"malevolence" poems
I’m in my prime; at the cusp of my development.
A few more years of growth make decay a lot more relevant…
*Glass Elephant,
Glass Elephant,*
Irrelevance, benevolence,
Compassion, or malevolence;
I’m one of few who sees it sums no difference.
Glass objects.
Or Elephants.
Irrelevance,
Irrelevance
Striving for motion, with motive elusive
Each thing I endeavor is far too exclusive
I need something inclusive, objectively singular
A sinusoidal wave with a mean lacking integers
Peace in zero and equilibrium inclusion
*Glass Elephant
Glass Elephant*
Delusions, Delusions
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
I write my pretty poetry
and I beg to know of thee
what you see
and what you want to be
what makes you flee
and what makes you free
how often do you plea
do you like a bee
or am I irritating thee
with my random personality
I'm sorry but that's my gravity
I don't need you I have my sanity
I call it sanity and you call it insanity
like I asked you who to be
I'd rather follow my fae
It seems to me
you lack the imaginary
and that I cling to the extraordinary
I mean who likes ordinary
I pick extraordinary
One more time
Extraordinary
My mind is endless
I act kind of senseless
Oh I see breakfast
here comes my fist
if you insist
I can't resist
Am I dismissed
I know there is something I've missed
the crazy insists
I can't resist
The malevolence
in your intelligence
I don't know where I thence
hence
I make no sense
This baby is crazy
But the God our lord made me
To be whoever I want to be
if you dream it you can achieve it
Believe it and you will see
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 4:07 PM UTC
Upon a midnight’s visage airy,
T’was a lake frozen by fairy,
…and weighing on mind’s tonnage bearing?
There for ice’ opaqueness winter’s seized,
…and arms encased in rime; trees.
“Oh my,”
At dark of sky thought the eye of something troubling upon my mind?
And the frosty cloudy glass,
Take to it upon my axe,
…and the sting of shards will pass.
And will I eat at last.
Thusly, thrusting through the skull, wettened, weakened for the cold.
…and burden carry I with me,
So encased in rime is he,
Doth make of fishing’s night a chore,
Something that I do abhor!
…and stare I did into that sea,
…my frory breathe in imagery,
Dismay it did fluster me, when my eye captured by Sea,
...and in whirling thoughts could reflection see?
…and something else came back with me.
Pool with drops, light curves, dark rings; in vapid mind now find nothing...
T’was a misty sheen seen after showers?
A damp muggy place of reflecting hours,
Typhoid strange did make snowing;
The Asteraceae of my wilted flowers,
…and that Wren philosophically sings,
…and at lake a lone be -ing,
Appearing peering my soliloquy, I am therefore I into thee.
…and fixed calm stared back at me,
“What pray tell I Enquiry?”
Did something else look back at me?
...and glaring gaze thus did see, something I had hid from me,
…and gawking in my mind did ogle; a malevolence of thought once frugal...
A gaping, oscillating, pierced Abyss, forced farther back into consciousness...
Deeper in and further still,
Climb atop Old Arthur’s hill,
…and the winged Raven’s nearer, reflected on me in my mirror?
…and time did pass turning frozen dying, icy tears of sadness from my crying,
…so did silent Hume release, all the pain that’s troubling me; whilst frozen frame thus held in peace?
I fell forward and felt submerged,
Both characters, both now have merged.
And that creature which accompanied me?
