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"mutilation" poems
I remember the rains that day, A shower of hate that won’t go away, The day seven of the year ninety four, When pain suddenly opened the door, And nothing was ever going to be the same anymore, With machetes and guns they marched, Aiming for our limbs to detach, Sworn they did that no INYENZI would escape their grasp, They swore that all would experience their wrath, Genocide it was called but the truth not told, The rains struck hard smell of rotting flesh, Cries from a distance heard but ignored, No one would even dare talk or whisper, **** the cockroaches was the message from the speaker, It was the rainy season the beginning of a massacre, Women and children are alienated from their land, Refugees in camps away from their land, The African holocaust had began in Rwanda, It took a while for the world to ponder, The ones who had the power to stop it kept quiet, They gave neither reason nor excuse for their silence, They waited until we all lost our patience, It was the rains in Rwanda the day of mourning, It was the season to prepare for farming, But I can bet the world saw it coming, But none gave a **** from the beginning, And so began the killing, Brothers and sisters turned enemy, Neighbors turned into strangers, **** ****** mutilation humiliation torture, Tribal hatred fueled by the west, When will Africa come to rest? And understand that we are one race, One love one place one earth, Let’s have love and peace, BY ISSAI
0
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
issai-mashingo
THE RAINS IN RWANDA
I remember the rains that day, A shower of hate that won’t go away, The day seven of the year ninety four, When pain suddenly opened the door, And nothing was ever going to be the same anymore, With machetes and guns they marched, Aiming for our limbs to detach, Sworn they did that no INYENZI would escape their grasp, They swore that all would experience their wrath, Genocide it was called but the truth not told, The rains struck hard smell of rotting flesh, Cries from a distance heard but ignored, No one would even dare talk or whisper, **** the cockroaches was the message from the speaker, It was the rainy season the beginning of a massacre, Women and children are alienated from their land, Refugees in camps away from their land, The African holocaust had began in Rwanda, It took a while for the world to ponder, The ones who had the power to stop it kept quiet, They gave neither reason nor excuse for their silence, They waited until we all lost our patience, It was the rains in Rwanda the day of mourning, It was the season to prepare for farming, But I can bet the world saw it coming, But none gave a **** from the beginning, And so began the killing, Brothers and sisters turned enemy, Neighbors turned into strangers, **** ****** mutilation humiliation torture, Tribal hatred fueled by the west, When will Africa come to rest? And understand that we are one race, One love one place one earth, Let’s have love and peace, BY ISSAI
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36
*hitherto i naively challenged my decision to enter an ominous existence a vicious maze veiled in obscurity inconceivable to navigate without the accumulation of bruises, heartache, and psychic mutilation the torment’s ache so unfathomable i begged to evaporate beseeching death’s arrival and with the dexterity of a masterful wizard i magically spun threads of my shredded soul into a mangled ball of mental lacerations then stealthily in the opaque of the night i rushed the frigid black ocean’s high tide and deluging myself in the ebony water i buried the battered ball now deeply eclipsed in the onyx abyss it sapped all my strength to hold it under drowning in the wave’s of sea motion stinging salt alive on my pours gasping for air i surrendered my grip releasing my marred orb of élan vital capitulating to the sand on the beach i ceded the fight and watched the sphere roll unraveling it glistened against the white sand an opalescent tapestry lit by twilight mirroring the stars against the coal sky in the lustrous lunar midnight reflected back by silver moonlight littered with specks of fluorescent insight astonished i drew in my breath as i read words interlaced in the untangled web the wounds are there creating a looking glass peer in and you will heal your own consciousness ©2016janetaylor
0
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
jane-taylor
looking glass
*hitherto i naively challenged my decision to enter an ominous existence a vicious maze veiled in obscurity inconceivable to navigate without the accumulation of bruises, heartache, and psychic mutilation the torment’s ache so unfathomable i begged to evaporate beseeching death’s arrival and with the dexterity of a masterful wizard i magically spun threads of my shredded soul into a mangled ball of mental lacerations then stealthily in the opaque of the night i rushed the frigid black ocean’s high tide and deluging myself in the ebony water i buried the battered ball now deeply eclipsed in the onyx abyss it sapped all my strength to hold it under drowning in the wave’s of sea motion stinging salt alive on my pours gasping for air i surrendered my grip releasing my marred orb of élan vital capitulating to the sand on the beach i ceded the fight and watched the sphere roll unraveling it glistened against the white sand an opalescent tapestry lit by twilight mirroring the stars against the coal sky in the lustrous lunar midnight reflected back by silver moonlight littered with specks of fluorescent insight astonished i drew in my breath as i read words interlaced in the untangled web the wounds are there creating a looking glass peer in and you will heal your own consciousness ©2016janetaylor
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36
To Be Continued Try to praise the mutilated world. Tweet the lies of love with lustful lyrics Lustrously laminated by lives of the lost Reluctantly remembering repressed memories Hidden, but recovered. Mutilation Malicious mysterious misunderstood Multiplying in the masses Magnificent. Praise Powerful prideful Portraying pure pleasure from answered prayers Proposing purpose. The world And abyss Empty like a full moon’s blank stare Echoing ignorance. Shall we challenge the Author? Is authenticity virtuous? The growth of an insatiable species To be glorious, to be remembered, To be continued
0
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
john-julien-1
To Be Continued
To Be Continued Try to praise the mutilated world. Tweet the lies of love with lustful lyrics Lustrously laminated by lives of the lost Reluctantly remembering repressed memories Hidden, but recovered. Mutilation Malicious mysterious misunderstood Multiplying in the masses Magnificent. Praise Powerful prideful Portraying pure pleasure from answered prayers Proposing purpose. The world And abyss Empty like a full moon’s blank stare Echoing ignorance. Shall we challenge the Author? Is authenticity virtuous? The growth of an insatiable species To be glorious, to be remembered, To be continued
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23
I've lived the kind of pain they write about In the tales of heroes,                        who came and went without Salvation or celebration; and,       instead, became close friends of doubt. When luck leaves your side, And there's no one left watching . . .                There is no martyrdom. No heaven to fall from. No damnation.                 Just *nothing.                 Nothing and no one*. But I won't let myself succumb To the temptation              of self-righteous certainty,              false justifications, or              egotistical self-mutilation - Just to bleed on those who lay              Below my lowly elevation.                      Not like you.                      I am not made like you. No longer, will I distort my own view To lie to the few, who stand with me in the fire.                It's true.                I am a worthless piece of ****                and even I can hardly stand it                when I speak about myself. But this time . . . It's about more than me. And, for once, I'm going to spend well the wealth, That I was given and didn't earn, On those who showed me how to learn                And to never become like you. Yes - I am judgmental and self-loathing. I am selfish and I am wrong. I am naive, and strung out and strung along.                                 But I                                   am not made                                              like you.                                              I am strong.
