"homicidal" poems
Shriveled & shrunken.
Intoxicated & drunken.
Hung over & agitated.
Mild to moderate brain activity.
Common sense & basic reason lacks mental ability.
Bad with money & squanders financial stability.
Passing a psychological mental health evaluation not quite.
Kept in a straight jacket & sedated in isolation they do spit & bite.
They go through everyone's trash day & night.
They panhandle at the street lights.
They have tempers & pick fights.
Nothing they do is legal or right.
Slobs with no jobs.
They lack work ethics.
The sight & stench of them is sick.
They're sad story is lies & tricks.
Not a truth that sticks.
They cuss & their pocked face oozes ****
Their frontal lobe is filled with dust.
About telling your teacher the truth they get homicidal & make a fuss.
They drive a piece of **** car consisting of smog & rust.
Getting arrested for 365 × 3 + 2 counts of child **** is never a bust.
Keep your children away from drunks.
Some drunks get violent, beat you & lock you on a trunk.
Most pedofiles & rapists are drinkers.
Not religious or moral thinkers.
With shingles, hpv virus, ****** & boyles.
Zero morals as hideous as an ugly *** gargoyle.
Enjoy arguing, screams & shouts.
Daily drunk driving & behind the wheel blackouts.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that it ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the wars against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming through a crack in the wall,
on a visionary flood of alcohol;
from the staggering account
of the Sermon on the Mount
which I don't pretend to understand at all.
It's coming from the silence
on the dock of the bay,
from the brave, the bold, the battered
heart of Chevrolet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the sorrow on the street
the holy places where the races meet;
from the homicidal bitchin'
that goes down in every kitchen
to determine who will serve and who will eat.
From the wells of disappointment
where the women kneel to pray
for the grace of G-d in the desert here
and the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
It's coming to America first,
the cradle of the best and the worst.
It's here they got the range
and the machinery for change
and it's here they got the spiritual thirst.
It's here the family's broken
and it's here the lonely say
that the heart has got to open
in a fundamental way:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the women and the men.
O baby, we'll be making love again.
We'll be going down so deep
that the river's going to weep,
and the mountain's going to shout Amen!
It's coming to the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway,
imperial, mysterious
in amorous array:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
I'm sentimental if you know what I mean:
I love the country but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I'm junk but I'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
12.4k
Pill one was bad,
It made me sick.
Didn't work too well.
The zombie i became,
Drove some away.
It made the monsters multiply.
I spent my days in bed,
Too tired to move.
But lighting would strike my lips,
If I dare stop.
The next was heaven,
God lived in that pill.
Still on number one though,
It only added to my war.
See, number two had other uses.
I could take three and feel like flying.
I could crush it into dust,
And smell it's sweet high.
Pill number two got me really ******* high.
The crash from number two,
Pushed me to number three.
Withdrawal made me twitch,
Sent electricity through my veins.
Number three replaced two.
Still on one,
I hoped it would be the change.
It only made me fear for my life.
It killed my love,
Left me to die.
Doctor number two,
Please fix number one's mess.
He ****** me up bad.
But you listen to me.
You don't just write down symptoms,
And give me drugs when you tell me to leave.
Doctor two knows more about me than I do.
Take away number one,
She gave me number four.
I was a homicidal maniac.
My anger took over,
And violence seemed so lovely.
After some time this was all gone.
It did nothing to save me,
Didn't even try.
Doctor, this doesn't do ****
It's left me drowning again.
Take away three.
Number four and five,
Now that's a combination.
Pill five stole my sleep,
And all desire to eat.
Food looked disgusting,
My heart beat quickened.
I couldn't stand still.
Now on four and five at the same time,
And starving,
I lost fifteen pounds.
Now add six.
Four, five, and six.
All at the same time.
What's happening to my body?
I've become a science project.
I felt all the chemicals in me.
Might as well have been poison,
Because six did nothing.
Like number four,
It didn't even try.
Take away four,
Give me number seven.
Now we have seven, five, and six.
It's too early to tell,
How seven will **** me up.
I don't feel human anymore,
Just chemicals with feet.
Seven, please save me.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
Check back soon to resume and consume
every tight-lipped, slack-jawed fool in the room.
See, it's all what you know
as the fires start to grow
and the future burns slow.
Keep your eyes on the ceiling,
and your antenna feelers feelin',
for when your senses stop reeling,
you will finally start believing.
Kick-back to the basics,
not too far from the basement,
and close enough to show
that **** really isn't basic.
It's another mid-west, ******
******** freak show.
Another evening drinking whiskey
with the seedling's peep-show.
So, it's time to relax and relapse
into acidified broken synapse.
The lights keep flickering
and the couples keep bickering:
***** I am not above homicidal snickering.”
I steer clear of these diversions,
and wander past the sermons,
just to chew up all the crooked talk
and spittle out inversions.
I shovel mockery to hypocrisy,
pin-prick the empty *****
whose passions lack predicates,
and in the background, I'll be complexifying my medic-kit:
ketamine, morphine, ecstasy;
marijuana, mushrooms, LSD.
Watch those ******* jitter-bug college *****
procreate while sloppy drunk,
but keep an honest eye
on the flies that will rise above –
then fall back down in existential angst, like:
“Dear God, why must I be free?
Oh, God! Why is every universal eye on me?
I'm just another acid war veteran,
sneakin' through these gutters
with pestilence and bitter sin.
When they reach the promised land
of golden clouds and holding hands,
I'll be underground with the slugs and the spider band.”
Yet here I sit, sick of sippin' poisons with illiterates.
So, let the skies fall and the buildings crash,
as you stand on the wall with a fist full of cash.
I'll be on the front lawn,
picketing for dawn,
while the night around me slowly ambles on.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
Ever since I was little
I was taught NOT to trust people... they will hurt you.
They are Sick, Perverted, Homicidal, Suicidal;
From **** to A *********
But now...
I'm scared of everyone
terrified
but I ignore it & act like a 'People' person.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, ******* Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)
Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs
Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created
A philosophy based on your experience
Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition
****** for feeling to much
****** for not feeling enough
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
Everyone's out to outdo everyone else
It's not even about meaning anymore
It's how much press coverage it gets
Whoever makes them "just" statistics
And there's no fantasy draft yet
Somewhere alone in his dark place
Ruminating his environment
Some bedwetting, fire starting, animal abuser
Infantilized by the hatred of maternal instincts
Projected on him
De-evolved
He likes the way she hurts him
She abuses open hand words
or clenched up fists of embarrassment
It just fuels his homicidal tendencies
His brains on the hate frequency
And he's ready to let the fantasy slip
Home is where the heartless host
absence of emotional ghosts
the boy
the man
the monster
He lost it
Family annihilator,
He took his mother out last
So she'd suffer through
the destruction of the ********
Her wasted wish
of abortion'd children.
This was before the news vans
This was before the first respondents
This was before the society outlash
Back to him alone in a dark place
In the depths of his disturbing mind
He sets higher stakes.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
We didn’t sleep that night
the fire burning in our eyes,
our lungs filled with smoke and ash.
We didn’t have the heart to put it out.
No, we didn’t have the heart to **** it,
but we didn’t dare leave it unattended.
At some point we'd resolved
to let it die off on its own – but
we didn’t have the heart for that either.
All night we fed the flames
with stories told in delirium-states,
our truths embedded in fictions
occasionally exploding in crackles.
All night we circled the fire-pit
in ritualistic and futile attempts
to escape the capricious winds.
All night the flames danced hypnotic
while the waves on the shore sang lullabies:
homicidal, tempting melodies of sleep.
But,
when the morrow broke the sky
and faint blue crept in,
when the clouds gasped
coloured in superfluous reds and oranges,
when the last flicker finally puffed out
and we could at long last close our eyes,
there,
eternally etched,
we would still see the flames
burning under our eyelids.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
Suicidal
Homicidal
Alike but different
Each is permanent
**** someone in rage
Or **** yourself and leave behind a page
Your level of madness is measured,gauged
But why do I banter
Im as mad as a hatter
Nothing even matters
My life in tatters
A knife to me throat
Toss me in the moat
A bullet in the brain
Nothing to gain
Sometimes relief other times pain
The blood will be taint
Burn and Burn
Ashes in the urn
The worlds will turn
The stomachs will churn
For all you see is fake
And they will continue to take
An illusion
To launch you into confusion
A ruse
To light your fuse
Our lifespan
Throughout man
Short and bitter
So many of us quitters
The rest of us let out titters
While they gnaw on us, the critters
Bite and Bite
Fight for the light
To die in the moonlit night
To cause each other so much fright
Our 'Gods' tell us to **** each other
Our own brothers
Let the blackbird fly
High into the sky
To cause the gloom
To signal our doom
Our demise
Of the human enterprise
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
As a child
I wasn't really afraid of the dark,
There weren't really monsters in my closet and the feeling of checking under my bed was never something that I had to fear,
But as I grew older,
I learned that the monster was always in a far away place,
I learned in school that monsters didn't really exist and there was nothing I should have to fear,
I grew up in a Christian home
Learning that in some way I needed to be saved and I accepted that protection
Learning that living in hell for eternity was worth being saved from
But in my innocence I forgot about the monsters that live here
As planes are crashed into buildings
And snipers in cars
Inciting terror upon innocence
As a child in a free nation is oblivious to the fact that there is something to truly be afraid of
Something that's hidden
The cracks in the glass of this facade only seem to spider across the dark crevices of my brain wishing to...
Wishing to be free
Clawing their way up my throat
Asking for forgiveness instead of permission
Wishing to let go of their bonds because the only thing that's keeping them there is the thought that they could be kept at bay
Brittle chains with keys in the locks and the only thing that stops them from being set free is us
I've been told the eyes are the window to the soul
That if you look closely you can see their thoughts and desires
And demons
And as it turns out I'm blind to the fact that when I try to look in the mirror
That monsters won't chase me in my sleep and claw away at my soul
That no one is in control of the monsters
The monsters are in control of me.
Humanities greatest lie is that we can save our selves.
The monsters won't be free because we won't let them take control until they do
And this great deception has conceived this monstrosity that nobody has seen because everyone is afraid to look inside ourselves to see how awful the wound really is
We can't see our own glass houses caving in
The monstrosities of this world are our own creation
With homicidal tendencies
and a Picasso like disposition
Spraying our own blood upon this ripped apart canvas and calling it art
As a child I was told monsters didn't exist
That, the monsters were in a far away place
They couldn't attack me in my sleep and that there was nothing to fear in this world
I just didn't realize it was all in my head.
As children we are afraid of the monsters under our bed
Asking our parents to look under neath them for us so that they can prove that it's just our imagination,
"There's nothing to be afraid of" they tell me
Running to the parents room in the middle of the night to ask to stay with them because we don't grasp the reason why we are scared to begin with.
I wonder if nightmares are from the monsters trying to be free
Breaking out of their shackles of our parents lies telling us that monsters don't exist,
That there's nothing you have to fear because the monsters can't touch you.
And you as an innocent young child convince yourself that they only tell you facts because you can't comprehend that,
It's all in your head,
The greatest lie that the devil ever told was that he didn't exist,
The second is that there are no monsters,
Lying to ourselves cause we are the monsters
And they lie to us so we put them off as non existent
It was all... in my head.
I'm gonna ask you to look in my eyes,
I wonder,
I wonder if you can see mine
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
This spiteful poem has no title.
That doesn't mean it's not entitled to a title
it just means, it hasn't got one.
It's not in any way vital to title
a poem is it?
Without a title, would a rival thieve
the poem?
Without a title, it means there is no
subject matter. Does that matter?
I guess at a recital a title helps,
it introduces the poem to an audience.
Let's face it, the poem is not going to get
suicidal if I don't give it a title!
It's not going to go all homicidal, suicidal,
or self harm.
Will it sue me for libel?
Am I being frightful?
I think it's delightful that this poem
has no title.
Maybe, what I should have titled this poem, was
"Poet being idle".
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
I scream
as unrealistic apprehensions
distort my perception.
A phenomenon!
Discretion dissection,
every line you
sing-
rings solely
of deception.
Complex and intricate-
a "homicidal contemplation."
A mathematical equation,
dividing every claim,
my undeniable calculation.
Allude confrontation,
as lying eyes recite,
despite self validation.
My fear, it-
dwells here,
amongst the impatient.
Perplexed and deranged,
I am your-
"recycled replacement."
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
I've been trying to write something of substance for quite some time now,
trying to collect fresh thoughts from newer moments of you
and rearrange them into phrases that would gift me a new remarkable piece of the puzzle that is the immeasurable complexity of your soul.
I've been trying to bottle up this obtrusive, demanding feeling of utter awe that comes when you and I climb into our honesty and wear it to bed, side-by-side.
I've been trying to backtrack slightly, wishing so desperately (though stoically!) for the return of those painfully dire professions of unadulterated romance, reminiscing in the saturation of your love letters and how the color red is breathed into me time after time to remind me how powerfully you've shifted the balance of my life.
I love you, I love you, by god, do I love you.
My fears are still the same, though, Darling, and I feel that with the redness of passion shall also come a redness of a quality that pertains to homicidal gore,
for you have, still, that scalpel in your hands,
and my heart blooms every moment of my life, not for its love of me, but for the hope that it may one day bloom for the last time cradled in your blood-soaked palms.
I've been trying to say anything else for a week but nothing will break from the gates and give me a solid night's sleep anymore.
I can't tell you how mad you've actually made me.
Though I do dare to hope that I've evoked similar sentiments in you.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
I see it for just a moment
A squishy mound of fur to the far right of the asphalt
This latest pile of dislocated mush is presented on a desert highway
A raccoon? No. Too small.
A coyote? Maybe. Who can tell?
That play-dough pile of crushed bones was not created outside the white lines where it now lays
Some chosen soul scraped and scooped the mystery meat to its resting place
Some jumpsuit wearing civilian is intimately aware with the parentage of the reassembled road victim
Do they have a moment of silence after the last shovel scrape?
Do they hold an internal roadside memorial?
What of the homicidal perpetrator behind his wheels?
He must know the identity of his victim
He must feel the agony of guilt
Or, is his only remorse in the quarters he must spend at the self-service carwash to remove the evidence?
Perhaps Road-Kill animals haunt their vehicle killers
Maybe their blood can never be truly washed from the ****** weapon’s shinny surface
Like spots on Lady Macbeth’s hands
Perhaps the killer’s dreams are frequented by unidentifiable ****** mounds with eyes that stare from unnatural places
After all
Justice must be had in one way or another
For the unrecognizable John Doe pile represents all those wild things that must chance to cross the hard, hot, lethal highway
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.
After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.
But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional **** I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was ***** But when AIDs came along,
that was it. Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.
These are the facts.
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
I buck the system my ***** like forget the system ***** , This world is so Corrupted, The government just wanna take away are feelings, & make us into killing machines..just like the Nazis
(Fuck America)..Uhh
(They lie to us*2,..MK Ultra,
(Its mind control*2)..mind control
This **** is getting way outta control..)*2
Uhh, The **** been going on , I been In my zone,
I been sad for so very long..
I been writing all alone, I been stuck in my room, broken mirrors, & Monarch butterflies all around me, The voices in my head won't leave me alone mane, tryna distract me from my Fathers truth homie, I'm having Dreams of demons tryna take hold of my soul..(I won't let em get to me thou..)..Ayo, I'm getting so sick & tired dawg..Im feeling very depress, homicidal & suicidal, like Tommy Wright the 3rd but forget killing myself dawg.. I'm just about to buss out the AK & go Rambo & make these ******* die dawg..They are gonna feel the wrath of Young Ston Poet.. The ****** Disciple , that I felt for so very long..Man its eating up my insides..Uhh
I buck the system my ***** **** The system my nigga,..I'm bringing pandemonium..
**** The CIA ***** , America isn't protecting us , They ain't doing nothing but putting us on a string..Uhh, So Forget America mane..Im blowing **** up like the Two brothers did at the Boston Marathon dawg..Real Talk man..Uhh,...I just don't give a **** any more,about nothing..Yeah
America **** them..Yeah
America is just filled with puppets man.. Sinning Machines, humanoids,clones..shit, people thats just here for devilish purposes, like assassinations, & prostitution..
**** all of that sick **** man, **** being a robot for the white man, **** mind control..Imma stand against the **** shit..This is Only For The Real..This is Only For The Righteous.. Uhh
They lie to us, Its mind control.. MK Ultra..Uhh
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
A friend of mine was attacked by
her homicidal cat.
Apparently,
cats are quite toxic.
They are also really evil,
in a naturally stupid way.
Maybe it's about time we
seriously considered them
parasites.
Practically venomous.
This I guess is half poem,
and half cautionary tale.