Found a solace back in wine dark sea.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
Discernment of facts escape a blind eye
Incalculable deceit fell upon naive assumptions of decorum
Virtues so easily replaced by a blanket of colorful chattel
Now, countless blankets dance about, as ghosts
on a paved route chosen with intent of endless future passage
And now, to escape the realm of falsities
every eventide is exchanged for repose and closed eyes
Pleasure, promises, and poetry she gave
only to have something to take away
In vengeance of a caustic past
Aphrodite unleashed artful malevolence into a fallen heart
Oh, how so much exists
where there is nothing
Emptiness can be full of such desire
And oh, the bitter taste of sweet words
from the unrestrained lips of a liar
An offering cloaked with savory fruit in cordial hands
Swearing to give it all in the big apple
and then seducing to her roots in the yard
Absorbing a soul
Only to create a martyr of forlorn cause
An abomination can appear so sweet
when emptiness needs filling
A demon from below,
delightful,
before killing
Nostalgia, a trail of footsteps in the mud
Like a fingerprint with an unquestionable owner
Arduous wails reaching the extents of one's universe
as a pawn and patriarch share reflection in the stagnant tide
knowledge of good and evil, once a desire, now a curse
yet, finally held
Gratefully numb with inescapable acceptance
Scott Mitchell
09 Dec 2012
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
A fire of pride
A swarm of prejudice
Inside I hide
In dark malevolence
A light captured
A bone fractured
Fondness becomes love
Love becomes passion
Passion rises above
As hatred enters the fashion
Arrogance rises up inside
Makes it hard to oblige
The wishes of those around me
Pride turns to arrogance
Prejudice becomes hate
Arrogance and hatred are all I see
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 1:35 PM UTC
God is in the shadows
deep in the pocket of that rose
an impossible color, beyond crimson, the epitome
of crimson, so crimson tears spring forth
This is where God, silent, drunk,
on vacation, slumbers
God is nowhere to be found
not in dead fathers
not in demented mothers
not in fading ex-lovers
not where spiders lurk
not in the boom & beat of adolescent children
It is the sorrow lodged somewhere between
breast bone and lung, sorrow the size and shape
of an island, a mountain,
the texture of wet sand
the weight of wet sand
It is this that snatches away my breath upon inhaling
A life-long sorrow, sealed to skin
as surely as metallic paint to a pan -
It hangs on with a cage fighter’s tenacity
locked in fierce embrace
sorrow coppery tasting
sorrow flaked in my hair and
Draped over the sofa, cat-like.
It just hangs around -
changing to heat, radiating at a dangerous level
nuclear, capricious, then, as time passes
just a presence one becomes accustomed to,
like an aging dog or webs above the bed
Its cousin, malevolence, its twin, melancholia
family to my family, blood to my blood –
dropping down from the shower head as I bathe
sorrow becoming holy, beyond flesh
It holds hands with the musician I’ve known all my life
and dines regularly with that other writer
We speak of transformation, you and I
of becoming other than ourselves,
as though we can unzip our flesh and find a whole
new identity underneath, throbbing, pink, blood-pumped
and with this, go forth into the same old world
that remembers transgression and forgives nothing
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
Marched in step
Toting a little red wagon
Stride carried pep
Dragging that little red wagon
Weathered in rust
Creaking in the sun
Covered in dust
It weighs a ton
Overburdened by basic trinkets
Remnants of Christmas 05
Macaroni made cumulonimbus
From school days off winchester drive
Photo of family for evidence
Not that it means a thing
Victim of malevolence
Thrown out in early spring
Winter brought about the cough
Toting a little red wagon
His whole system seems off
Dragging that little red wagon
He's feeling old
Went and turned lethargic
Held onto the cold
Wallowing in hardship
Deterioration apparent
There's something horribly wrong
Behavior aberrant
His strength is gone
Innocence in tow
Holding onto reactionary bliss
Writing name in snow
...Blood marked abyss
Death encroaches.
He falls before his little red wagon
A young boy approaches
And steals that little red wagon
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
My child,
As you watch your worlds get torn apart
With a malevolence you can’t comprehend,
Please do not throw yourself into the crossfire,
This is a war you cannot mend.
Their anger is too deep-rooted,
Their hurt is much too strong,
They will insist on going down fighting,
And refuse to see where they are wrong.
Find shelter from this constant storm,
Please close your eyes and ears.
They won’t listen to your pleading,
They choose not to see your tears.
Your screams won’t penetrate their spiteful resolve,
Your little voice will go unheard,
You have no choice but to be strong now;
A responsibility so undeserved.
My child, you cannot help them
As they stand firm on this battle site.