0
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 5:05 PM UTC
bad-luck
Self-Righteous Certainty and False Justifications
I've lived the kind of pain they write about In the tales of heroes,                        who came and went without Salvation or celebration; and,       instead, became close friends of doubt. When luck leaves your side, And there's no one left watching . . .                There is no martyrdom. No heaven to fall from. No damnation.                 Just *nothing.                 Nothing and no one*. But I won't let myself succumb To the temptation              of self-righteous certainty,              false justifications, or              egotistical self-mutilation - Just to bleed on those who lay              Below my lowly elevation.                      Not like you.                      I am not made like you. No longer, will I distort my own view To lie to the few, who stand with me in the fire.                It's true.                I am a worthless piece of ****                and even I can hardly stand it                when I speak about myself. But this time . . . It's about more than me. And, for once, I'm going to spend well the wealth, That I was given and didn't earn, On those who showed me how to learn                And to never become like you. Yes - I am judgmental and self-loathing. I am selfish and I am wrong. I am naive, and strung out and strung along.                                 But I                                   am not made                                              like you.                                              I am strong.
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40
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books, I make out your movement, M, the moody turns Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of Family names, you marked me like a maternal Emblem of the generation’s matriarch, You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons Maria Helena from the Midwest, Who crossed the mountains in a wagon, Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles, Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco, And her own daughter, my Mimi, Who muttered merde while she drank martinis. In my own time, you materialized in Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom, The women in which I knew you growing up, Then Molly, who made dreams out of Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette, You embellished my most favorite things. In my monogram, you aimed my impulses in your masts’ diametric directions Towards competence, towards imagination. In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk. You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me To meander among your fundamental family, The sumptuous L of melt and mélange, The meticulous N of man or monk or money. Even W, which matches your mien in mirror It warped wicked witch while you Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined The mutilation of those two majuscules formed My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
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May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
molly-smithson-callahan
The Melody of M
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books, I make out your movement, M, the moody turns Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of Family names, you marked me like a maternal Emblem of the generation’s matriarch, You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons Maria Helena from the Midwest, Who crossed the mountains in a wagon, Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles, Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco, And her own daughter, my Mimi, Who muttered merde while she drank martinis. In my own time, you materialized in Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom, The women in which I knew you growing up, Then Molly, who made dreams out of Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette, You embellished my most favorite things. In my monogram, you aimed my impulses in your masts’ diametric directions Towards competence, towards imagination. In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk. You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me To meander among your fundamental family, The sumptuous L of melt and mélange, The meticulous N of man or monk or money. Even W, which matches your mien in mirror It warped wicked witch while you Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined The mutilation of those two majuscules formed My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
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33
Hyperventilation Depleting frustration Suffocation A painful sensation Desperation Without moderation Devastation Eternal damnation Deprivation Emotional mutilation Derealization Fear escalation Depersonalization Self extermination
0
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
elin-mellbergstedt
Panic Attack
Hyperventilation Depleting frustration Suffocation A painful sensation Desperation Without moderation Devastation Eternal damnation Deprivation Emotional mutilation Derealization Fear escalation Depersonalization Self extermination
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14
You are a complication a welcomed conundrum our passion is mutilation your desire a dungeon The dilemma of us a selfish cycle a vendetta of trust soft touch feels spiteful Inevitable tragedy so deliciously inviting a seductive catastrophe are we loving or fighting my heavy mind dragged behind me a devilish heart out to blind me Love me problematically I accept your burden adore me traumatically bittersweet like my bourbon so torture me until I smile : )
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
crimsonanarchy
a bittersweet affair
You are a complication a welcomed conundrum our passion is mutilation your desire a dungeon The dilemma of us a selfish cycle a vendetta of trust soft touch feels spiteful Inevitable tragedy so deliciously inviting a seductive catastrophe are we loving or fighting my heavy mind dragged behind me a devilish heart out to blind me Love me problematically I accept your burden adore me traumatically bittersweet like my bourbon so torture me until I smile : )
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22
Incineration Decapitation Mutilation The Veneration And Sublimation Of a Freethinking nation The Devastation Of Liberty Comes with the Consuming identity Of Religious Indoctrination
0
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
graff1980
Defending Freedom
Incineration Decapitation Mutilation The Veneration And Sublimation Of a Freethinking nation The Devastation Of Liberty Comes with the Consuming identity Of Religious Indoctrination
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12
Walking barefoot down rocky dirt paths. Kicking up clouds of dust with each step, testing the thickness of my soles soul, I found comfort in the pain of each sharp stone, digging deep. Comfort in pessimistic understanding. Knowing, the next wouldn't hurt as bad. Wounds turn to callus. Hardened skin, hardens within. Each weathered scar, reminder of hard earned strength. Ritual of self inflicted mutilation by choice, rocky dirt path by fate. Walking, walking, still. Still barefoot down rocky, dirt paths.
0
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
mc-hammered
Barefoot
Walking barefoot down rocky dirt paths. Kicking up clouds of dust with each step, testing the thickness of my soles soul, I found comfort in the pain of each sharp stone, digging deep. Comfort in pessimistic understanding. Knowing, the next wouldn't hurt as bad. Wounds turn to callus. Hardened skin, hardens within. Each weathered scar, reminder of hard earned strength. Ritual of self inflicted mutilation by choice, rocky dirt path by fate. Walking, walking, still. Still barefoot down rocky, dirt paths.
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11
Degradation, mutilation procrastination, contemplation. Do you ever wonder why the world eats at your insides? Do you ever wonder how come sometimes you wanna die? It's not what you did when you were young. It's not what you'll do when you grow old. It's the choices you make in the here and now. And I don't want to stop myself for anyone or anything. Not a ******* thing can hold me back. Not one ******* person can stop me. Even you. Even you. Even you. Even you. Degradation, mutilation procrastination, contemplation
0
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
david-walker
Positive affirmations with David Walker (aka my attempt at writing a pop punk song.)
Degradation, mutilation procrastination, contemplation. Do you ever wonder why the world eats at your insides? Do you ever wonder how come sometimes you wanna die? It's not what you did when you were young. It's not what you'll do when you grow old. It's the choices you make in the here and now. And I don't want to stop myself for anyone or anything. Not a ******* thing can hold me back. Not one ******* person can stop me. Even you. Even you. Even you. Even you. Degradation, mutilation procrastination, contemplation
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19
*The words they speak are sharper than blades And their looks, daggers that could tear a skin Their eyes are blind, can't see what's inside* Like shadows they creeped Stabbing backs and innocence deemed Always lurking in the darkness Justice they served but lives diminished *Your flaws are something they gaze The truth made me daze The word equality is no longer in their vocabulary How can they fire bullets without thinking the lives they perceived Trash in their brains are twirling like a tornado slowly messing their thoughts slowly killing feelings, everywhere they go* Dictated by their own free will Cowered in fear as they thought it was real What they've seen, deception in mutilation Power overrule by those who torture Torturing minds, creating lies The innocent happily flying kites But they cut it with pure contempt Convincing they will get that chance again "Listen to the words you seek Don't listen to a word they say Do NOT listen to a word you've heard Do not listen to a word you've heard People are people we live for our own Live how you think not by what you've been told" *In God's eyes we're all the same where do you think we all came?* Don't let them fool you By their tools of deception We are all the same We will die someday So maybe, it's time for a change. -Adele Karla & Erenn
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Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
adelethewriter
Silhouettes of Camaraderie (Adele ft. Erenn)
*The words they speak are sharper than blades And their looks, daggers that could tear a skin Their eyes are blind, can't see what's inside* Like shadows they creeped Stabbing backs and innocence deemed Always lurking in the darkness Justice they served but lives diminished *Your flaws are something they gaze The truth made me daze The word equality is no longer in their vocabulary How can they fire bullets without thinking the lives they perceived Trash in their brains are twirling like a tornado slowly messing their thoughts slowly killing feelings, everywhere they go* Dictated by their own free will Cowered in fear as they thought it was real What they've seen, deception in mutilation Power overrule by those who torture Torturing minds, creating lies The innocent happily flying kites But they cut it with pure contempt Convincing they will get that chance again "Listen to the words you seek Don't listen to a word they say Do NOT listen to a word you've heard Do not listen to a word you've heard People are people we live for our own Live how you think not by what you've been told" *In God's eyes we're all the same where do you think we all came?* Don't let them fool you By their tools of deception We are all the same We will die someday So maybe, it's time for a change. -Adele Karla & Erenn
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48
Happy-hearted but not all there His awkward smile lingers through my mind              Peaceful,              Yet Unforunate That staggering physique & that waddling             walk & that dauntful dance & that             unstable eye: a precise entailment             of his persona,                          though never ******                                    never vacant                                    never violent                       ...UNTIL NOW when the demon of his soul prevails        no mercy                      no mercy                                     no mercy Not even for a loving mother; a loving      mother who provided a comforting      home & the essential care & three      daily dishes of food & the one thing      a loving mother provides best:               Unconditional Love        He is now ripped of a warm heart; will he ever find salvation? I hope so. His possessed actions are ample punishment and will eventually tear the boy to shreds: Those memories of an unreasonable death;             a death that spilt blood into every             crevice of his character Those memories of innocent bloodshed;              the blood of his own race...the           same blood that stirs in his viens Those memories of pure insanity;     an insanity that taught anger     the ways of mutilation Those memories of his murdered mother;          a "horrendous" scene that plays on          constant repeat in his head ...and those future memories of remorse;                     remorse for his ***** deeds                      of spontaneous psychosis Yet, his awkward smile still lingers through my mind https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=349987311783508&set;=a.298260023622904.72189.100003167250519&type;=1&theater; "There is without a doubt that this kid has something possessing him... I believe it wasn't him who killed the mother he loved with all his heart, how can such a kindhearted loving teenager change in less than two months and ****** the woman who loved him the most and who he loved. This teenager has a demon inside him.... look at the pictures ya'll.... on the right is him less than six months ago. He doesn't even look the same...."
0
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
derek-miller-1
David Kellen Grow
Happy-hearted but not all there His awkward smile lingers through my mind              Peaceful,              Yet Unforunate That staggering physique & that waddling             walk & that dauntful dance & that             unstable eye: a precise entailment             of his persona,                          though never ******                                    never vacant                                    never violent                       ...UNTIL NOW when the demon of his soul prevails        no mercy                      no mercy                                     no mercy Not even for a loving mother; a loving      mother who provided a comforting      home & the essential care & three      daily dishes of food & the one thing      a loving mother provides best:               Unconditional Love        He is now ripped of a warm heart; will he ever find salvation? I hope so. His possessed actions are ample punishment and will eventually tear the boy to shreds: Those memories of an unreasonable death;             a death that spilt blood into every             crevice of his character Those memories of innocent bloodshed;              the blood of his own race...the           same blood that stirs in his viens Those memories of pure insanity;     an insanity that taught anger     the ways of mutilation Those memories of his murdered mother;          a "horrendous" scene that plays on          constant repeat in his head ...and those future memories of remorse;                     remorse for his ***** deeds                      of spontaneous psychosis Yet, his awkward smile still lingers through my mind https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=349987311783508&set;=a.298260023622904.72189.100003167250519&type;=1&theater; "There is without a doubt that this kid has something possessing him... I believe it wasn't him who killed the mother he loved with all his heart, how can such a kindhearted loving teenager change in less than two months and ****** the woman who loved him the most and who he loved. This teenager has a demon inside him.... look at the pictures ya'll.... on the right is him less than six months ago. He doesn't even look the same...."
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49
Teasing the beast Looking for a feast Hounds barking at our ears Vultures flying up ahead Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom To hide the great systematic sickness Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire We, wholeheartedly accepting being Appropriated, labeled, discarded As construing our own oppression and sadness Enduring the **** of our minds Being castrated of our consciousness Before we reap the products Of its bold liberation and grandness Its the belly of the beast And its hungry Insatiable, amoral entrails Hoping to salvage a feast From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars Hoping we feed our monstrous fear Thirsting for the greed Dripping off of accumulating wealths Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience Knowing we'll never realize we are masses Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action Trying to reassure we are weak Knowing at some point or another We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences: Oppression Pain Silencing **** Hunger Fear Violence Repression Retaliation Discrimination Torture Negation Alienation All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment Preferring to live out our veiled miseries Endorsing their continuance Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation Always ensuring the feast of the beast By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears Vultures flying up ahead Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse Signifying the impending recapturing Of our true transformative desires
0
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
emanuel-martinez
Rescuing Our True Transformative Desires
Teasing the beast Looking for a feast Hounds barking at our ears Vultures flying up ahead Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom To hide the great systematic sickness Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire We, wholeheartedly accepting being Appropriated, labeled, discarded As construing our own oppression and sadness Enduring the **** of our minds Being castrated of our consciousness Before we reap the products Of its bold liberation and grandness Its the belly of the beast And its hungry Insatiable, amoral entrails Hoping to salvage a feast From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars Hoping we feed our monstrous fear Thirsting for the greed Dripping off of accumulating wealths Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience Knowing we'll never realize we are masses Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action Trying to reassure we are weak Knowing at some point or another We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences: Oppression Pain Silencing **** Hunger Fear Violence Repression Retaliation Discrimination Torture Negation Alienation All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment Preferring to live out our veiled miseries Endorsing their continuance Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation Always ensuring the feast of the beast By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears Vultures flying up ahead Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse Signifying the impending recapturing Of our true transformative desires
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60
She's a dime everytime... Making ************* rhyme on the grime... Tell her how great she is if you so incline... But don't forget she's mine... Disrespect will get ripped from your spine... With a smile on my face while I dine.. **** she's so fine... Bring terror to the streets so divine... Like a fine wine aging over time... An acquired taste... And quit while you're ahead... ******* with my girl will get you two to the chest and one in the head... Clear... Mouth to mouth resuscitation... You might as well give self-mutilation... It's a celebration... Of your life affiliation... Yeah they call me Jkizzle... No i'm not the white version of Eminem... Haters can go sit on the bench with the rest of them... I don't give a **** what you say... Bow down before I break ya legs... I go hard for days... No hesitation... No room for strays... Head held high... Outer space... So lets arase all the hate... And go back to loving one another... I can love you like a brother... Or **** you over ************
0
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 12:02 AM UTC
josh-1
White Boy Rap
She's a dime everytime... Making ************* rhyme on the grime... Tell her how great she is if you so incline... But don't forget she's mine... Disrespect will get ripped from your spine... With a smile on my face while I dine.. **** she's so fine... Bring terror to the streets so divine... Like a fine wine aging over time... An acquired taste... And quit while you're ahead... ******* with my girl will get you two to the chest and one in the head... Clear... Mouth to mouth resuscitation... You might as well give self-mutilation... It's a celebration... Of your life affiliation... Yeah they call me Jkizzle... No i'm not the white version of Eminem... Haters can go sit on the bench with the rest of them... I don't give a **** what you say... Bow down before I break ya legs... I go hard for days... No hesitation... No room for strays... Head held high... Outer space... So lets arase all the hate... And go back to loving one another... I can love you like a brother... Or **** you over ************
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31
We gather in Old London town, the time is getting late. The fog is slowly coming down, the year is eighteen eighty eight. The Leather Apron stalks this eve ladies of the night beware. Such things he does you wont believe and for your welfare he’ll not care. Hello Mister have a heart, a girl has got to earn a crust. A shilling for this fine old **** for you look like a gent to trust. In her hand the coin doth shine. Does she lead this toff astray? Here’s a quiet place that’s fine, as she walks up the alley-way. Face to face and eye to eye. The victim happy to be plied with vigour she lifts up her skirt but now her hands are occupied. Seizing strongly at her throat he strangles her till unaware. Unconscious although not yet broke he lowers her by head and hair. Now insentient on the ground the Ripper sets about his work. In the dark without a sound there is no detail he will shirk. He keeps the body to his left, her throat is sliced from side to side. The woman’s family now bereft, whilst she lies here without her pride. Left to the nights illumination Jack executes his deadly art. Performing such skilled mutilation. and leaving plus one body part. Daylight opens up commotion, "Whitechapel Murderer", strikes once more. The peelers haven’t got a notion who it is that killed this ***** Scotland Yard are in despair as they try to Investigate their credibility beyond repair for they cant find this reprobate. Eventually the death toll, five, the murders now come to an end. Folk are free to live their lives but could you trust even a friend. Over an hundred years or more professional research is far to late. Jack, can we ever know the score? "No... All you can do is speculate."
0
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
christopher-k-bayliss
The Leather Apron
We gather in Old London town, the time is getting late. The fog is slowly coming down, the year is eighteen eighty eight. The Leather Apron stalks this eve ladies of the night beware. Such things he does you wont believe and for your welfare he’ll not care. Hello Mister have a heart, a girl has got to earn a crust. A shilling for this fine old **** for you look like a gent to trust. In her hand the coin doth shine. Does she lead this toff astray? Here’s a quiet place that’s fine, as she walks up the alley-way. Face to face and eye to eye. The victim happy to be plied with vigour she lifts up her skirt but now her hands are occupied. Seizing strongly at her throat he strangles her till unaware. Unconscious although not yet broke he lowers her by head and hair. Now insentient on the ground the Ripper sets about his work. In the dark without a sound there is no detail he will shirk. He keeps the body to his left, her throat is sliced from side to side. The woman’s family now bereft, whilst she lies here without her pride. Left to the nights illumination Jack executes his deadly art. Performing such skilled mutilation. and leaving plus one body part. Daylight opens up commotion, "Whitechapel Murderer", strikes once more. The peelers haven’t got a notion who it is that killed this ***** Scotland Yard are in despair as they try to Investigate their credibility beyond repair for they cant find this reprobate. Eventually the death toll, five, the murders now come to an end. Folk are free to live their lives but could you trust even a friend. Over an hundred years or more professional research is far to late. Jack, can we ever know the score? "No... All you can do is speculate."
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52
Good Day spoken in a bad austrailian accent bad juju voodoo clear light poltergeist on disablity Hoarding every scrap of miserable memories attached to trash your apartment is a holiday for nightmares and childmolesters ******* magazines, old sanitary napkins , bad vhs movies lay like dead soldiers waiting for the war to end Black bags and boxes scattered every where are villages to rats and every unknown pestilence you can only read about in medical textbooks. half eaten pizzas covered in pickles dried up sadly looking at empty pills You have no hold on me I can't understand your pain nor will i listen to your overdramatic ******** about whoever or scheming to defraud Walmart Your mutilation is a scar spelling sociopathic miscreant child trapped in an old mismatched shell of no clear gender. Your diagnostic prophecies from the dsm5 dismissed like school on a snow day. Will commands the unentanglement uncurse unfear dispell all your contradictions accusations monologrhthyms bad music choices and echoes of muttered mustard. only truth will be uplifted Peace be with you whereever you are currently infesting enjoy your dora the explorer ice cream Was there ever a floor in here?
0
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 12:53 AM UTC
chimera-melons
good day
Good Day spoken in a bad austrailian accent bad juju voodoo clear light poltergeist on disablity Hoarding every scrap of miserable memories attached to trash your apartment is a holiday for nightmares and childmolesters ******* magazines, old sanitary napkins , bad vhs movies lay like dead soldiers waiting for the war to end Black bags and boxes scattered every where are villages to rats and every unknown pestilence you can only read about in medical textbooks. half eaten pizzas covered in pickles dried up sadly looking at empty pills You have no hold on me I can't understand your pain nor will i listen to your overdramatic ******** about whoever or scheming to defraud Walmart Your mutilation is a scar spelling sociopathic miscreant child trapped in an old mismatched shell of no clear gender. Your diagnostic prophecies from the dsm5 dismissed like school on a snow day. Will commands the unentanglement uncurse unfear dispell all your contradictions accusations monologrhthyms bad music choices and echoes of muttered mustard. only truth will be uplifted Peace be with you whereever you are currently infesting enjoy your dora the explorer ice cream Was there ever a floor in here?
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22
You would pull out our feathers and have us thank you for it. Who are we but women injected with black venom to strip the song from our chest It starts as a whisper, a twisting hand, so begins the mutilation of our wings. We find our once sharp tongues forked singing only false promises, alluring lies. You tell us: Lose consciousness and gain it Become your body and rid the mind Elicit desire You want this Does it matter? You have made us blameful anyway All will overlook the crimes against the Mockingbird. We are criminals Featherless, naked, lying mute Use us for we are nothing but the impression of a symbol lost.
0
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
emma-louise
Mockingbird
You would pull out our feathers and have us thank you for it. Who are we but women injected with black venom to strip the song from our chest It starts as a whisper, a twisting hand, so begins the mutilation of our wings. We find our once sharp tongues forked singing only false promises, alluring lies. You tell us: Lose consciousness and gain it Become your body and rid the mind Elicit desire You want this Does it matter? You have made us blameful anyway All will overlook the crimes against the Mockingbird. We are criminals Featherless, naked, lying mute Use us for we are nothing but the impression of a symbol lost.
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24
do you have a dark secret my darling a terrible brain instead of nice ***** pink girl things you ache for ****** insertions cutting edges menstrual swab mouth plug selfies while you pretend all is well loving Mother Mary at the church with mummy knowing deep down inside your a ***** ***** god dam the boys look good do you have the courage to admit it first to your self and then another or shall you live muzzled as you finger ***** obsessed with flying ***** and devils teeth pigs nuzzling mud and **** strewn at a *** trough you love playing with fire hot toes and **** oh yeah turn up the ****** heat your craven desires to be a **** toy and then the pleasure break me break me twisted broken little **** toy if you could only find me your Lover Linker Licker Sucker Thinker Maker Shaker Breaker ****** Burner Cutter Shooter Impaler the one who glorifies your *** hole insinuates kisses that tear who adores your midnight whimpers howls of pleasure cries for help no safe words bending bending broken mutilation gasms you smiling succubus hobbling over for another hard blow your **** drenched ******* zinging from razors play blood red rivulets falling on pretty feet while good people dream of angels you dream of big cocked men and merciless gang bangs a sweet ***** of Babylon hard justice cruelties ecstatic being beaten to death by 100 buttered ***** legs and arms piled high and **** and **** and more **** your holy trinity no you say there must be some mistake thats not you your on gods leash burying yourself in black rocks crypt of normalcy your goody goody goody time to cinch up veil of the nunnery hinge on the death mask no honey theres no gorilla in your cave crushing girlie's soul pride will out shine all til last bloom is no more then learn laments fury
0
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
zebrablack
Dark Secret...explicit adult ***
do you have a dark secret my darling a terrible brain instead of nice ***** pink girl things you ache for ****** insertions cutting edges menstrual swab mouth plug selfies while you pretend all is well loving Mother Mary at the church with mummy knowing deep down inside your a ***** ***** god dam the boys look good do you have the courage to admit it first to your self and then another or shall you live muzzled as you finger ***** obsessed with flying ***** and devils teeth pigs nuzzling mud and **** strewn at a *** trough you love playing with fire hot toes and **** oh yeah turn up the ****** heat your craven desires to be a **** toy and then the pleasure break me break me twisted broken little **** toy if you could only find me your Lover Linker Licker Sucker Thinker Maker Shaker Breaker ****** Burner Cutter Shooter Impaler the one who glorifies your *** hole insinuates kisses that tear who adores your midnight whimpers howls of pleasure cries for help no safe words bending bending broken mutilation gasms you smiling succubus hobbling over for another hard blow your **** drenched ******* zinging from razors play blood red rivulets falling on pretty feet while good people dream of angels you dream of big cocked men and merciless gang bangs a sweet ***** of Babylon hard justice cruelties ecstatic being beaten to death by 100 buttered ***** legs and arms piled high and **** and **** and more **** your holy trinity no you say there must be some mistake thats not you your on gods leash burying yourself in black rocks crypt of normalcy your goody goody goody time to cinch up veil of the nunnery hinge on the death mask no honey theres no gorilla in your cave crushing girlie's soul pride will out shine all til last bloom is no more then learn laments fury
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102
i swore to myself that a flick of the tongue would never shelter self-hatred so deeply embedded into the patchwork of my being. contagion is a sad **** thing and cycles seem to be an endlessly contributing factor those who hurt cannot become hurt and so we place our self-pity at the top of our priorities disregarding emotion so carefully hidden in the fragile mind of others. however there are few who's torment is only self-projected i am one an anathema that exists in silence my past has been placed in a box full of secrets along with the evidence of my self-mutilation is there a way to keep my eyes shut and my dignity revealed? this world is numb, and the apathy must be getting to me because i would rather not feel a **** thing than to be plagued by misery from myself and the ones i love however, emotions are not choices and humans cannot be reprogrammed it seems the pleas and slurs i leave in place of words are what my familiars take to heart bodies speak such complex languages and not everyone has the patience or the attentiveness to listen to anything other than a cry and although i warn and beg for warmth i receive only glaciers and memories of faces overwritten with impassivity what i would give to reach into the darkest parts of my soul and rip out this sorrow that has clung itself to the shadows of my psyche in the depths of my worst memories there is a wish a want a need to take this heart of mine and throw it to wolves to be destroyed but desensitized in my heart is all my pity my lust my anger my sadness and sunshine darkened and gutted so very long ago
0
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
megan-c-f
regards
i swore to myself that a flick of the tongue would never shelter self-hatred so deeply embedded into the patchwork of my being. contagion is a sad **** thing and cycles seem to be an endlessly contributing factor those who hurt cannot become hurt and so we place our self-pity at the top of our priorities disregarding emotion so carefully hidden in the fragile mind of others. however there are few who's torment is only self-projected i am one an anathema that exists in silence my past has been placed in a box full of secrets along with the evidence of my self-mutilation is there a way to keep my eyes shut and my dignity revealed? this world is numb, and the apathy must be getting to me because i would rather not feel a **** thing than to be plagued by misery from myself and the ones i love however, emotions are not choices and humans cannot be reprogrammed it seems the pleas and slurs i leave in place of words are what my familiars take to heart bodies speak such complex languages and not everyone has the patience or the attentiveness to listen to anything other than a cry and although i warn and beg for warmth i receive only glaciers and memories of faces overwritten with impassivity what i would give to reach into the darkest parts of my soul and rip out this sorrow that has clung itself to the shadows of my psyche in the depths of my worst memories there is a wish a want a need to take this heart of mine and throw it to wolves to be destroyed but desensitized in my heart is all my pity my lust my anger my sadness and sunshine darkened and gutted so very long ago
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50
A title, from the "Best of the Alternative Press" After reading I realize I'm not a woman after all She can talk about the cruel things men do to women **** and ****** Then discuss draperies in the next breath how to organize your closet Female Genital Mutilation in Africa and her favorite appliance: a Panini maker I am supposed to rush into my kitchen to make sure I have the same brand "She understands how much women care about their houses" I look around I am happy here but A new cake of soap doesn't send a thrill through my body A fresh towel doesn't make me ****** I could make a grilled cheese sandwich The way my ancestors, male and female have done In a skillet with bread and cheese If I squish it it, it becomes Panini I check the mirror I'm naked, and I see I am a woman
0
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
zulu-samperfas
"What Men Don't Get About Oprah" (?)
A title, from the "Best of the Alternative Press" After reading I realize I'm not a woman after all She can talk about the cruel things men do to women **** and ****** Then discuss draperies in the next breath how to organize your closet Female Genital Mutilation in Africa and her favorite appliance: a Panini maker I am supposed to rush into my kitchen to make sure I have the same brand "She understands how much women care about their houses" I look around I am happy here but A new cake of soap doesn't send a thrill through my body A fresh towel doesn't make me ****** I could make a grilled cheese sandwich The way my ancestors, male and female have done In a skillet with bread and cheese If I squish it it, it becomes Panini I check the mirror I'm naked, and I see I am a woman
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26
It has come to the end of my program everybody, Saturday will be the three month mark! I am finally going home, to my mother, my friends, my old life. finally going home back to where it all began. I'm going back to my old life. no more daily meetings or special routines, no more smoking areas or 30 minutes of being watched after I eat. no more non-usage of sharp objects or everything else they consider harmful. saddest thing they cannot take is my fingers or mind. my hands or insecurities I am so afraid I'll slip. I don't want to end up back where I was but I'm hoping for the best and believing in myself for once. I have a disease. Bulimia is my sickness and self-mutilation is my crutch I've always been so hard on myself, always got into some new addiction or harmful habits. but this just had to be the worse of all everyday I carved at my body, leaving little memories everyday I threw up my insides, wanting to be beautiful Every **** day I hated myself. but I'm better. it's not much, but I am. I'm ready for my old life . I'm scared as **** but I know this time it'll be different ~ I have learned so much while being here, and I'm so grateful to everyone who has helped me along the way. It's been a battle against myself and I will never fully be recovered. I didn't have any friends while out here or my mom, it's surprising that I only had my brother and hundreds of people I never knew to lean on. I've been so lost and selfish for so long and I'm finally realizing that I do have people who care. I do have people that I just can't let down and most importantly, one of those persons is myself. I want to be happy and I'm willing to try. I want to be independent so that I can show everybody that I can do this and that I'm ready to move on. It will most definitely be a struggle, my problems will never go away; however this time, I'm ready to try and be the old me. I want to be the happy Emma, the smart Emma, the Emma that everyone used to love. not this sad, sick girl who has taken over. I will never fully be recovered, but I'm ready to let go and live. I can do this, I know I can. Emma can do this, I know she can. *I will never fully be recovered, but I'm happy and ok. and that's good enough*
0
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
ehhhma
I will never fully be recovered
It has come to the end of my program everybody, Saturday will be the three month mark! I am finally going home, to my mother, my friends, my old life. finally going home back to where it all began. I'm going back to my old life. no more daily meetings or special routines, no more smoking areas or 30 minutes of being watched after I eat. no more non-usage of sharp objects or everything else they consider harmful. saddest thing they cannot take is my fingers or mind. my hands or insecurities I am so afraid I'll slip. I don't want to end up back where I was but I'm hoping for the best and believing in myself for once. I have a disease. Bulimia is my sickness and self-mutilation is my crutch I've always been so hard on myself, always got into some new addiction or harmful habits. but this just had to be the worse of all everyday I carved at my body, leaving little memories everyday I threw up my insides, wanting to be beautiful Every **** day I hated myself. but I'm better. it's not much, but I am. I'm ready for my old life . I'm scared as **** but I know this time it'll be different ~ I have learned so much while being here, and I'm so grateful to everyone who has helped me along the way. It's been a battle against myself and I will never fully be recovered. I didn't have any friends while out here or my mom, it's surprising that I only had my brother and hundreds of people I never knew to lean on. I've been so lost and selfish for so long and I'm finally realizing that I do have people who care. I do have people that I just can't let down and most importantly, one of those persons is myself. I want to be happy and I'm willing to try. I want to be independent so that I can show everybody that I can do this and that I'm ready to move on. It will most definitely be a struggle, my problems will never go away; however this time, I'm ready to try and be the old me. I want to be the happy Emma, the smart Emma, the Emma that everyone used to love. not this sad, sick girl who has taken over. I will never fully be recovered, but I'm ready to let go and live. I can do this, I know I can. Emma can do this, I know she can. *I will never fully be recovered, but I'm happy and ok. and that's good enough*
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35
Cut my life into pieces This is my last resort, Suffocation, no breathing Don't give a **** if I cut my arm bleeding This is my last resort, Cut my life into pieces I've reached my last resort, Suffocation, no breathing Don't give a **** if I cut my arm bleeding Do you even care if I die bleeding? Would it be wrong, would it be right? If I took my life tonight, Chances are that I might Mutilation out of sight And I'm contemplating suicide 'Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine I never realized I was spread too thin 'Til it was too late and I was empty within Hungry, feeding on chaos and living in sin Downward spiral, where do I begin? It all started when I lost my mother No love for myself and no love for another Searching to find a love upon a higher level Finding nothing but questions and devils 'Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Nothing's alright, nothing is fine I'm running and I'm crying I'm crying [4x] I can't go on living this way Cut my life into pieces This is my last resort, Suffocation, no breathing Don't give a **** if I cut my arm bleeding Would it be wrong, would it be right? If I took my life tonight, Chances are that I might Mutilation out of sight And I'm contemplating suicide 'Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Nothing's alright, nothing is fine I'm running and I'm crying I can't go on living this way Can't go on, living this way, nothing's alright
0
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Midnightlove
Last Resort
Cut my life into pieces This is my last resort, Suffocation, no breathing Don't give a **** if I cut my arm bleeding This is my last resort, Cut my life into pieces I've reached my last resort, Suffocation, no breathing Don't give a **** if I cut my arm bleeding Do you even care if I die bleeding? Would it be wrong, would it be right? If I took my life tonight, Chances are that I might Mutilation out of sight And I'm contemplating suicide 'Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine I never realized I was spread too thin 'Til it was too late and I was empty within Hungry, feeding on chaos and living in sin Downward spiral, where do I begin? It all started when I lost my mother No love for myself and no love for another Searching to find a love upon a higher level Finding nothing but questions and devils 'Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Nothing's alright, nothing is fine I'm running and I'm crying I'm crying [4x] I can't go on living this way Cut my life into pieces This is my last resort, Suffocation, no breathing Don't give a **** if I cut my arm bleeding Would it be wrong, would it be right? If I took my life tonight, Chances are that I might Mutilation out of sight And I'm contemplating suicide 'Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Losing my sight, losing my mind Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine Nothing's alright, nothing is fine I'm running and I'm crying I can't go on living this way Can't go on, living this way, nothing's alright
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52
(9-24-11 instrumental) it takes 2 years to forget 6 years, it takes 12 beers to forget your tears, and it's those tears that flow so near, this backyard that you hold so dear, i held you here in better years, i'd cheer you up, when i'd hear your fears, the taste of beer and sky so clear steer away now, it's in the rear, view and that feels so cold, i only see you through untagged photos, youtubing high school talent shows, or recitals, it's vital, that no one actually knows, that i'm caught up bought to get lost up, another drink, another think, i'm just a flawed **** but i play it cool and act strong, those other fools won't last long. another sad song, i make it better, got a new chick that's wetter cause she aint afraid of that weather, umbrellas discarded, in the bleachers, teachers, gawking from the sidelines, it's all fine, it's our time, no need to dodge landmines... call me minesweeper, call me mindreader, call me timekeeper, call me justin bieber, call me baby, baby baby, call me jay-z, call me kanye, call me all day, call me homewrecker, call me and say i can do better, call me about your sweater, that's still at my place, call me ghostface, call me action bronson, call me hot one, call me ******* loser, call me a waste of your time, call me and say that this rhyme's, too simple, call me jimmy kimmel, sarah silver-man. i'm a better man, i'm business-man, i'm a gentle-man i'm stan, writing this down in a crazy letter no ink, self-mutilation and a feather, better yet, i'm saying this outloud in the booth, kick this rap game in the tooth with these red wing boots.
0
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
shawn
untitled freestyle
(9-24-11 instrumental) it takes 2 years to forget 6 years, it takes 12 beers to forget your tears, and it's those tears that flow so near, this backyard that you hold so dear, i held you here in better years, i'd cheer you up, when i'd hear your fears, the taste of beer and sky so clear steer away now, it's in the rear, view and that feels so cold, i only see you through untagged photos, youtubing high school talent shows, or recitals, it's vital, that no one actually knows, that i'm caught up bought to get lost up, another drink, another think, i'm just a flawed **** but i play it cool and act strong, those other fools won't last long. another sad song, i make it better, got a new chick that's wetter cause she aint afraid of that weather, umbrellas discarded, in the bleachers, teachers, gawking from the sidelines, it's all fine, it's our time, no need to dodge landmines... call me minesweeper, call me mindreader, call me timekeeper, call me justin bieber, call me baby, baby baby, call me jay-z, call me kanye, call me all day, call me homewrecker, call me and say i can do better, call me about your sweater, that's still at my place, call me ghostface, call me action bronson, call me hot one, call me ******* loser, call me a waste of your time, call me and say that this rhyme's, too simple, call me jimmy kimmel, sarah silver-man. i'm a better man, i'm business-man, i'm a gentle-man i'm stan, writing this down in a crazy letter no ink, self-mutilation and a feather, better yet, i'm saying this outloud in the booth, kick this rap game in the tooth with these red wing boots.
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46