scratching at the pretty ankles
searching beneath this gushing blood

loving the smell of it
dripping
blood pools under her french tips
mouth aching in ecstasy
licking her poison lips
she loves the feeling of this
“i could get used to this”
writingbpp Oct 2018
All is good
Someone else will do it
There’s no urgency
Isn’t that nice
Oh that’s too bad
I’ll get to it later
Ugh, is she asking for money?
Just look away
Isn’t that inconvenient
Hmmm, not now
It can’t be that bad
Another sad story
Just so far away
It’s not real, not fleshy

But let me tell you just how fleshy it is…
Let me tell you how he spat up his insides
All blood and foam and green-yellow bile
How he vomited all hope from his saggy-skinned chest

It was such an easy operation
And your $20 could have saved him
No joke

But instead he withered away
Waiting…
And then he died…

And you still have your 20 bucks
You still went about your day
A day of stress and worry and convenience, no doubt
And I was left with tears, and a body to ship
Years ago, I lived overseas. A good friend, who lived in abject poverty and had no family around, needed a simple but urgent and life saving operation. All the money I had (which was not a lot)  was not enough, so I wrote to friends and family back home and asked them to help. Of the 40 or so people I wrote to, only the 3 people closest to me responded at all, and they sent a totally of $120. It was not enough. My friend died an **** death. I had never asked any of these people for anything before, and each and everyone of them had more than enough money to give. Many years later, it still haunts me, angers me and saddens me.
Nobody Aug 2018
Lying here reminiscing about the time we had,
you made me smile, and my heart fluttered in my chest.
Thinking how nobody can make me laugh anymore.
But imagining about the past never helps;  
or the constant daydreams of death, I keep to myself.
I’m so restless from wrestling with these thoughts in my head.
Strong, loud, and piercing; paralyzing me to my bed.
I’m busy listening to the soothing whispers, that all want me dead.
Looking for the coast to be clear, so I don't have to be fake again.
Since the mumblings remain, to sting and heighten all the pain.
I try and write out the disturbing sounds, to keep them at bay,
waiting for the right moment to come, when I can drain my brain.
barking dogs did so
disturb our neighborhood
they just kept on barking
which wasn't very good

because they could bark
they barked as much as they could
they cared not that they were
disturbing our quiet neighborhood
patty m Jun 2014
A nightmare whispers in my ear
sidles down, spreading wasp-like wings
as it hisses between pointy teeth
words of chaos and confusion.

Disturbing revelations
whirr, jitter, and chatter as I flinch.
Its consumptive rattle spraying spittle
emits a putrid scent reminiscent of rodent.

Milky blue and innocent eyed
yet dastardly depraved,
the imp reaches out
shivering with excitement,
ignoring my piteous complaint.

Oppressive gray skinned nightmare
barbed prehensile tail
your vicious stinger
breeds monsters.

Failing light
the fallen rain
congers danger
Between bouts of nausea
I watch him ******* breath from mewling infants,
opening plague tombs, unwinding sheets,
and I cringe with the fear of being buried alive.

Clinging to bones, scant hair on a withered head,
I cry burning tears,
my face seamed with scars.
Not dead yet, but powerless to refute him.

Leagues of the dead march by
rank after rank of their numbers
never staggering to an end,  

I try to rise, wheezing , tongue swelled over teeth
eyeballs bulging, as their footsteps grow louder.

Still I dangle chained to this moment
terrified ,
as nightmare rears its head
but even more frightened of dying.
quinn silverman Nov 2018
the antiques sitting here
collecting dust in their crevices
the forever cycle of fake smiles
placed on the plastered
eyes shoved in the hollowness of it
inanimate but still deserving of feelings
so i cry when i look at them
waiting for a whisper
waiting for them to say
“remember that time when..”

but i envy them
not to be cursed with a soul
because humanity is pitiful
finding empathy in the inanimate
feeling lonely enough to think an
old chair is sad,
jealous of replacement
i envy the antiques
onlylovepoetry May 2017
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace

what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart  contents?

hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic

mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips

with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?

later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity

from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat

her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;

I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally

rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,

sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,

which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies


5/29/17 i
12:43pm
Phil Riles Jan 2018
Hormones raging...for what I'm told not to engage in, even if we're engaged, if it's not official than its still revealed as...fornication. There's a disturbing underestimation of the result given for this particular sinful demonstration, society has taught us that we test the car before we drive it, but the 1st issue with this analogy told is that we're comparing human sin to...driving a vehicle? But if we're going to establish analogies on this subject , then, well, why don’t we also consider these: do we begin eating Thanksgiving dinner before were done saying grace? Do they hand out diplomas and degrees for classes you haven't passed yet? Do they give Super Bowl trophies to teams expected to win? So how do we justify receiving the prize of an unmet process? Far too many have allowed marriage to become an afterthought or not even a passing idea our better judgment caught because man had rather receive a temporary pleasure that sin conceives birthed in disobedience, deceptive grip around your conscience until your choked by the demands of a lustful flesh that wants to be fed in continual expedience. Or...Maybe, I’m fighting this, fighting not to be twistedly envious and curious of a world that I’m forbidden to embrace.  Maybe I’m fighting...the temptation and frustration of being a single man patiently searching for that good thing and the favor my Father blesses along with her. Maybe I’m fighting...not to nosedive into the bottomless trap laid for human souls, lured in by lack, of self-control. It troubles me in just how simple... he brags and boasts then plots and plans his next victim in the desecration of his own Creator’s Temple. But It’s not all his fault, because it was up to her to give him the key to this priceless location better known as her body.
Poetoftheway Oct 2018
how do you know (when a broken human can be fixed)


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2644586/how-do-you-know-when-a-human-is-too-broken/

supermarket checkout line, so lazy broken down dressed,
I’m probably arrestible for disturbing the peace,
my haired piled, and held together by a broken clip,
makeup at home in
a drawer labeled ‘why bother’
my t shirt, don’t please look too closely,
yesterday’s coffee spillage outline
only mostly gone,
and the skinny jeans that felt inappropriate
ten pounds ago,
now looking semi-completely ridiculous

is this a tv show?
wallet, a twenty and a single,
who knew a pound of ground blue mountain
cost the better part of the the twenty
in that case no need for a gallon of milk
and *** a box of chocolate frosted donuts
silently slid far far away,
evidence of a guilty plea of irresponsibility resignation

short $2.42 (cut up the credit cards)
and no convenient pit to fall into
when the teenager cashier snickers,
when a sam elliot voice says here ya are,
stammering a no, a thank you, and thinking getaway direction

truck safely, made it,
knock on the window
sam elliot soundalike is a lookalike as well
standing outside with my wallet in hand,
two heads taller than my ex-petite figurine

more stammering ******* could I look any stupider

but inside a piece of brown shopping bag torn
with ten whole digits
I’ve never seen prior to this disaster
saying call when you want to return my $2.42

turns out he got, no, he is glue and paste,
an eraser man for fine lines and sad times,
and a lasso to keep me held together,
a pocket red handkerchief hanging half out
of his back pocket, never without, calls it his tear catcher

pulled out that too tight blues-blouse
from back of my closet
that still complements my complexion,
wear it ever time that day rolls around

just dumb luck ain’t much of an answer
so I’ll rephrase, dumb luck is in the everything
cause his number was 917-242-2424
and he is a gambler in matters of the heart

bust his ***** when he says he’s a lucky man,
reply he ain’t got no luck at all
compared to me on that daft day

and every daft day thereafter
I glue his lips shut to mine, no escaping,
and paste a new $2.42
into his wallet
when he is sleeping mine,
no erasing our lines,
just redrawing them deeper and finer,
just making sure my
dumb luck is working overtime
r Dec 2018
When I was younger
I slept in the top bunk
over my older brother

Pretty soon we’re all going to die
he was fond of saying
while we listened to Credence
Clearwater Revival on a broken record player with a penny he placed
on the arm to make it sound like a $100

Pretty soon he got me saying the same
words, the moon, mosquitos and darkness
were in his ear, he’d have dreams like
***** women washing his feet
and sparrows looking out of his eyes

He hollered at old man death
when he was wanting some shuteye

Nobody on earth is like me
he’d wake up speaking
disturbing my sleep

He said I am the white piano
they threw off the bridge
the snakebed and the shade tree
I’m something, yes-sir-eee


I’m something not everybody wants
to believe
, he’d say sipping on whiskey
he bought from a woman up the holler

He told death to kiss his white ***
then holler at me to get out of bed
and go trim the grass around the stone
angels planted up in the high pasture.
I jog left to miss Dennis the Menace's grave marker in George Wil-
son's marble orchard, that sways as a componental memorial to 944
trillion molecules below the low cap of L.B.J.'s elemental sink-trap.
JayceeJellies Jun 2015
Her
Why do I constantly wonder,
If I'm truly to her, what she says I am?
Why am I so concered with that..
That feeling inside of my gut?
What is it anyway?
That disturbing clench.
It causes me to worry.
You've made my vision blurry.
Please stay by my side..
Tammy M Darby Nov 2013
The emotions of a human
Can be lightly
Played and strummed
It can resemble the steady beat of a heart
The sound cannot be replicated
Repeated or duplicated
Once the disturbing melody starts

The highest strings
Penetrates the mind
Representing the sadness and anxiety
For now you are quite alone
The shrillness will increase in strength
But will remain dark in tone

The lower strings
They are the loss of hope
Relaying disillusion
These strings are taut
Specifically for you
In my composition
I will most certainly use them

To complete my vengeful melodies
The strands I pluck and choose
Shall be your life's situation
For you, my sly one are the harp
And I am the musician

I strum the strings one by one
In a familiar rhythm, you know
I am smiling at your rapid demise
As your heart implodes silently and slow

I will continue to play you
Throughout your life
My tunes filled with retribution
Have no doubt
We both know it is true
You are the harp
And I am the musician

The strange and eerie song I play
Notes chose for their intent
For all the damage you have caused my dear
The strings I choose will represent

Now I perform this song
For your blackened soul
Upon which there will be many lesions
Till the echoes of this music
Shall drive you into madness
For you are the harp my darling
I am the musician


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Jo Meyer Apr 5
cold fingers on notched wrists
seeking the lethargic pulse

the air full of heavy smoke
smothered by the ashes

watch our burned-out world
drowning in the faded flames

no words left to say
shivers down the twisted spine

a definite embrace
I am certain
Your body, in all its beauty and forms, precedes time.
It's like an infinite geometrical symphony,
A mystical existence in space-
Enlighting the essence to my being.
I want it in all parts,
I want it whole.
Engulf me in all curves and edges,
Tour me in my favorite places.
Your body, satisfyingly disturbing, both pure and dark
I know not, which is sadder-
The fact that I have fallen deeply into this chaos,
Or that you are completely unaware.
dear daddy,
hello, its your baby!
i have kept your star
out since that one night
in august. mommy can even
see you. she sure does miss
you. all i mainly hear from
her is "i love your daddy!"
she's very proud of you.
bye daddy, i'm busy trying to take an early
morning nap. mommy has the sniffles. she's up & down
constantly for another tissue. she keeps disturbing me.
mommy has sat for a few- think i'll take advantage
of it.

love, your little baby,
take care- i'm watching you!!

1988

COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Your Silence is worrying
Your Silence is disturbing!,
Your silence means something is wrong?
Break that silence, please, tell me what's wrong?.

~ Jonathan Poole ⚘
Umi Apr 2018
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.

~ Umi
Diego Morales Mar 2018
A single life so worthless, that poor fly,
Sooner than its timely moment to die,
As commanded by my unnerving will,
Its incompetent life I chose to ****.

Put more simply, for disturbing my peace,
Its feeble and destitute life I ceased.
Yet my bloodstained hands always remained clean,
Once crimeful killing had become routine.

What almighty and sinful God am I
For unsparingly judging who must die
By my sword, without remorse or regret,
The slaughtered fly under my gavel, I forget.

An evil power from no source or spring
Springs power in me like a maddened King.
A poem portraying the inhuman and the inhumane,
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