You must know this will be one of many,
There is too much wrong to put right.
If they could see how their bellowing makes you recoil,
See you cowering on your knees,
They might take heed of the damage they’re wreaking,
Reconsider this incessant, vindictive reprise.
But this road is far from ending,
So don’t exhaust your resilience here,
You must protect yourself from the barrage,
For they have not the strength to shield your fears.
It will be another long and tiresome night
As you are again dragged through this mess,
Processing all of their vicious accusations
For all that they refuse to confess.
So as you watch the two people you revere the most
Spit venom at volumes you can’t stand,
I beg you not to let it make you hateful -
This is not what they had planned.
I know how you long to fix it,
Desperate to appease their pain,
But my child, too much has already been broken,
Just please know you are not to blame.
I wish I could offer an escape route,
Tell you everything will be OK,
But there is no choice except to ride out this bitterness,
Await the dawn of a new day.
And on that day you’ll find a way to forgive them,
For destroying everything you knew as home,
For their selfishness stealing all innocence
And turning safe places into war-zones.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
O my sacred,
Shower me with your greatness.
Bring it up to my neck,
And drown me in the lake bed.
O how secret, and so delicate,
Fear in trust involved.
It's not a secret anyways,
If nothing's getting solved.
I love, I trust, I need you,
In fear I live all time.
My words in hope to mean them,
So that you'll say "You're mine"
O my sacred,
Take myself and make it yours.
This day is nothing to you,
Your love fills my empty lake bed.
A love, that's secrets tale,
One month, forever it lasted.
The tale of two, of many,
At each other, love was blasted.
No one way to say it right,
Four ways to say I Love You.
Just take me as I am,
And know that I'm thinking of you.
O my sacred,
Unto you I do trust.
No lake bed full of:
doubt, anger, mistrust, jealousy, regret, pain, hurt, love, hate, lust, health, disease, space, time, pity, indulgence, sorrow, mourning, evil, distress, affliction, trouble, breaks, insignificance, remorse, agony, peril, skeptics, insecurities, uncertainty, question, suspicion, difficulty, dilemma, depression, belief, worry, conviction, cruelty, discredit, hesitation, unhappiness, calamity, travesty, grief, hardship, loss, suffering, weeping, sadness, heartache, lament, excruciation, torture, soreness, discomfort, penalty, torment, torture, harm, malicion, malevolence, prejudice ,detriment, disservice, misfortune, abuse, effort, labor, endeavor, strength, power, energy, operation, mistreat, undermining, blemish, flaw, disservance, misery, injury, exertion, struggle, trial, madness, wrath, rampage, harassment, irritation, exasperation, rage, tantrum, infuriation, mischief, inequality, alienation, aggravation, annoyance, contagion, trauma, damage, insults, violation, wrong, flesh, or ****
...ANYTHING between us,
Vanquished because I must!
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC
You said you'd wait.
It was a lie.
Underneath a somber grey and pallor sky
I hold my still beating heart in my hands
and yet I still capitulate to your quaint demands
With a smile on my face
I'm still Bereaved
with a smile on my face
I still believe
With a smile on my face
I still taste bittersweet and metallic malevolence
Some still claim hate is folly
but the only thing I regret is love or was it lack thereof?
I still dream
and In between memories and make believe happy- endings
I wake up drenched in feverish and sickly-sweet sweat.
I've been betrayed
go ahead and stick your blade in my back and twist
twist until i cease to exist
Twist until the earth runs red
with blood and regret
with tears and sweat
and i can still feel your breath upon my neck
and your words still caress my fragile disposition
but i still wake up alone
and I still wake up betrayed.
**** you*
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
I FEEL THE FURIES DESCEND -
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO SAVAGE A PILE OF MEAT AND MUSCLE
THE STENCH OF IT, O GOD
O GLORY SCREAMING, WHY
RAGING AGAINST SOME BROKEN
DYING THING:
PEEL THE SKIN FLAKING FROM MY BACK,
WEAR IT AS A TROPHY
FASHION MY SKULL INTO A SICKLY CROWN
YOU DESERVE THIS THRONE! YOU
REALLY REALLY DO!
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO DIE
FROM SELF HATRED
PUTRID FIRE AND MALEVOLENCE
REMINISCING LIKE OLD FRIENDS, AND
MY FINGERS LYING AT THEIR FEET
I WAS NEVER ALIVE! NOT IN THE
RIGHT WAY, AT LEAST, SING
SONGS OF MY COURAGE
SACRAMENT AND DUST SENT OUT TO SEA
ON A FLAMING BOAT
NOTHING BUT A SHATTERED URN AND A
DECK OF CARDS
AND A SUICIDE NOTE THAT SAYS SORRY,
WRONG NUMBER
THIS ISNT - THAT IS TO SAY, IM NOT -
I CANT BREATHE, NOT WHILE
EAGLES SWALLOW MY LUNGS, A FLY SWARM
TURNED HOLY SCREAMING
REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car,
I knew.
I knew then that it would be the last
Of the unknown that I
Have cherished and loathed
For the longest time.
As I closed my eyes I
Wondered then,
Which one of them was going to fill me in
On what has been going on on
The other side
After all these years?
Father, you left me when I was five
But I couldn't do anything.
You seemed to forget that you had a daughter
But I couldn't do anything.
I searched for you through Friendster
through Facebook
even MySpace
But you wouldn't do anything.
I couldn't do anything.
As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car
About to meet you finally after all these long years
I couldn't do anything.
Had you rejected me
It would have been better
I could have gone crazy and screamed and thrashed and left
But you didn't do that sort of thing.
You hugged me
Along with everyone in the family
Even GrandMama cried as she hugged me
Twas as if the hugs could make up for the years
That went on by
Without you.
I did not grow up on hugs and
Kisses.
I seemed content in the berth of personal space
****** upon me at birth.
But then
Each and everyone of you was a
Hugger. And
I couldn't do anything.
I am not an angry mass of hate
And malevolence.
Gone were the days when
I had wished for your demise.
If anything,
I feared that I wasn't strong enough
For this. But
I couldn't do anything.
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
Whether drops of dew
Able diminish fire spark up in our home land?
Whether rice boil in well-off houses
Served the requirement of subjugated one of our home land?
Whether peace installed in meeting hall
Spread to countryside of our home land?
Everyone is in shrunken
With devastation malevolence’s follower,
Who dream that, they will make everything golden!
Therefore, my grandmother said
“We are just with soil, water and air
Don’t dream about gold or silver, it will wipe out your vigour to survive!
Go for vocation to nurture soil;
Bring in water, profoundly breath air...
You will grow along with other!”
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
Would that life was like the Twilight Zone
Twists and turns of fate
Where paupers become princes
And Emperors lie in state
Where neglected little children
Receive their every need
And appropriate masks are given
For vanity and greed
Where old folks Kick the Can
And become boys and girls
Is there such poetic irony
In the real world?
Yes! "The Donald" lives and breathes!
Hate surely his mission
He gives me the dry heaves
He's touted by "The Christian"!
Does faith espouse malevolence?
If so, tell me when?
And would such a hater
*Be truly Born Again?*
Of the people he attacks
There's surely no great lack
But his pointed finger
Has three more pointed back!
No, I am not for Hillary
I'm not lured by siren call
I really hate to say this
But I may not vote at all!
The poetic irony
Was right there from the start
"Trump" is a "Brittishism"
It is defined as ****
SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/14/2016
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
A leitmotif of your average smug **** is a proverb here and there.
Spouting them off like the receptor has no care.
Their evidential naivety is blatant and almost impossible to bear.
As an audience member you can do nothing but hide your malevolence and stare.
******* in maxims that are apparently laced with benevolence and care.
You know the kind of oxygen waster I’m referring to.
The type of person that watches BBC 4 and likes tofu.
The kind that does the Financial Times So-fucking-Do-Ku.
Look I’m just saying that clichés annoy me.
I’m not asking you to love me, give me a reach around or employ me.
In fact you don’t even have to enjoy me as I tell you of things that matter not.
Suture yourself hypothetically to a geographically different mind. That mind being mine, oh that maverick-esque mischievous mind of mine, looking at this from my perspective.
In my transcendental endeavours to rid the clichéd ridden world of the afore mentioned adjective.
In the opposite of anachronistic times, we might successfully, surreptitiously rid the world of moral coated rhymes.
We can do this; all it takes is a few. One of which needs to be you.
Break out from being solipsistic, even the blind, the meek, the autistic, those that besmirch the edge of coffee cups with their lipstick.
Yes, I mean you. Here is what to do…
The next time someone spouts off a cliché, punish them, make them listen to an album by “Hearsay.”
If someone says “An Apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Then simply say, Steve Jobs had thousands and the here’s the definite answer, that consumerism inducer still died of cancer.
If a woman says “When I say jump. You say how high!” Don’t even cogitate to pardon her.
If the grass is always greener on the other side – shoot your ******* gardener.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
When one is in desperate need of sleep
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
She is told, to simply count the sheep
If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence
I want only to collapse into a dreary heap
When one is desperate need of sleep
She is told, to simply count the sheep
In the waking hour of dawn, weary from Sandman's malevolence
Inexplicable panic begins to seep
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
Sunshine caresses the houses steep
If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence
The neighborhood yawns, the birds begin to cheep
Night refuses an acquiescence
When one is in desperate need of sleep
I wish for once, Night and I will come to a complacence
Languid to the point where I will weep
She is told, to simply count the sheep
One wants a gloaming of reposing divulgence
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
When one is in desperate need of sleep
She is told, to simply count the sheep.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
A tragic simile to compare
An unfortunate situation that left me bare
Attempt to ****** me, you wouldn’t dare
A rumor that abolished my affair
The blaze that melted my lip stain
Red and purple upon my window pane
An enduring week that has me drained
In order to live I had to abstain
Your trust in me was just a dream
You ripped open the heart of my seam
Shot down by your merciless beams
No generosity for me, intolerance it seems
Revenge in your heart was in the past
Malevolence is sure to last
A never ending resentment cast
Upon your heart full of grief
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 2:37 AM UTC
Secret Garden
Rose buds dressed in pastel pink,
Waxy coats,
Keep secrets locked tight,
Till they bloom,
They'll never tell,
Not indiscreet,
As buds are open,
All set free,
Release sweet secrets to you and me,
Fuschia dark awaits her popping,
As child,
Was a game,
Her secret's darker than her flower,
That's why she stays locked tight!
Aquilegia, my Columbine,
Keeps delicate secrets,
Safe in fragile name,
As dainty dancer,
Secrets safe from Pantaloon,
Les Millions d' Arlequin,
Harlequin seeks his columbine,
A comedy of errors,
He'll never find!
Garden secrets will release if in crazy error,
The grass finds out,
Whispering in tongues,
With conscience sadly lacking,
On breezy days,
As zephyr lifts,
Malachite secrets,
Malevolence released!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
In youth, imaginations run wild
The small patch of trees in our yard was mild
I found this place most enchanting
It was at this time that a man I knew well would disenchant me
The trees in this forest smiled back at me with benevolence
When he entered the forest, it grew evil, corrupted by his malevolence
With my friends, we played fun games that were make-believe
With this man I played something he told me was a game, I was in disbelief
He said it was a secret, a keep-sake
Later I found that it was something from me for him to take
Many years went by, and with every year the games were increasing
My imagination and innocence ever decreasing
I began to see the forest for what it was
My imagination and hopes that once were it wasn’t
One day many years later, this man finally disappeared
No longer in my conscience, it had appeared
It was at this time of reflection above his grave
My life reborn, I now feel brave
Within this forest I stood, at my fear’s final resting place
From that moment on, I knew that I would no longer feel misplaced
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 7:37 PM UTC
Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely pesuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
– Zumwalt (2011) (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 0●0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0● I ●0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0●●●●●●0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0●●●●●●●●●0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0●●●●●●●●●●●0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 G A T H E R 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
in the silence between finale and applause.
I/H/I/D/E/I/N/B/L/A/N/K/C/A/SS/E/TT/ES
spouting my lore until you break; hats tipped to
˙ʇsᴉsǝɹ oʇ pǝƃɐuɐɯ oɥʍ sǝuo ǝɥʇ
1.) I left your brother a fake key to my front door underneath the concrete block at the foot of my driveway. Tell him it's real; feign disbelief when he discovers it's not. Do not break to his powerful will, keep up the lie. (Don't worry about the cat, she'll be fine.)
2.) I've provided you with the supplies to harvest the memory worm and I expect it in good condition upon my return. Do not disappoint me again.
3.) The moon cycle is about to restart. Remember to water the stones, chart their growth, and make sure to keep up with your calisthenics; we don't want a repeat of last month's escape.
3-II.) Break the orange stone if it darkens any further. Malevolence is always in poor taste when inflicted upon people such as us and I do not want some rock probing around in my head again.
4.) Pawn your step-father's television, give his eyes a break. We need the cash, quick, to help pay off my polonium dealer. The man is patient, but we need to show that we're making progress; money will help. The synchrones haven't quite flourished yet, or matured for that matter, so gold is a little out of our reach, but we've at least progressed to clouds and static.
=__--
===___-
=====____-
The vessels will soon flood over with the milk of bounty,
and the time shall come when the palaver begins to cease;
a time when words are indeed obsolete to the new being.
The vessels will soon flow with the true, fourth color.
Trichromacy be ****** we shall see things as they truly are!
=====____-
===___-
=__--
n̷̢̬̯͙̮̤̫̪̟͂ͨ͋̅̏͒͒͆̅͌̚͢͢͜ơ̶̷̶̹̱̱̭̝͈̤͍͙̟̬͕͈̤͈͇̩̠̈̈́ͦͣ̆͆͒̄͑ͤ͗ͪ̈́͝ ̛͖̪͉̯̼̤̦̹͎́ͬͤͧ͂̏͐̀m̶̡̰̖̺̼̠̺̠̻͖̮̘̻͙̑̓͋̒̾̏̀ͬ̔ͦ̉͑̓͝õͩ̑ͭ͋̈́ͬ̈̈ͫ̓̂͗̎͆̒͛҉̵͏̛̥̭͉͙r̶̗̗͓̻̪͑̃ͩ͂͗͌͛̂̽̈́̀̒̃́̕͡ͅe̢̛͙͕͍̹̲͐̍͐̎̄ͦ͒̈͂ͣ̾̽ͨ̇ͦ͋̀͟͡ ̸̨̺̣̬̩̩͚̹̰̖̻̜ͩͭ̔͒̔̄ͭ̓͂̚͜s̵̪̦̺̜̤͔̥̦̖͙̝̯̺͎̘̎ͫ̈́̔̎ͦͦ̿ͤ̏ͩ̌̕͞ͅm̭̦̮̜̱̫̻͖̑ͥ̾̈́ͮ̔ͪ̔̎̐̆̀ͥ̈́̐́͝ā̷̶͓͉̼͚͕̤̘͕̰̣̩̲͍̭͓͎͉ͥ̆ͬ̎ͣ̍̏̑̂ͧͯ̆̄̓̑͗ͬ̀͞l̰̥̭͇͍̰̂̿ͨ̑̾́ͬ͗̓̍̇͆̔̋͜͟l̶̉ͮ̃͆̉ͬ̾ͤ͑͆̓ͤ̆ͫ̉̓̾͜͞҉̝̣̙̯̺̳͕̫͍͕̮̹̝͖̹̠̼̼͈͝ ̸̨̮͓̗̝̤̬͖͖̬̪ͭ͆͛̒̎ͩ̍͐ͮ̈̿̂̓ͬ̆̄̃ͮt̆͗̿͋ͦ̇ͧ̓̉̌ͯ̆̄̚͡͝҉̢̢̱̮̺ͅa̸̸̴̡̻̝͕͇̖̯̝ͬͣͧ̓̈́ͨͥ̓͒̿͆̆ͬ̚̚͠l͈̬̫̰̺̥͙͍͇̭̣͇͙̰͚̠̦̻̜ͧͫ̒͋̊́̃ͪ̈́̀͘͡͞͞k̸̛̤̠͖̖͈̤̠̝̬̩̩̖̩͙̲̭̭̎ͯ͒͌̀̾̒̈́ͩ͋̓ͩͮͮ́̚͝ͅ
̷̴̧̢͇͕͙͓̤̜͓̖̦͉̠̭̥̭̪̙͔̖ͬͩ̐͆ͩͨ̏̽ͫ͒ͩͪ͂ͦͬ̿̈̆̈́͝iͤ̉̍̋ͩͬ͛̆͛̒͑ͥ̎ͥͧ͗҉̷̟͉̩͟ͅţ͉͚̹͚̑̂͛̉ͬͧ̕̕͜͡'̘̻̭͈̞̫̯͓̮̥̝̩̖͓͈̏̿ͩ͋̔̏̄̑ͤ̂̊͒ͩͯ̀̚͟sͨ̑́̽҉̸̟̘̭̬́͢ ̉ͫ̊̒ͮ̓͘҉̯̘̲̖̹͍͝t̛͚͇͈̽͐̎̑͒̎ͬ̇̒̑̈́͠i̛̿ͭ͊ͮ͐ͪ̏͋͊͐̃̏ͪ̐͒ͧ͆͛ͪ͏̸̼͉̺̦̲̲̠͢͞mͦ̑̋ͦͫͭ͌̽ͯ͐̚͏͇̰̪̟̣̠̲͔͢͟e̷̛̥̻̟̲̰͕̤͎̭̖ͥͩ̄̊̇ͥ͋ͮ̓ͮ̑̎͒ͣ̾̋͡ ̶̴̷͔̟̦͍͕̦̞̖̬̖͛ͫͧ̀ͪ̌̓̊̉̐ͭ̐ͦ͊̕t̛̙̣̯̗̫͔̠̝̥̞͚̏̄͋͌ͩ̈ͪ̏͝ͅo̸̝̣͎͖̲̟̗͇̰̯̓ͬ̈̏̇̊̌͛ͦ̌ͤ͐̆̇̍̈͊̕͜ ̴̡̘̥̲̙̫̞͎͔̘̦͔̎ͧ͐̒̈́̆͂͆̇͒̈́̓̊ͫ̾̚͞ã̇̏̀ͮͫ̇ͧ́ͭ̇̏ͣͥ҉͜҉̗̦͓̦͓͙͍̱̝̗̲̗͘c̨̐̾͊͑̊́ͯ̈̔̃̂ͥ̆̊̽͢҉̶̙͙̣̝̭͕̺̰̞̰̮̤̱͔t̯̬̝̹̜̤̲̞̦͕̺̝̳̙̯̳̼́͋ͭͬͫ̋̽͂̾̌̃̂̏̌͠,̢̡̧̣̲̩̤̖̭̹̬̜̗̞̭̰͓̇̂ͨ̐̀̄͐ͩ͂̀͗̓̽ͬ͋ͤ̒́̚͡ ̶̨̛̟͙͕͕̬̠͔̭̽ͨͫ͒͢m̧̘͈̝̟̹̺̬̬͎̳̹͙͕̜̭̙ͪ̾̒̐̉̾̅ͫ̚y̝͍̭̠̳̥̭͍͕̳̻͔̣̙͒͊̎́͋͋ͨ̐̽̋͗̏ͪ̈̕͟͢͝ ̴͑͑ͫ̃ͮ͋ͭ̈̃͟҉̢̺̠̮̫͎͕̯̪͉̮̹̞̕c̸͍͉̝̦͎͇̳̥͙̋̆̀ͯ̎͗͌̈̍̽ͮ̌̏̈́͐̚͘ḩ̸̱̻̥͙̳͈̙͚̫ͥͦ̈́̀ͩ͆͐̿́̀i̡̛̤̦͉͕͕̖̝̟̘̦͉͖̲̟̲͊̆͊͆͠ͅļ̶̳̮̦̗̳̂̓͛͂̋́d̨͒ͣ̂̐͑͛̈̏́͏̜͉̯͉̣̭̻̥̻̮͎̰̦͖͖̟ͅr̴̸̰͍̤͉̦͙͎͙̩̞͕͉͈͙̻̣ͦͮ̅͂̒ͪ̏ͫ̓̋͆͐̀͢ͅḙ̸̸̡̡̖̥̯̬̪̮͎̳͚̀̾ͫͬ̋̽͊̂̓̾͆̅̅ͫ̎̓ͩ̚n̶̵̵̯̘͓͎̳ͥͪͫ̆̆ͯ̾̒͑͛̉͊ͩ̍̈́͌̓̈̕͟ͅ
̵̧̫̣̩͙̱̺̞̤͙̰̬͖̐̽̓͒̓ͤͫ̒̉̇̔̏ͧ͌̕͡ͅ
-
߇ᆃ↿⊬❝ᆄ༺ᒦᅣ↑
Remember, you are not at fault here. This is all my doing.
Sincerely,
Mr. Cuttlefish
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
Snake eyes coloured caramel brown,
a bittersweet combination of liquid gold and sin.
A smile that made me melt,
disguising sinister intentions.
Snakes slither in long grass but this grass only reached my shins
and you still managed to deceive me.
Master manipulator?
Painted a smile on my face with cruel intent.
Leading me to believe pretty little lies
while you slept in my bed every night,
one arm around my frail body, the other with your fingers crossed behind your back.
You never planned to stay -
fooled me.
Now the snake eyes exposed
when I catch you in bed,
legs intwined with hers, bare.
You told me sweet words that morning,
then nine hours later you moved on to her.
This is not fair.
You do not get to create my feelings
and destroy them yourself.
Eyes now pitch black,
no specks of gold or hazel or caramel,
just depths of malevolence -
no remorse for shredding my heart.
Feeding me your "I'm sorry" after "I'm sorry"
but you still play the games.
Do not waste your breath
on words you don't mean.
It's okay, I can play too.
Devil eyes coloured ocean blue;
my combination worse than yours.
Fear me, fear me
for I look innocent and gentle
but a tornado lives inside me that can destroy souls and bring men to their knees.
You fuel my fire.
Now with each breath, smoke escapes my lips from the furnace ignited in my stomach.
Do not run from the dragon you created.
Do not mess with girls like me.
Girls with fire in their guts
and ice in their hearts.
Cunning, sly and out for vengeance.
Feel my fire, succumb to my smoke.
Taste my revenge.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
You can leave wires alone, hidden away
and they still get tangled, tied up in knots,
twisted around in angry coils, like a pit-full
of leathery snakes. Everything appears to work still fine
and it looks nice and shiny, like it always did.
Dusted off every week. Our visitors admire it,
and family don’t notice it anymore.
It’s part of the furniture, there every day;
useful and pleasurable though it is, in its way,
if it broke, it would be replaced. So why,
though untouched in anyway
are the wires in such a state?
So, moving the furniture, you try
and release them. You try and follow the trail,
from where they used to run straight and true,
to where they now entwine and choke
each other with their tiny knotted fists of flex.
And you think *this is beyond the laws of physics,
That an inanimate object can come alive
With such malevolence.*
You look for explanation, such as
spectral interference or evil black-eyed
midnight fairies with sharp pin-teeth,
who, in glinting moonlight, spin and prance,
Whirling the wires around, as if in some frenzied pagan dance.
Rather, though, (and you know) it’s the small
unseen twists of time that, uncorrected in neglect,
have snared the wires in their own catch net.
However did it come to this? I ask her,
and she looks at me, as if
I shouldn’t be surprised. For so
it happens every time.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC