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The plagiarist is somebody
who loves the high regard.
Talent less and lazy and
lack a sense of working hard.

Its easier to copy,
take credit for another's trade
because they lack accomplishment,
it makes them feel afraid.

Afraid, because of inadequacy
in what they do or say
they want the credit of their peers
without a price too pay.

Incompetent and shallow
might cause these beasts to steal.
They like to boast of mastery
but of course this is not real

Shameful in their thievery
could never achieve the work they stole
but perhaps when they're pretending
this helps to make them feel whole.

This should not make them happy.
This should not make them glad.
In fact it should reiterate
that they are really, very sad!
14th September 2014
Francie Lynch May 2018
I'm ******* with Robert Frost
And the guy who wrote Paradise Lost.
I ain't happy with Aristotle,
And especially John, the weird Apostle.
Don't mention, please, Shelley or Keats,
Blake, Byron or Yeats;
Each and every one you see,
(if you're ready for some truth)
Took their themes from me.

Don't look aghast,
Don't tsk and titter,
Their thievery's left me
Mean and bitter.

Just because they said it first,
Doesn't mean I find it just.
It doesn't give them ownership
Of my themes and authorship.
I write of Roads, Good and Evil,
God and Satan, love and leaving.
I know I'm internally bleating,
But I can't abide this metric beating.

Although they're merely dust and bones,
They don't have the right to own
All the great lines I have sown:
The best laid plans of mice and men.
(I said that before Robbie Burns).

Let me make this poeticaly clear;
If I was there, or he were here,
I'd sue the *** of Will Shakespeare
.
T2m Sep 2014
With a quill over paper
For muse, we are excavators
We pour out our hearts
So joy, love, peace to impart
To hold a torch over emotional darkness
To fill each others hollowness
Its for the love we write

When we write
We are called poets
A name fitting and right
But your theft just says you are mentally poor
Reducing you further to a mere thief
And nothing close to a P
Not to talk of a poet.

The moon is not a thing you can steal
Trust me its pure folly
That's a dumb idea to conceive
Posting others' poems
Posting like a poet?
Like seriously
How does that sound to 'your' hearing?
DUMB
Even so, to even dare, you must be too dumb to realize its dumb

To acknowledge is not so hard
Its just adding one more line on your pad
I want to deceive myself that you are not too dumb to know that
If you didn't know, now you do.

PS: You could post my poem
That does not make you a poet
It just makes you a thief
Suffice it to say, the worst kind
Without robbing me of the fact that I'm a POET
Helen Sep 2014
Hey guys

I have found several Daily Poems from this site being shared externally with no acknowledgement to the rightful owner :(

Head over here....

http://thepoetryden.wordpress.com/author/thepoetryden/

and if you find your original work there then I highly encourage you ask this person to either a) link the poem back to your original or b) remove them from his site. He claims to be a poet and is misleading people by not putting original names/original links to the works he is posting!

Go through them carefully as the titles of the poems have been changed.

Please share this because I have read at least 3 poems from this site from 3 different people over there with no acknowledgement to the original author!

Update ~ Sept 6th 2014 ~ You are NOT going to believe this. I found Shane Linville on Facebook and you will never guess who is one of his favourites! Chris G Vaillancourt! That's right, the very same well known plagiarist from days gone by at HP. He was such an insidious piece of work

*******! Not the way I'd like to see my name next to a Daily Poem but getting the awareness out there is a nice thing too :)
Update... To those listed below with stolen poetry who can't access the link to the blog because its been made private you can still contact word press to advise them and they can check the blog to make sure it's been removed. His name is Shane Linville! I'm just sorry I didn't have time to go through everything he had posted :(
The link above contains the following stolen poetry (that I know so far)
Indifference by Purple Orchid is posted as Her Soul
The Bells of Civilizations Ring by Sjr1000 is posted as World of Disease
Morning Light by Silas is posted as Morning Light (no name change but no link to the original)
I am Stone by imadeitallup (no name change but no link to the original)
A Fool for You by MYstro mAdden posted as Your Love
These a just a few... If you know any of the above poets... please share with them
Arlo Disarray Jan 2016
bhumika fulwani WAS a member of hp who has accounts on other poetry sites, and likes to steal other people's work and show it as her own.

another member of hp who wanted to remain anonymous had pointed out to me that she was using one of my poems on another site.

i was able to prove that i had written mine first and the stolen poem has now been removed.

i would strongly suggest searching for her on other sites, maybe even here, and make sure she hasn't stolen anything from you.
She recently deleted her account here. But on power poetry dot org she has an account with stolen poetry from many of you. I've seen it.
trying to warn others. having your work plagiarized is not a good feeling. i hate to perpetuate the drama on this site, but this is important. i don't want other people experiencing what i just went through.
Ottar Mar 2015
Physician's are able
accord-
ing to some dictum,
Themselves "Heal"
at command, even
with their own head
and ******,
One.

As for intellectual property,
you have none, of either

except that which you steal from us,
sorry I can't blame your parents, you fool,
Here is to hoping your teacher sees through
you...

whether or not you are in school, all this proves is
that you are a tool eaten through with rust, do to
lack of use, bet if you workout, steroids are your "juice"

and if you do it to get attention, you have a
penchant as one previous plagiarist said,
he just "wanted to see if all the poems, written got read"

and if it is to brag to some girl, whose feet you are not
worthy to look up even it they are at toad height,
it is lights out goodnight and no chance to succeed,

so let us hope you leave, because if this is mockery, callin,'
matters not, you missed the punchline, because I don't joke.
Time to get a life and try independent thought.
See I put the poem in the middle you are the center of attention.
SE Reimer Nov 2015
(a ten-word, tenured writ)

~

they found her lying... 
beneath the weight 
of stolen lines!

~

*post script.

this ten word post from 2013 somehow seemed rather apropos today... with only one necessary change... it's gender.  

having begun my life of a poet as a 9-year old plagiarist, i know the shame of discovery... thankfully for me it was just fourth-grade and the shame of discovery opened eventually to a world of poetic uncovering.  i needed not copy anyone else for the seeds were already within!!!  my hope today is that she too will have such a revelation!  



my original post script from 2013...

copycats never win (10w)
though these words are true, i sometimes wonder if Solomon was right... is there ANYTHING new under the sun; are any of my words really my own?  or did i read them somewhere and then they jumbled, tumbled out rearranged as "my own?"
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
In his little notebook/vase
the plagiarist did hold
a thousand different sparks
a million snowflakes
in the cold

These were the neurotransmitters
arcing in the brains
of several hundred poets
who's ideas he had drained.

Like fireflies they swirled
and he looked at them with hate.
He had no tiny lights to say were his
his mind not near so great.

And so he took the offerings
glowing like the stars
and crammed them in a website
he took that which was ours!

For one things for certain.
This is simply fact.
The light thief hasn't got two himself

to spark on impact!


Soul Survivor
September 2014
There is quite a ruckus about plagiarists here.
Just thought I'd contribute to the cause.
Nat Lipstadt May 2019
I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in
full on conjugation

raken and taken, me,
her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held
in my maledom abeyance,
a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing,
de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications,
excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation,
ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down

she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest,
in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking,
“user of words mine, all mine”

gathered up my innards of loose words,
speculative notes & titles yet to be,
born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files,
now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create,
a homeless mute citizen, possession-less,
helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent,
without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet

she celebratory cackled and clawed,
professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors,
zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly,
with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing,
warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands,
daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship,
warning of a new, forced caining inscription,
a tattooing of  “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ******,
“plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm

I, predator,
she, victim,
of my now self-professed, admitted confess,
she, my single victim,
of a decade long serializing criminal coverup

her parting poem a threatening,
herein issued in this very verse,
damning all who would falsely credit themselves,
to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse,
this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments

parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures,
with warning bitings,
she knew all my
my numerous noms de guerre,
no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day,
and if ever marked as copyrighted,
’twas no tunneling escape,
the exposed truth to be over-stamped
upon all, upon each, in every language,

copied right from the tongue of a woman!


and she would be wright...
complementary to
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3155692/excerpt-my-muddled-woman-mind/
a tribute to all the women that have inspired so many of my poems

19/23/05
Helen Nov 2014
This is not so much a poem. This is more a revealing of a high that comes from taking the liars down. This is not about reposting ones own work under multiple accounts (I don't understand it and I don't get it but you can't steal from yourself...) This is a story of being able to show ones true character by pointing out that what they write, how they bask in the muted sunlight of another's ignorance to their thievery, just leaves them looking pale!*

You see me as a troublemaker
storming your made up works
just trying to influence your friends
that your not that kind of girl
You see me as an interloper
just jealous of your success
Little Darlin' I don't care for you
except for exposing your lying cheating ***
Stop garnering your self esteem
upon backs that are already broke
Stop making people believe
you suffered what you supposedly wrote
Honestly! If you are impressed
and feel heart whole, then simply,
Say thank you, I feel what you wrote
I feel you wrote it for me


Just don't steal their words
and let everyone think
You're a master poet/ess
All you need to do
is
link...
I have been working across a number of sites, helping people find their lost or stolen poetry, exposing those that claim adulation unwarranted, it's time consuming, thankless and I've made a lot of enemies but 99% of the time, when presented with evidence, a plagiarist will crawl back beneath their rock... sometimes they apologise! No matter how sorry they are, I'll never give up the fight :)
Francie Lynch Mar 2020
Don't touch my poetry
Unless you're a plagiarist.
It's infectious.
Andrew Rueter Aug 2018
I'm born
Airborne
Forlorn
In war torn
Discord
My ripcord
I pull for liberation
Alienation aviation
Away from a station
Of no relation
Where their elation
Lies in degeneration

The fright fair
Nightmare
In sight there
Is a right scare
But light flares
From an illuminated theater
I dive into art
To fill my meter

I consume
Darkened tomb
Screen in room
Is where I loom
Inspiration blooms
From a sense of doom
My separation reparation
That will lead to veneration

My artistic fervor
Drifted further
Drifter's murmurs
Lifted learners
But gifted murderers
Shifted girders
Of shame and honesty
To my grave of modesty
Where they prey upon me

This plagiarism
Layered schism
Cratered rhythm
Of great decisions
Now I make incisions
With repetition
And the definition
Of words stolen from me
They're all I can see
And I can't get free
Or just let it be

Consumption disruption
At this junction
I can't function
A plagiarist
****** mist
Grips my fist
Makes me wish
I don't exist
I must resist
Before I miss
My chance at bliss

They're ****** me
By aping me
Making me
Shaking trees
Of bumblebees
With rumble pleas
On humble knees
Drinking antifreeze

Nobody cares
What's fair
They bear
And share
Blank stares
Up stairs
Of artistic compromise
Integrity lost in lies
They're not that wise
I hypothesize

My baby
Caught rabies
From Hades
Now ladies
Flock to a thief
Giving me grief
Beyond belief
In my coral reef
Sword in sheath
I drown discreet
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
Born Jul 2017
?
Are you a gangster or
a thief seeking attention

Are you an artist or
a  voyager painting words

Are you a poet or
a plagiarist seeking love

Are you a Saint or
a sinner searching for salvation

Are you my heart or
a tattooed scar stuck on my chest

Are you a fisherman or
a sailor giving life a second chance

Are you the moon or
a lonely sun ravaging through your days

Are you moving forward or
dragging through tormenting memories
SE Reimer Nov 2013
they  found  him  lying... 
beneath the weight 
of  stolen 
lines!
copycats never win (10w)

though these words are true, i sometimes wonder if Solomon was right... is there ANYTHING new under the sun; are any of my words really my own?  or did i read them somewhere and then they jumbled, tumbled out rearranged as "my own?"
Francie Lynch Mar 2018
Isn't it easy to write during these times,
And difficult to write on these times,
Without ripping off figurative comparisons.

I want to use wasteland
But I'd be the one compared,
And that won't work. That's not my intent.
Besides, Townsend and T.S. worked it.

There are the platinum choices
Like Satan, Lucifer, or Legionnaire.
But Milton has his scent all over these,
And the Bible invented them.

Those times.
These times.

Apocalypse, or any version thereof,
Would surely bring Brando to mind,
And Kurtz's heart of darkness.

There are inspiring descriptors like,
Cataclysm, devastation and destruction.
Well-represented in cinema
Since Birth of a Nation.
Now there's irony.

As much as Holocaust would be perfect to plagiarize,
I, nor anyone else, should ever attempt,
(And it would be a vain glory attempt at best)
To use this singular word
In an analogy for anything, ever again.
Ever!
Unless absolutely necessary.
Unless someone we know gets stupid.
Then more stupid.
Then stupider.
Then most stupid.
And finally,
Not with a whimper, but a bang.
I falter.
Not exactly plagiarism is it?
Shouldn't be repeated either.
Thus, our plight. Tip of the cap to all I've taken from, willingly.
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
How many poems have we written,
How many more will we write?
How many matches have we stricken,
How many more will we strike?

How many candles have we burned
In search of knowledge and wisdom?
How much in total have we learned
Do accused poets deserve freedom?

How many words have we really used
How many letters have we composed
How many plagiarists have been sued
How many of us have been accused

From other poets and other writers,
How many lines have we ever stolen?
Why are poets such horrible liars,
When last was this secret rule broken?

©IvanBrooksPoetry
15/10/2018
No poet is innocent of this crime!
T A Ramesh Jan 2012
Plagiarism stealthily goes on in all fields!
In research theses plagiarism is common;
In articles and novels they are caught soon!
In poetry a lot of production makes it rare
To find who has done what in any quarter!

Finding the impostors in poetry is finding
Diamond among broken glasses on sand!
So, impostors mingle with poets anywhere,
Become friends and take advantage of them!

Positive minds never think negatively here
And it becomes easy for the culprits to sway all
To indulge in their nefarious acts nonstop!

Plagiarist poets excel even bards and Browning
Consuming their brain as critics did to Coleridge!
Mike Hauser Sep 2014
I just had an epiphany
one on the grandest scale
Fire works went off in my head
Lucky pennies tossed in the well

I will take a single line
from all the poems I read
and come up with the greatest poem
in all of history

Just one line from brilliant minds
and jot them as my own
which shouldn't take too much time
for me to stand alone

I'll take their lines that make me cry
ones that make me smile
The ones that make me think I'll sneak
over to my side

I'll mix them up, lay them out
in some sort of rhyming order
No one the wiser will find out
I took them from another

I'll be known as the greatest poet
to ever grace the stage
As the greatest poet
to ever bless the page*...
Richard Riddle Sep 2014
There will always be someone who wants what you have, for its easier to steal from someone who has already performed the work, whether a material object, idea, or talent, etc.. Someone who takes credit, where it isn't due, for what you have accomplished, worked hard to attain, or saved for a special purchase. Hence, the PLAGIARIST!

The counterfeiters, whether it be money, or the reproduction of the "Old Masters" oil paintings, claiming it was purchased at a garage sale, or found in an old trunk in the attic of an old house they purchased. Many scenarios, many such events, and mostly untrue. Plain, and simple, they are nothing but "THIEVES." They have been around for thousands of years. Aggravating, yes! Frustrating, absolutely! Discouraging, you bet! The difficult part is knowing"they don't care!", as long as they get what you have, or think they can.

To my friends at HP: Regardless of whatever name they wish to use at the bottom of your piece, your signature is still inside the piece itself. Whether it be a particular phrase or word meticulously placed, the style of your writings, the way you approach your thought, the rhythmic flow of your prose, the softness or harshness of expression. All which has created "your signature". That, cannot be reproduced.

To those literary "thieves: You will continue to try and steal our work. But, for each letter stolen, for each word stolen, only creates another rung on your ladder, leading you deeper and deeper,further down into your abyss of loneliness, until the blanket of your depression, discontent, and hatred suffocates you. That is when your name will become known only as, "WHO?"

copyright: Richard Riddle September 08, 2014 10:00am(CDT)
Matthew Walker Sep 2013
If I said I just needed to hear those words
You'd say I'm a stereotypical writer
Or a totally uncreative plagiarist

In this moment I'm not a poet
Just a broken person starving for acceptance

Rejected, abandoned, worthless
I'm sick of my definition

My heart is longing for your approval
Broken pieces would be repaired
If you would just care

Can't you notice something positive?
I want to be worthy

Am I so revolting
you can't even set your eyes upon me?

I crave a basic sentence
With the same intensity
a drowning man craves air

Fill my lungs with life
Let me breathe you in

Please just say
I love you
Francie Lynch Jan 24
I'm ******* with Robert Frost
And the guy who wrote Paradise Lost.
I ain't happy with Aristotle,
And especially John, the weird Apostle.
Don't mention, please, Shelley or Keats,
Blake, Byron, or that poser, Yeats.
Each and every one you see,
Lifted their best themes from me.

Don't look aghast,
Don't tsk and titter,
Their thievery's made me
Mean and bitter.

Just because they said it first,
Doesn't mean I find it just.
It doesn't give them ownership
Of my themes and authorship.
I write of Roads, Good and Evil,
God and Satan, love and leaving.
I know I'm internally bleating,
But I can't abide this metric beating.

Although they're  now just dust and bones,
They still don't have the right to own
All the great lines I have sown, like,
The best laid plans of mice and men.
(I thought that up before Robbie Burns).

Let me make this poetically clear;
If I was there, or he were here,
I'd sue the *** of Will Shakespeare
.
Robbie Burns Day 2024
Joel M Frye Feb 2016
Discovered a new
"poet", Diksha Patel, a
master plagiarist.
To any who read this:  please let your friends know.

To all my friends and followers:  Check Diksha's page on HP and see if s/he's plagiarized any of your work.  They stole my POTD from a couple months ago, and struck it from their site when I called them out on it yesterday.  Eliot has been notified.
SøułSurvivør Nov 2015
though the mills of God grind slowly
yet they grind exceeding small
though with patience
he stands waiting
with exactness grinds he all.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


for the wicked there's comeuppance
yes, for plagiarist and troll
it may not be in present tense
but evil has its toll

for the greedy human tyrant
for the fat politico
the rich are as a vagrant
trudging through the snow

******, Pol ***, Stalin
Napoleon's Waterloo
in disgrace and fallen
into hell's external stew

the world is a millstone
it grinds fine, or so it's said
born here crying and alone
finally we're dead

don't envy the deceiver
or those who perpetrate
they'll be the receiver
meet poetic Fate

God has a sense of humor
those who blot society
may end up with a tumor
in the end will not be free

those who think they're "first"?
pity the poor fools
they're actually cursed
to be the *devil's
tools

there's no skating through this life
they will all be doomed
the scepter is a poison knife
the coffer is a TOMB.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/23/2015
"Vengence is mine, sayeth the Lord.
I will repay."

---
The plagiarist hath vacated this space
Yet his shadow still lingers at the place
In the nose one well senses it about
So oft an odor doth waft on the air
Which can be veiled by visage fair
The eyes are peeled they're ever watching
For that person of the copyist's cloning
Twill not be duped by untruthful flout
This day of its appearance yet unseen
Could there be a hiding behind the screen
Though the master duplicator hath fled
His presence is hovering over the joint
Of type in image same he did anoint
Within HP's walls it doth share our bed
Duncan Brown May 2018
The small gods of mediocrity worship me
In glimmering shades of opaque vanity
And a quantity of quietly suspended sanity
For believing in me is me deceiving in thee
Cos’ nothing exists inside an empty mirror
Everything is but a shallow showy business
An’ vanity’s the perfect anaesthetic to criticism
It has a certain cachet of symmetrical insecurity
Which protects one from the whips and scorns
Of the too, too solid clever clogging creatures
And their insistence upon a useless authenticity
And several types of other irredemptive features
If thickness was a virtue they’d be geniuses
As things stand they’re an average ordinary
Overburdened by the extremes of modernity
And the necessity to dwell in the sin of originality
No such burden afflicts this untempered soul
A pickpocket in heaven is a smart career move
There are so many treasures in eternal garments
Looking better on me than any famous other
They may have originality but I possess the sin
Tailored to perfection of a finely cut deception
Wrapped in the vestments of deceitful beauty
So befitting on this prince of thieving vanity                                            .
If you have been where I have always been
You could’ve written the Faerie Queen
And several iniquitous verses in between
The fame and fortune of writing anything
It’s a difficult business being someone else
At least on paper and preferably in private
An’ don’t you just love an innocent abroad
Loneliness is always my singular attraction
And sadness isn’t without capricious merit
They’re the essential requirements of being
A phantom haunting in the raiment of deceit
I could shake the scene but only for an hour
Why does everybody know that second-rater
Or some warbling barbed wire singer-songer?
The blowing wind of his twice solid injustice
Denies me my princely literary inheritance
I’ve got more Faust than a beggar’s banquet
I could be them, but they could never be me
So who is the real genius at the literary feast?
That’s the question that they refuse to answer
I’m the prince of all the borrowed tomorrows
And the silver-buckled trampling of history
Who are they compared to me, the thief of faces
A genius at my very own seditious practices?
Skylarks, nightingales and ****** red roses
There’s no purchase there for a born deceiver
Pirouetting upon the landscape of deception
My ancient trade, a slave to modern ambition
And isn’t wealth so comfortably in fashion
Filthy lucre for filthy booker is my very passion
A flattering self obsession can be so expensive
Plundering souls to satisfy a scribbling ego costs
Much more than your average literary bargain
Writing’s cheap and writers are even cheaper
That’s why I became this born-again deceiver
Transient fame and eternal blame’s my passion
Who cares about fifteen minutes of ignominy?
I’ll do it all tomorrow in another stolen name
Addiction thrives by being exposed to shame
Any fool can pen their play or scribe a novel
The romantics always scribble in their hovel
Whilst the past is a very lonely day tomorrow
And written failures drown in present sorrow
But my notoriety is a timeless endless furrow
Ploughed and planted in each passing season
Harvesting the festival of my sweetened treason
And I’m compelled to a very summer’s day
An’ winter springing another written disguise
Favouring my fortune by a winning surprise
Beggaring the belief of a charitable donation
To the swollen coffin of my self infatuation  
Ferreting in the trashcans of the famous
For those half-forgotten reject slips
Nothings too worn or useless for my audience
Even less for my insatiable appetite
To be appreciated as a literary genius
Even if it lasts for only fifteen minutes
In the company of an utterly innocent audience
I’m neither proud nor even vain glorious
It’s just part of my addictive insouciance
I just love that moment in my significance
When I can be seen as someone not average
Not much to ask and even less to deliver
It doesn’t take a genius to be just clever
That’s a joy that I can always joyfully deliver
Twice on Saturday provided one’s a matinee
I will venture on this shadowy way forever
Harming no one except a ripped off author
They should be grateful for the plunder
After all it is a kind of literary flattery
I have standards in my taste for literature
I’d never rob your average written writer
If they’ve mugged themselves, why bother?
A long lost great or an undiscovered genius
Is more my taste and appreciated flavour
New wine is fine but truth is there to be told
I’ll drink anything especially if it can be sold
To any old innocently paying punter
Desperation travels in the company of deceit
And much of it is right up my street
Not quite the boulevards of the ancients
And there I go along the road of the living
Avoiding life’s cul-de-sac dead end
A place to spend a life seriously avoiding
Even if it means inhabiting other people’s clothing
The wearing and the tearing is a riot
An’ God won’t send me to Hades for borrowing
The silken garments of the truly wonderful
But he sure as hell gets mad if I copyright it.
mostly water Jun 2015
framers and confounders,
gold-sifting pitch-shifting
plagiarist compounders,
dreamer cells --
all stragglers and strollers;
trollers, ex-tollers,
frontier comptrollers...

was a pupil for a day,
gave two eyes for an A,
said "I'll tell you what I see just
tell me what to say"

2 fore thoughts 2 free thoughts
of sons of freed slaves,
think tanks and barnacles abound:
I see twenty-six characters in need of an author
to try me line by line
'til beseeched and swayed
I reach the antithesis
A Plagiarist In Inheritance
Originalist, In The wealth of Progeny.
Danny Adams Oct 2013
Nothing matters
Nothingness is our void--
our shared existence
it is a claustrophobic
cramped
catatonic state of mind
my mind is melting my mind is melting my mind is
gone
there
that second is gone
and that one too
every single second sounded sirens in my psyche
have I gone off the deep end?
my razor might agree
I'm sure my heart would fall out
if it weren't secured between a set of bones and two lungs
lungs that I've blackened with my hate
because if my body is a temple I've burnt it to the ground
I have succeeded in this artistic DESTRUCTION
yet I am an artist
I create
with my beautiful words and my ugly thoughts
I don't care if I live or die or if I love or lie or lose or try
I am falling
fall
fall
Fall down from your throne you ******* hypocritical plagiarist
I hope you rot in your cell
because it's my only retribution
to you, my love
myself

— The End —