"driping" poems
What happens to your name
After it is written down?
Does it fly to the dead and remind
Them of the beauty they have lost?
-or-
Does it travel the world slipping
Poison in to the cups of little tyrants?
-or-
Does it blow from town to city driping
Glue in to the eyes of racists?
-or-
Does it turn in to grass
Where grass is needed most?
-or-
Does it hang from a chain
In the shape of a cross?
-or-
Does it fall in to a poor mans dream
Sparkling like a stream of gold?
-or-
Does it sit by your side
Watching you grow old?
What happens to your name
After it is written down?
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
death
thats what i want
feel the warmth
of my own blood
leaking out of my own body
knowing i went out
the way i wanted
sounds good
but thats just it
it sounds good
i could go with my wrists
id fell my blood
driping down my hands
i could paint a pice of art
let it happen slow
that sounds good
or my neck
i could choke on my own blood
drown in it
fell it fill my lungs
choking me slowly
but thats what life is right
it just chokes you
up untill that day
you give out
well
thats the day im waiting for
thats the day we all wait for
so should i cut my wrists
paint a beutiful picture
in my own blood
feel myself slowly slip away
or cut my neck
and drown in my own blood
so witch will it be?
i just want to die
but really
nobody gives a ****
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
Hot dripping air
What I was doing
Was not that much rare
But something was meant to be special
Me clueless of what's happening
We all playing some stuff
But there was a guy examining
The hot driping air
He wasn't the charming one
But he got the ocean eyes
That grib my heart for seconds
And then it ached due to interests
Unaffected by my ache
Not familiar with my crush
He was still examining the air
Me being puzzled in the group
That is known for fun
I wanted to just escape some
Seconds from the crowd
The stuff that they were playing
Was truth and dare
I chose the exception this time
And got the desirable
Task was to company that guy
Who wasn't interested in stuff
Who was so rough
And acts more tough
He being considered the danger zone
Cool dudes thought it would
Be disaster
But that was all I wanted
I wanted that task and
Company the air examination
It wasn't that hard
Nor that easy
I had my guard
But I was also scared
He wasn't taht disinteresting
Yes he was exceptional
I wanted to sit a while longer
I like my friends
And he then became my friend
This is how a dumb *****
Met an exceptional boy
And he passed that smile
Which could carry me to miles
Thus meeting was cosy
And thus was how I know him
.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 2:28 PM UTC
Ear plugs
Fans blowing
summer heat
dreams of death
teeth grinding
sweat driping
pillow lumpy
phone vibrating
dogs barking
birds chirping
bladder full
Spider biting
mosquitos *******
I can't sleep!!
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
Rose is a sign of love,
yet we touch and it hurt us.
we know we'll bleed
we know we'll hurt
we know we'll have scares.
we touch any way.
The rose will sit driping your blood
i watch as it drips mine
it hurt me and i dont mind.
cause he killed my heart and broke my sole.
he left nothing but a body
thats worthless and used.
so i touch the rose
i let my self bleed
i let it hurt me
and i let it leave marks.
and i watch the bleeding rose
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
Shower of hell pours down into your being.
You cast others as dust to your kind of soul.
Shallow stains with only pity.
Ye hold no hate raft only take its place.
You do know you are of strange depitions.
So be kind, and not too overly stern for you shall seek love of beauty.
Death is a font in style with harsh structure.
Huge door, like sentences knock down your barriers let the pure light Pierce threw.
And you will become of some thang new.
Until this day, you are meaner, than a stage full of people with a mild cast of rage.
Sad tears flood, your place you need a life saver yet you shrug at that too.
I met you last summer and you where kind and polite.
Now you are meaner, and denser than effects can construct.
So I'll ask what made you this way?
Was it the death, of your friend that took his life by the "knife blood driping" down as a mother pulls it out.
The fog of that very moment hazed your light.
Now you persit to overwhelm your life with your own made strees.
Yes it was that I miss his friend ship.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
Having the same dream for months.
Single space,
Covered in mist,
Looming,
Covering the ground,
Until I can't even see my own feet.
You appear out of nowhere,
Like an apparition,
Walking on the mist.
Face turned a way,
Shield of hair.
Fluid movements,
Driping with grace,
Radiating power.
I feel you more,
Closer and closer you get.
I reach for you,
My hands ache for you.
Graze your skin,
Hand closes around your wrist,
And you vanish,
Leaving only a feeling of emptiness,
An air of sadness in your wake.
And t it changes,
Sadness turns to fear.
Then comes the dread,
The feeling of knowing;
Knowing that none can protect you here.
Dark figure approaches,
Clothed in evil,
Masked in temptation.
Part of me wants to run,
Part of me wants to embrace.
The mask subsides,
Only for a moment,
A familiar feeling,
And the recognition of fluid grace.
It's you.
You're gone,
The mist subsides,
And I am awake.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC