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"hauntings" poems
I am tired of my rants like a millions hammers pounding away in my brain constant chatter drowns sanity expectations love and affection comfort insecurities and misadventures regrets lost and found a million lives not lived what could be and what is hauntings and remembrances shadows looming large on today today that is not perfect perfection that is just in mind mind on verge of lunacy constant screams drowned in the agonizing void void that is my life I am tired, very tired tears they have a mind of their own roll down when you least expect open your soul to strangers strangers that glare stay in dark away from glare tucked in blanket of oblivion lost and lonely yet sane lost and lonely yet sane
0
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Tiredness
Hello, Hello You avenger of the dark I see you sulking, waiting Are you hunting or do you fear the light, Vampire? Vampire, Vampire This place is your temple Your victim the lamb Are those fangs for blood or romantic Desire? Desire, Desire Hearts pumping life Lovers hunting lovers hauntings Do you fear the cross or the sun's Fire? Fire, Fire Set to burn Sent to blaze Shall I burn your world or show you the Empire? Empire, Empire Watch it grow 'Till it crashes and falls Will you save yourself, or feed on the ****** Vampire?
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Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 6:30 PM UTC
Vampire
Shatter music as relief when the rest will burn away until only bits remain and I beg for it to be day Nighttime as my prison when my hauntings ride the dark and even in the morning on my eyelids leave their mark When sleep unfolds my mind my dreams leave scars upon my feet where my demons creep inside and my fears and sorrows meet I'm encrypted in this pain and I feel as though I'll never escape so I submit to endless agony of death and torture, sin and ****
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Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
Nightmares
Lightning striking through a nervous system, Blood pumping facetious fire. Whispers through my home, hauntings of trauma and dreams of the crucifix stand. The flaming star of the avatar. The predator and the prey, predetermined and praying. Just another eternity until the monsoon departs, the season ended. From there the calm waves will carry me to shore. The dark, restful, kiln, I am your dough, as I am your clay, a grateful panettone. Mold me, endow me the drug, the decree, the great recipe of relinquishment. I rejected asylum, I denounced Gehenna, Cold blooded sunbathing in the radiant rays of the great bird's wings. The boiling embrace of his soft feathered fire. The brutal, unrelenting, chaotic, climactic, pull into the hot murky depths. Scald me, lash me, revive me in death. For I can wait no longer. Living in fear of the Reaper is worse than The Harvest itself. So come unto me my lord, my peace, And engulf me in the ******** rest.
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Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
The sunny dunes of the Fantastic Phoenix
ARIES: stay away from cats claws and hours past midnight. good day for purple lips and kissing your mothers cheek TAURUS: your leg hair will grow and it will feel like beauty. you are lost and will not be found and this will feel like being a child again GEMINI: clocks will move backwards for you today. when his hand catches in your hair, go home with your shoes clutched to your chest. CANCER: spiders beckon new hope and your feet will crush the crocuses in your front yard. don’t be late. LEO: today is a day to listen. listen to silence, listen to noise, listen to sobs, listen to laughter, listen to your heartbeat. hush VIRGO: itchy scars are a sign of past romance bubbling to the surface. avoid broken windows and crying LIBRA: you will love your freckles in the mirror and when he says he does not, leave him. good day for hauntings SCORPIO: you will feel it. bad day for fresh-cut flowers SAGITTARIUS: two chimes means a secret is about to be revealed. watch for smudged mascara and track marks CAPRICORN: destruction comes with a price. squeeze her hand extra tight when you leave; she’ll be back eventually. AQUARIUS: you can not be silenced today; this is not always good. bad day for second hand books PISCES: read your mail and stay out of the rain. avoid gray eyes and sleeping late
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Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
HOROSCOPES FOR SURREALIST WOMEN, PART I
As a seed, I was shot out the back end of a blue jay when, heedless, she flew over the meadow. Now, a willow, I drowse above the pond where their bodies float—skin gilded with algae, lips parting the surface, chests arching to the sun. Her sighs ripple outward—her lover drinks them in. They are wet-silk hair, glistening sweat. Tracing each other’s folds, a slow, open arc startling minnows. Their toes stir the mud where my roots explore. The blue jay died mid-migration. I barely recall her. Here, they are the only sonnet: lips on sun-warmed skin, their kiss that bends reeds. Below, their legs tangle like my branches—fluid, unpruned. A heron spears the pond. Startled, they sink. For a breath—water holds them. When they rise, the town whispers of hauntings. They are not ghosts—just peaches overripe in August.
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Apr 14, 2025
Apr 14, 2025 at 7:09 PM UTC
How The Pond Remembers
I knew Her as an angel She is remembered as a ghost Haunting every memory with love that now is lost Her ways were near to perfect until the shadows touched Her soul The bitter winds they overtook Her far more fierce than She could hold Now the hauntings of Our memories and the tragedy that did befall is all that's left me to remember of the angel whose name I once did call Beauty then to darkness as the shadows haunting pause Reveal a ghost before me where an angel there once was Remembering an angel when surely She is lost I turn and focus onward Righteous vengeance then my cause. -R. (12.16) -LA -4MAR
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Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
-Haunting Angel
Welcome inside! My own purgatory. My twisted mind. My melted story. Down every hallway, open a different door. Tempted by temptation, fearing nature's ***** Mirrors on the ceiling, reflecting a dark stare. Blood drips from the corners, makes you want to dare. Tiptoe to the staircase, spirals out of pitch. Death grip on the banister, devil makes me trip. Sinister and evil, shadows follow me. No more mental hauntings, wake me from this dream. Trapped by my surroundings, biting every bit, Seeing everything red, by every blowing hit. No perfect little world, or perfect little bell. Won't you trade me places? Within my own living hell
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Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
My Purgatory
There is a man I see from time to time His eyes look like they have seen my sorrows His smile looks as if it is mocking my happiness His scar on his eyebrow brings back some foreign memory His ungroomed ****** hair reminds me of when I lost even the will to shave His arrogance is relatable in almost everyway His confidence gives me jealousy His smirk angers me Angers me to the point where I am enraged In this enraged stupor I react irrationally My fist within seconds is going to connect to his skin His skin which looks so familiar but so unknown Realization Blood trickles from my hand as I pull the broken pieces of glass from it The mirror is cracked and shattered The insanity is much clearer now His sorrows, happiness, scars, ****** hair, arrogance, confidence, and smirk yes they are quite relatable The hauntings of this man that I see from time to time I hope do change for the man I see My heart goes out to him For he is me
0
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
The man I see
you type: call me and it almost always sounds like you're choking on the hauntings of the day. my heart is racing, heavy breathing as i punch in your number and i still get startled when it starts to ring. but once you utter: hello, everything falls apart and time slows and the world stops turning for that split second. for that one moment, your shaky hello tells me so much more than you have ever said to me when others are with us. you become my everything. but then when the call ends, and you whisper a goodbye, the thoughts start to fill me up again and i start to miss you almost immediately. in that one hour, you have made me forget all that was sad and wrong in my life. when you go to sleep, i just want to die.
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Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
phone calls
in the blue mystic moon, i ached by the hauntings of you. gazing at the night sky, i embraced the silence of the night and curl into its weary gloom. the shadow of yesterday veils my weary eyes. something drowsy begins to seep from the corners of my muddled mind. i still hear your voice at night, sometimes i wish you did not quit. even the moon misses your sight, i wish i knew why we never said our farewell. bringing that memories again, i lie here with my eyes closed softly as i think deeply of you while inhaling the scent of the twinkling light. i want to write this feeling as it must be like writing words on the tiny paper so delicate and precious wishing them not to disappear like the bubbles in the air. recalling that lovely moonlit night, we were together on that precious sight. you filled my sky with the stars as you brought out the best in me. you bloomed in me in my darkest night like a moonlight that shines in my soul that no one can see. i am the night sky and you are the light that pack into my soul. it was pretty near perfection as we share the light of the moon. the way the moon dances me from a crescent beam in the sky to a luminescent pearl this is how we share our love. just like the moon and the sun, we were not meant to collide. our love burned so brightly and passionately that it attracted other celestial objects, resembling the planets to join and admire our ethereal affection. as we revolved in our universe, i chased you like the moon every single day to beg for your sunlight and light up my world. we're just like the moon and the sun, always catching the glimpses of one another, waiting to dash against together. i have been a moon for too long now, dimmed and cold, starving for your warmth. through the endless chilly night, i stayed in our orbit and waited for you. i have faith that the universe destined us to be together. that one day, i will have my full radiance again and you will return. but if the times comes that darkness filled my way, meet me in our rendezvous and see me waiting for you. can you light up my way home one more time? if not, be my home instead.
0
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 3:12 PM UTC
home
in the blue mystic moon, i ached by the hauntings of you. gazing at the night sky, i embraced the silence of the night and curl into its weary gloom. the shadow of yesterday veils my weary eyes. something drowsy begins to seep from the corners of my muddled mind. i still hear your voice at night, sometimes i wish you did not quit. even the moon misses your sight, i wish i knew why we never said our farewell. bringing that memories again, i lie here with my eyes closed softly as i think deeply of you while inhaling the scent of the twinkling light. i want to write this feeling as it must be like writing words on the tiny paper so delicate and precious wishing them not to disappear like the bubbles in the air. recalling that lovely moonlit night, we were together on that precious sight. you filled my sky with the stars as you brought out the best in me. you bloomed in me in my darkest night like a moonlight that shines in my soul that no one can see. i am the night sky and you are the light that pack into my soul. it was pretty near perfection as we share the light of the moon. the way the moon dances me from a crescent beam in the sky to a luminescent pearl this is how we share our love. just like the moon and the sun, we were not meant to collide. our love burned so brightly and passionately that it attracted other celestial objects, resembling the planets to join and admire our ethereal affection. as we revolved in our universe, i chased you like the moon every single day to beg for your sunlight and light up my world. we're just like the moon and the sun, always catching the glimpses of one another, waiting to dash against together. i have been a moon for too long now, dimmed and cold, starving for your warmth. through the endless chilly night, i stayed in our orbit and waited for you. i have faith that the universe destined us to be together. that one day, i will have my full radiance again and you will return. but if the times comes that darkness filled my way, meet me in our rendezvous and see me waiting for you. can you light up my way home one more time? if not, be my home instead.
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4
The universe doesn't care what you are doing to yourself It doesn't want to **** you because your time isn't over yet It has no emotions so if you keep cursing it for never ending your life its fine. Universe won't feel a thing because it has nothing no emotions/no feelings So, henceforth we should all up a decision that since the Universe doesn't care we shouldn't care but we still do! *We have emotions we have feelings we want to help each other* or do we? hence, i decided to do this to myself. *torture, with hauntings of your face or just plain torture*
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Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Universe doesn't care
Walked down to the river at midnight - Used to be terrified sneaking through that Lampless village in the dark, Could hear villains from a horror story calling, Over the precipice of each passing garden wall. But now I'm impervious, Desensitised by hourly hauntings, Which whisper that my adult brain itself Is the spectre and the jangly skeleton, That once lurked round those corners And chilled my childish bones.
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Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Horror Story
Obsession, you’re my ***** word my secret, wanton lust for I can think of no-one else to have you, oh! I must. But when satiated shaken to my core obsession ups and leaves me I don’t want you anymore. So, call me fickle, darlin’ just as you always do I’m not fickle, just bedevilled occasionally by you. Though, you ain’t my only hang up don’t go thinking that you are I’ve a lifetime of obsessions and you’re not the best, by far. Not all are made of flesh and bone some have no soul at all but I host their hauntings just the same always at their beck and call. I’m helpless to their honeyed charms so easily am I led take me by the hand, my love, keep my obsession fed. Come, wrap me in your many limbs pour your magic in my ear captivate, infatuate for as long as I am here. Then I twist my form unshackled alight and fade away and you must wait, unknowing, for only time can say. If I shall visit you again one small fancy of my flights but keep my name upon your lips ‘til my next obsession strikes.
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Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
Obsession
a sorry fist forward                                                                          and mortally i follow                           coldly into the first dark flint of day                                                           not my natural habitat                                                       so quiet.. or near so a vacancy for occasional clean                                                                          isolated noises  i pause         and pass a scan about the hailing lack of conscious population                                                                            all packed away hauntings themselves in beds - like some form of post apocalyptic storage - they add a vague lended charge   nature is on a limited budget         this early                              no birds yet                                   and no solar minting a massive racoon      with only three legs      crosses my intended path               in its mouth                    a gory wreckage                         i steep to make balance                          but my pores won't take it                                                        i am sickened by the ballast                                                                                            of my breakfast i hollow onward into these new conditions                             still deriding what to be                                                          a tourist and an informer dud                                                        i have switched to the dayshift                                         from off the spire                                   of my regular hour                   the evening routine breathing is surprisingly ***** at this time                                             a failing of settled pollution :                       the public buildings and restaurants                                            are muggy in their overnight stale degassing awaiting air currents and dispersal         the first gulls of the morning                                                                         emit a defeating siren spearing through detritus                                                             they dispel the bells of purity                                                   somehow i've made my port of call a struggling invertebrate in this state i dispose my spirit                                                         at the salted threshold security staff and sanitation process                                        between the sets of automatic doors a workplace made alien              and adverse to me purely by                     the indecent hour of day
0
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 9:53 AM UTC
work schedule change
a sorry fist forward                                                                          and mortally i follow                           coldly into the first dark flint of day                                                           not my natural habitat                                                       so quiet.. or near so a vacancy for occasional clean                                                                          isolated noises  i pause         and pass a scan about the hailing lack of conscious population                                                                            all packed away hauntings themselves in beds - like some form of post apocalyptic storage - they add a vague lended charge   nature is on a limited budget         this early                              no birds yet                                   and no solar minting a massive racoon      with only three legs      crosses my intended path               in its mouth                    a gory wreckage                         i steep to make balance                          but my pores won't take it                                                        i am sickened by the ballast                                                                                            of my breakfast i hollow onward into these new conditions                             still deriding what to be                                                          a tourist and an informer dud                                                        i have switched to the dayshift                                         from off the spire                                   of my regular hour                   the evening routine breathing is surprisingly ***** at this time                                             a failing of settled pollution :                       the public buildings and restaurants                                            are muggy in their overnight stale degassing awaiting air currents and dispersal         the first gulls of the morning                                                                         emit a defeating siren spearing through detritus                                                             they dispel the bells of purity                                                   somehow i've made my port of call a struggling invertebrate in this state i dispose my spirit                                                         at the salted threshold security staff and sanitation process                                        between the sets of automatic doors a workplace made alien              and adverse to me purely by                     the indecent hour of day
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48
We made sapphire-love. It was tanzanite-rare, and emerald-lucky. I took a ruby-risk and left us with onyx. And amethyst-hauntings-- -LP
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Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
We made sapphire-love.
The one and only, my life's shadow; Braided through the strings of rights. You keep on seeing me like your doll, So you could copy all my highlights. Your hauntings lurk me every night, Reflecting every thing I do, But when the sun sheds its light; Nothing you did stays true. And when the moonlight's choosing me, In the darkness when I barely can see; You grow darker and stronger, Consuming me and my every color. Regardless how far I go; You cling to me slow, Claiming each part of who I am, Without a hint of shame.
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Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 1:29 AM UTC
My shadow
American... I sometimes regret having to call myself that... it can be a confusing notion Our leaders are brought to power built on lies, hidden treason, and times of war Yet those that somehow break the mold, brought in as one of pure heart End up being the face of evil of their time The majority that struggle for cash are faceless The few that have more then what is needed are praised What had flown ever so red to keep us alive is replaced by green Would spill down the mountains fast then the spills of red Our toys broken sheds more tears then the loss of innocence which goes swept under the rug The young at ten once knew they where ten, now they think their twenty Taking pride in crimes they mimic from family At first one might think it was a need for attention that caused these lies The police just shake their heads in disappointment that revealed the truth I fear the future when the masses tried to draw me into the darkness When they grabbed on I grew in anger and broke their arms In the abyss I hear them cry at the result, but it did not matter It was my time I turned to the spirits and walked away Made my own times which its fruits tasted ever so sweet it was surprising to the market That all of this and more was done by sixteen Now immortalized in the Hauntings from the Snake River Plain I look back to the abyss, shining my lights To search for those born in its mess just like me and show them the way out So they can enjoy a similar reality to my own I started as a being with fear and anger, now I live waiting to see everything else the next day brings In my own America I am finally proud to say that I belong Leading my own life, making my own reality, with thousands gathering behind me Perhaps enough will gather in time to take me to a new world All because I fought as an American that saw the need for true change And cut the strings tied on by the rules of society placed at birth.
0
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
My America
American... I sometimes regret having to call myself that... it can be a confusing notion Our leaders are brought to power built on lies, hidden treason, and times of war Yet those that somehow break the mold, brought in as one of pure heart End up being the face of evil of their time The majority that struggle for cash are faceless The few that have more then what is needed are praised What had flown ever so red to keep us alive is replaced by green Would spill down the mountains fast then the spills of red Our toys broken sheds more tears then the loss of innocence which goes swept under the rug The young at ten once knew they where ten, now they think their twenty Taking pride in crimes they mimic from family At first one might think it was a need for attention that caused these lies The police just shake their heads in disappointment that revealed the truth I fear the future when the masses tried to draw me into the darkness When they grabbed on I grew in anger and broke their arms In the abyss I hear them cry at the result, but it did not matter It was my time I turned to the spirits and walked away Made my own times which its fruits tasted ever so sweet it was surprising to the market That all of this and more was done by sixteen Now immortalized in the Hauntings from the Snake River Plain I look back to the abyss, shining my lights To search for those born in its mess just like me and show them the way out So they can enjoy a similar reality to my own I started as a being with fear and anger, now I live waiting to see everything else the next day brings In my own America I am finally proud to say that I belong Leading my own life, making my own reality, with thousands gathering behind me Perhaps enough will gather in time to take me to a new world All because I fought as an American that saw the need for true change And cut the strings tied on by the rules of society placed at birth.
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30
She is the Queen of the coffee shop Watching over her kingdom in triumph Yet, behold, the empty dais The star on her crown glimmers little In the vacuous suffocation of silence Clink and clang from the servant's quarters Is the only sound besides the jesting Of new wave hauntings and jazz renditions A once vibrant kingdom depressed in Melancholy achings Yet the smile on her black lips, Frozen from a time of prosperity The coffee shop poet is beguiled And joins the queen in her silent musing
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Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Coffee Shop Poet 2
This is where you lift me up Just so I have farther to fall The harder I hit the ground, the further into the mud and grime I will sink And that is where I will stay, if you have any say about it You don't, though, do you? I am the one who dictates my own thoughts. The hauntings and memories of a past life whisper to me sweet nothings that will keep me in this ground, under here where I am safe and sound from the challenge of the world But I will leave nothing behind me in life because that is exactly what the memory of you is to me. Nothing. You will never win. You never did. You didn't trap me like you promised that night so long ago, you couldn't make me stay to accompany your orchestra of pitifully arranged mind tricks you thought would hold me. I am something more than you and your lies will never be, I am whole.
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Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 11:14 PM UTC
I am something
at last, I’m dead, now a light ghost in the dark an energetic, leaping ghost and I’ve got abundant hair and it’s always shiny and radiant over here one never worries about eggs and shampoo, and making such concoctions And it feels always light airy, floating at will, gliding with ease And one lifts off into the air and one flies (I don’t need to worry about ground control, and foul weather is fine with me) And I never worry about clothes it’s always the same, and they stay fresh and smooth all night long, all hauntings along - Woooo! Woooo! Hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! - And nails - wow! Do they grow! and they take care of themselves and you don’t need those pesky, nosy manicurists! But the best – oh – the best – is the jump up into the air and to descend, to pounce so effortlessly on unsuspecting males right in the darkest of nights to pounce on them, as it seems, from nowhere from up, up, up ever so light from high in the air and with my ghostly touch to feel them shrink in their pants - Ha, ha, hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! - and to bite off their you-know-what – a fruitful and eventful end to the night… they taste like cucumbers, with water, minerals and fibre and all… - OOOOObbooo…TooTooo! Heeeeettrrrr! - - ah, the joys of being a female ghost – it is light revenge on those men of dark hearts
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Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
joy of the ghost
Alas, if I had anyone else to blame besides myself it would be you And how ironic, How "you" is a universal or selective statement The usage applies to one specific person or many However Out of all the "yous" You have had the most impact You have hit and run and left the most amount of damage Years since and I am still owing debt to your wicked brainwash wash my mouth Out with soap because I am not to speak until I am spoken to You have resided in a cave a terrible dragon in darkness releasing fire memories Memories Are Powerful Things In a present moment your actions so long ago bring me backwards And I trip over my own feet in embarrassment Sticks and stones will break my bones But your words have formed a disease in my mirror I was raised under the impression no one would really love me I would not be good enough for anyone You broke my confidence and my screams So no one could ever hear me in the middle of the night A fanged silhouette hovering against every background All the ******* times you dug your fingernails into my skin and slapped me in the face and called me Disgusting I hate the things I have accepted I hate how I let myself be a victim I am ashamed I have ever let anyone have power over me It turns me on but scares the **** out of me A shadow over my interactions You have secluded my sense of self to rot In a cancer that you have created And yet I crave the realness of pain There is a dark side to every moon And I know depth and I understand the art of deception The pureness of sensitivity My hair stands up on the back of my neck Always sensing hauntings Invisible as a ghost.
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Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC
of skeletons
Alas, if I had anyone else to blame besides myself it would be you And how ironic, How "you" is a universal or selective statement The usage applies to one specific person or many However Out of all the "yous" You have had the most impact You have hit and run and left the most amount of damage Years since and I am still owing debt to your wicked brainwash wash my mouth Out with soap because I am not to speak until I am spoken to You have resided in a cave a terrible dragon in darkness releasing fire memories Memories Are Powerful Things In a present moment your actions so long ago bring me backwards And I trip over my own feet in embarrassment Sticks and stones will break my bones But your words have formed a disease in my mirror I was raised under the impression no one would really love me I would not be good enough for anyone You broke my confidence and my screams So no one could ever hear me in the middle of the night A fanged silhouette hovering against every background All the ******* times you dug your fingernails into my skin and slapped me in the face and called me Disgusting I hate the things I have accepted I hate how I let myself be a victim I am ashamed I have ever let anyone have power over me It turns me on but scares the **** out of me A shadow over my interactions You have secluded my sense of self to rot In a cancer that you have created And yet I crave the realness of pain There is a dark side to every moon And I know depth and I understand the art of deception The pureness of sensitivity My hair stands up on the back of my neck Always sensing hauntings Invisible as a ghost.
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40
The once turgid expectations Become saturated with haste, As seconds, repeatedly, seem To fall to waste. The now blossoming promises Of isolated “opportunities” Allow tumultuous time to defeat The hauntings of our insecurities. The separation - from routine Will embellish jaded skills: Unleashing creativity Finally driven by natural thrills! The future for once Excites, No pain... As slowly I learn To know myself again.
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Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 2:59 PM UTC
Growth
Is what we perceive truly subject to the constraints of our linguistic and conceptual phenomena? Our ******* assertions are provocative, as they proudly stand and penetrate the depths of prevalent and superficial exaltations. We perch upon the thin branch of various tenses in the plight of our eclectic articulations, whilst the irregularity of the shape does not hold significance. Our cognitive representations of reproductive and anatomical semantics are like gothic architecture, where flamboyant and erogenous zones of liberation succumb to transcendental towers of majestic hauntings.
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Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
A Cold Crack of Reason