Your furry friend is an *******
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
You attack me with words
But I'm the bite to your bark
You can talk the talk
While I walk in the dark
I'll show the world and ignite the spark
Because that's what you get when you try swimming with sharks
Now here you go ramblin blaming me again
Telling me how crazy I am in the head
All these lies you've fed
The pride you shed
When you've found out from you fake *** friends that I wound up dead
How I've bled for you and blamed myself
Grabbed the razor and your scarf and done hung myself
How I hated myself
How I've betrayed myself
Lied and cut the nose off my face just to spite myself
So when you've ripped out my heart I hope you keep it showcased on your trophy shelf
I hope after seeing your good work that you'll be proud of yourself
I won't fight back
Ill let you cut me up
Gag me with a sock just to shut me up
While you cut off my limbs so I can't do jack
Bleeding out while you continue to attack
So clean off your blade and whistle while you work
Writing all these threats in your nice little book
Then give it back to me and I'll give back a smirk
Now the whole world will see how you've gone crazy and berserk
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
stunted
short
visionary dwarf
****** level
too much too much
***** panorama
cut the crap
lay on your back
change of venue
blue blue
dark clouds too
****** of black cotton
100% ******
feminine products need not apply
c’mon
but wait
no more ****
but where’s our precious depths
lost our thoughts
consciousness raised
to new depths
then lost
as if ******* weren’t enough
but hey
look
just drop it
no asking for a hand now the clap is extinct
****** fungus a dinosaur
what we’ve all been working for, right
the liberated ****
without love
without guilt
sure, but meantime it’ll **** you
homicidal inundation
or better yet
you’ll go blind looking for it
2k
You call me alarmist
Because I say what I have heard.
You call me socialist
As if it were a ***** word.
You call me communist
Like this is nineteen fifty two.
You make an epithet
Of anyone who contradicts you.
You call me coward
Because I hate war so much.
You call people ******
If men should hug or touch.
You call people terrorists
If they don't worship your way.
You seem to hate the poor
Wish they would just go away.
You have a list of names
You use instead of using specifics.
You have a list of behaviors
You consider to be extra terrific
Like making fun of races
And calling starving people losers.
Make laws against cannabis
While you are a bunch of boozers.
You use Christianity
Like membership in the Rotary.
Won't take your credentials
To be verified by a legal notary.
You hide your profits
And brag about your successes
And become homicidal
If you get anything but yesses.
It's a sick world you sell
With your hate filled speeches.
Surely this is not what
Your spiritual leader teaches.
There is so much disdain
And even evil in what you do.
Let us all hope and pray
Our kids don't turn out like you.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
I ripped our love apart.
I defiled it.
Whatever we had I graffitied all over,
I sprayed noxious fumes over a work of art.
And you're gone.
I ate our love up.
Devoured it.
We had a four course meal planned out.
I ate the desert before the meal began.
And you're gone.
I bulldozed our love.
Destroyed it.
We were architects for not just a building, a city.
I burned the plans, the structures.
And you're gone.
I killed our love.
Murdered it.
a life of
Your pit bull and
hairless cat and
motorcycle
Workbench
-did you ever take that course?
love
Your eyes when they were seventy.
When we were on shrooms,
I hallucinated you at seventy.
I started crying because you were so beautiful.
That was before I went homicidal.
But you are gone.
And I don't blame you.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
Looks to ****
Blood being the only fuel to her thrill.
Wicked attitude is often too much.
******** ******** to the touch.
She'll reel you in with the face of angel.
But with the click of a pen she could turn the tables.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
lightning, thunder
pummeling droplets of rain
vicious, forceful hurricane winds
sweeping, spinning
swept violently away
whipping, ******
dragging me
a helpless rag doll
tugged around
- by my ravaged soul
dizziness, nausea
fractional-seconds, flashes of light
circling; bewilderment
world rushing past
lost in this predicament
having been carried away
so far away
prisoner of this whirlwind
fearsome, raging tempest
powerful and raw
mercilessly desecrated
mindless ****** of innocence
inescapable prison walls
captive of this sociopathic entity
hopeless enslavement
****** over-burdened
foul irony, my fate
- my only companion
pressing, constant reminder
I AM TO BLAME
chained to my own
passionless, encroaching storm -
this loathsome
jerking, twisting, spasm-wracked
hurricane monster
a destroyer -
- my destroyer!
homicidal goddess of obliteration
that I have made
I am my own
storm slave
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 10:28 PM UTC
The sun makes me feel like a failure.
I do not know why.
I have no stories about it,
Or metaphors to give you.
I do not like to be warm.
I do not like things dry.
I do not like things bright.
I like the rain because it actually touches you
It doesn't just tempt you like the sun.
If the sun touched you,
You would die.
The sun is homicidal.
It just doesn't commit the murders.
I have yet to decide if that is out of laziness,
Or compassion.
Maybe it is both.
I'll go with both.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC