"plagued" poems
In his barren room of eternal darkness, you will find her suspended alone in space.
The silhouette that continues to haunt her soul have returned to reveal its obscure face.
Its eyes dazzles with the pure optimism for the uncertainty of what secrets the future has in store,
But her dimly brown stained eyes are plagued by the sadistic knocks of death at her door.
The seemingly gullible and naive entity clings onto an orb that has an effervescent shine,
This radiant glow, beckons for my soul to remember, to remember that it was once mine.
What is the reason for my once pure light to turn into the blacken, tainted soul that lies within me?
Is it waiting for the completion of my quest to find my hidden euphoria to be finally be set free?
Its voice sings to my inner demons, tugging at my existence like a synchronized team.
But the painful reality of life has taught me that happiness is nothing but a just forgotten dream.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
**i'm in a dangerous state of mind
with no care for living this life
where human emotions are traded
for less than a pack of rubbers
but you didn't even use those
so how much did i truly mean
when the push came to shove
and grinding hips
with moaning lips
that whispered, screamed,
and cried his name
on the night you ****** my heart away
where loyalty takes a literal backseat
to pleasure
and a long term relationship
is laughing stock material
ha ha standup, ain't i funny
to look for something more than this
but i would choke on my own tongue
before i'd speak bad of you
my backstabbing lover
unfaithful friend
i hope to god it he was worth it
the cost was more than just tears
but blood spray on the bathroom mirror
and an empty place where i once
used to love
permanently empty
i can't find the will to care
more than a few half-hearted,
correct that, heartless
obscenities muttered under my breath
with ****** on my mind
a 3:30am fantasy to help dull
the pain that i should be feeling
maybe i'm just a pessimist,
fatalist, cynical, and negative
but my lack of surprise cuts the most
lied to by my mind for those
two months of my life
that i thought i had it all
better to have loved and lost
but even better to **** it all
and just go out with your name on my lips
and your lies in my heart
i hope you think of me when you're with him
that you choke on your tears
plagued with the worst emotions and loss
a better killer than any gun**
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
You will rise again
You have been beaten down
You have been abused
You have been torn down
You have been told you were nothing
You have been told you can’t do it
You are plagued by residuals
You are tormented by demons
You are tortured by nightmares
You are attacked by PTSD daily
You are reminded of it all by your scares
You are so tired of it all
Yet you survived all of it
You continue to live each day
You continue to smile
You continue to thrive
You continue to overcome
You continue to be strong
You continue to rise
© Seductive Poetry
Spoken Word Version :: https://youtu.be/xGzGQ-8tSGM
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 2:26 PM UTC
Another beautiful state in the Republic of Bhaarat,
It is plagued by cross-border terrorism,
How they redden the green valleys is appalling.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
The Years have passed by,
In the blink of an eye,
Moments of sadness,
And joy have flown by.
People I loved,
Have come and have gone,
But the world never stopped,
And we all carried on.
Life wasn't easy,
And the struggles were there,
Filled with times that it mattered,
Times I just didn't care.
And now as I grow older,
It's become very clear,
Things I once found important,
Were not why I was here.
And how many things,
That I managed to buy,
Were never what made me,
Feel better inside.
And the worries and fears,
That plagued me each day,
In the end of it all,
Would just fade away.
But how much I reached out,
To others when needed,
Would be the true measure,
Of how I succeeded.
And how much I shared,
Of my soul and my heart,
Would ultimately be,
What set me apart.
And what's really important,
Is my opinion of me,
And whether or not,
I'm the best I can be.
And how much more kindness,
And love I can show,
Before the Lord tells me,
It's my time to go.
© Pat A. Fleming
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
A Muslim boy with a clock
Is seen as a terrorist with a glock
Maybe i'm right, maybe i'm wrong
But if he were White, Asian, Hispanic or even Pacific Islander
Nobody would of suspected anything.
When are we going to stop fearing an entire race for only a portion radical and illogical ways of treating others?
I don't tolerate people who behead others if they don't agree with their religion
I don't agree with the repressive governments that control everyone and stone them for minor misdemeanors
There are good men out there fighting this evil that has plagued their homelands
I'm all for ending terrorism of all kinds
But let's stop terrorism of innocents too
Sure, i'm afraid of what the radicals will do to their own people, my people and the rest of the world
But i'll be dammed if i treated somebody from the Middle East like a monster when i don't even know who they are
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern girl
The Syrians girls wouldn't have an improved education
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern man fending off the Taliban and risking his entire village to keep Marcus Littrell alive
He would of been KIA a long time ago.
What about the ones who fought and died for America?
Nobody ever mentions them
The media wants me to hate them all, but i laugh and shake my head
Warped minds trying to warp others
I only see the ones who want to do us harm, and the ones who want to live peacefully and away from a life of hell
Brothers and sisters, just a different culture and skin color
I'm sorry if America seems racist or hateful, but i'm proud to be the one who throws those two words in the trash
Because i'm not afraid to speak my mind
And i welcome everyone here
America is everyone's home.
If only the Soviet Union never invaded Afghanistan
If only the people were not scared
To be free like America.
Unity for all,
Religious differences and Cultures alike.
I hope one day a Muslim man or Woman can walk down an American street without being labeled as a terrorist.
I hope one day these repressive governments fall into the hands of democracy
And we start the Age of Unity again.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start
Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell
All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same
As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home
Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ
Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position
I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your bitchin'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ************* winning
WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave
The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise
Your in the way of the wave, child
This..... the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
Beautiful lotus...
I wish they could see,
All the potential you have and the things that you could be.
Everything you imagined in your wildest dreams...
Beautiful lotus, how I wish they could see.
They love your Florescent petals so they pick you apart… unaware of the internal damage this causes to your heart.
I guess its called "Tough Love" but they are stripping your art.
Beatuiful Lotus, taking blows so harsh..
You should be a beautiful diamond considering all the pressure you've been through,
Such a precious gem with dark, ugly roots…
Faced with adversity and Plagued by deception… Still finding your way to see it through. A world so cold and ugly has created something so beautiful.
Bloom Lotus bloom, Even in the heart of June. Shine lotus shine, even in the light of the Moon... Never let anything in this world make you leave it too soon. You have so many things that you need to see.
Beautiful lotus...
My sweet sweet lotus,
Just set yourself free.
And reach for the Heights they told you you would never see.
-Ari B.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
There is something violent about how I see the skin on your body
Its so rich and smooth, almost decadent and unlike you
This observation turns into a premeditation when you touch my cheek
Its almost like i can feel the heat melting off your bones
As I laid you down and slipped a knife underneath your sternum
You whispered something hidden in painful tones like a sharp breath piercing the guttural moans
But I dont need to hear words to know the searing desire steaming from your guts as I replaced them with hot stones
The blood on your finger tips remind me of fresh water on leaves after a storm and your severed head looks like its been through famine, disease, and a damaged city plagued and war torn
Yet there is still beauty in the decayed decadence that is your mutilated corpse
The moonlight drowns in the canal of blood begging for remorse while the insects march and sing a song of things that can only get worse
©anthonyasylum
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
All I know is that some days I find myself curled up on the floor, eyes red, lips shaking, thinking that if I could, I would have given up on myself long ago.
So that is why I doubt you will love me. I cannot even love myself.
I must start off by saying I am a frustrating person.
You can swear I'm beautiful and that you'll never leave,
but I will not believe you.
Some days you will find me crying for no reason and think I am insane.
You are right.
I am a paradox. I am hot and cold, okay then shattered.
I am a roller-coaster ride, a wild, reckless soul with a heartbreaking past and demons in my mind.
Maybe I am looking for someone to save me, and maybe I am looking for someone to save. I haven't decided yet.
I am tied down by my fears and insecurities, plagued with bad memories that run through my mind every time someone says they love me.
How can you love a broken girl?
A girl who is not whole.
A girl who cannot even trust you because trusting always lead to heartbreak at the end of the day, feeling naive, played like a toy by the eyes of a beautiful boy.
A girl who is paranoid because she knows there are prettier, funnier, smarter, nicer girls, and she thinks she could never add up, and if you want only her, there must be some sorta catch.
And if you can get past these walls, break past the barriers I keep around to protect this damaged heart of mine, and you withstand every test I throw your way, if you stay even when I make you want to leave sometimes, just know that I will forever be yours, and I will hand over my battered heart in shaking hands, hoping it will be enough, hoping you will not break me even more.
We are two broken people, and together we will be whole.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
I contemplate
I buy it on aromatic instinct
The fight emerges
Don't eat it!
You're not even hungry!
I sit in my head
While the words debate
The palate ultimately wins
My hands follow orders
The sweet melting chew
Savory icing
Made for my mouth
I close my eyes
Taste buds dance
Pure enjoyment
A moment has escaped me
In my candy land
Until it's gone
A guilty pleasure
Plagued stomach
Churning to
Disappointed intestines
An alien
They don't quite understand
As it has no nutrients or vitamins to absorb
Sending the lipids and sugars
Away to live as fat
Surrounding areas I dislike most
I look in the mirror
And I imagine where that regretful donut went.
© Jl 2016
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:16 AM UTC
Aegri Somnia Vana (Latin): a sick man's dreams; hallucinations
In the country of the blind,
the one eyed men are kings
So condemn what you don't understand
**C
O
N
S
U
M
E**
It's more alluring to feed the machine
**C
O
N
F
O
R
M**
Is your life the masterpiece you dreamt of painting?
From out of the depths,
Comes Father Time to devour your /follie de grandeur
Your blissful ignorance
Your wishful thinking
**O
B
E
Y**
It's all I can do to preserve a calm mind
Or try
But I'd rather play follow the leader
I'm plagued by my cognitive processes
It haunts me
And my inability to bring luminescence
to the infinite shadows swirling around me
Don't you know by now your essence of life
manifests in the vibrancy of your frequency?
Philosophy or logic
It's a Love > Fear dichotomy
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
i am plagued with a heavy sense
of the meaning of things
and it is too much
for me to bear.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
This society is plagued by the search for perfect things.
But as I sat there doodling with my finger on your spine,
I realized one of the most perfect things in the world
Is often the imperfect boy, with messy hair, asleep in your lap.
When you are afraid to move him
and to love him too much.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
At this point, I'm surprised I manage to wake up,
when every night is plagued with dreams of you,
caressing my fragile body, and then plunging into it like it doesn't mean two ***** to you.
Every night it's the same dream, and I wake up smelling of sweat,
but it's not the same as yours, an aroma that haunts me even in my sleep.
See, when a man like me desires,
he desires with more than just his heart and mind.
He desires with his nose, his lips, his hands and his tongue,
his eyes, his ears, and with the tips of his toes.
Not unlike the fantastic houses we used to build between periods.
Not unlike the make-believe we used to play during recess.
So, my friend, let's make-believe one last time:
I'll pretend to be a woman,
and you'll pretend to be in love,
and I'll finally find myself in your warm embrace.
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 5:10 PM UTC
I signed up for the race you see. I was drafted to run.
They chose to pay my tuition so I could sprint at the gun.
But here's the problem that plagued me from the start.
I seemed to have left my confidence at an entirely different mark.
I showed up at the race and I didn't think I would win.
Even the sun shining down on the game looked a little grim.
What happens when your falling without any aid?
When there's no life support and you don't think you'll be saved?
What happens when you've signed on for too much?
When you can't be the athlete you want to be and you've got a limp with no crutch?
I had to figure it all out, a dark field and no map.
I had to find my confidence before I could score on attack.
I faced the coaches and dealt with their disappointed faces.
I had to move past the fact, that I had racked up some disgraces.
I cried in the showers when nobody could hear.
Letting anybody know I was weak was my biggest fear.
Because it doesn't count you see, if the shower's on.
There's already water running down and my tears always joined the marathon.
But I surpassed the doubt. I learned to dig deep.
I became that brave player on the field.
And I only cry in my sleep.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
Pencil - ****** - ***** - Penalize -Pentagram - Pentagon - Pentagonal - Penitentiary -Pensive - Peninsula - P.......
....Plagued. What is it to be plagued? Haunted?
Seiged by an inescapable force?
Haulted?
IMMOVABLE.
ability to move, yet achieving no valuable distance.
A struggle writhing within ones self.
Pen -Pent- Pent up- P...
....Please, no more....
....more miles high.....
Stakes,
In the ground.....
Great stakes.....
High,
So very high.
Unreachable.
Unattainable.
Pen-Pensive-Pacing- to pace back and forth down a narrow stretch of newly carpeted hallway.
A door.
Adoring.....
Adorable....
Sweet.
Innocence left?
May be none left.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
"So the pen is mightier? who'da'thunk'it."
He said to the bleeding man tied down
to a messed, stained, bed.
The bound man figured,
even though he just got
to an LA plagued
by criminals, killers, and copy-cats,
that he wasn't getting out of here whole,
finally.
Holding a pen knife,
red-faced and sweating,
was his captor.
It had been a struggle
to awake and realize
who stood before him:
Quill.
The exact killer he'd been looking for.
He had heard about him in the Halo Herald,
An LA pun, it's not very popular,
but he liked the funny section.
"Are you just going to stand there?"
The bound man says, eagerly,
"Hey bud, you're the hanged man,
I'll do the talking."
"It's about time!"
"huh?"
"I'd been waiting.
heard you'd be at that
open mic. Knew you liked
the mealy type."
"Shuddup or I'll write you off."
Quill runs his pen knife over the bound man's right cheek.
"Stings a little.
Usually, I start with a rufie
and emotional damage.
But it looks like you
want to cut to the chase.
I'm a man of a similar mind.
spirit.
problem."
"Nobody's like me dude."
The bound man locks eyes with Quill.
"What're your trophies? huh?
I read you like to drain your victims,
cook'em dry.
don't you use their blood and powdered remains as ink?
Short stories or something?"
"Oh, an avid reader?! it's your lucky day:
you get to be part of the collection!"
The lamp nearby tumbles
to the floor as Quill lunges,
ready to ****
"Wait! Don't you want to know who I am!"
"Not really."
"I'm a ser-"
The sentence is finished by
nothing but the sound of blood
and air
gurgling
into places it was never meant to be
as Quill's blade passes through flesh.
"Pfft, what, you think you're special?"
Quill saunters over to the sink.
"I'd hate to waste ink.
but there'll be more.
there's always more.
isn't that right, Celine."
he says to no one
and stands there with a smirk
as if listening to her.
Oct 15, 2022
Oct 15, 2022 at 2:22 AM UTC
I must steal Harold’s purple crayon
And build myself a brand-new town
No king or paper bag princess
It will be me who wears the crown.
I shall draw myself a forest
And begin the stories anew
Word of the Fair Queen’s fame will spread
And chaos will ensue.
In order to reach my kingdom
You must first prove your worth
I cannot be reached by sea or sky
You must travel over the earth.
Through the forest is your only hope
To gain such fortune and fame
Marry the Queen and rule the kingdom
If you can survive the game.
You must follow Little Red Riding Hood
As far and as fast as you can
Steer clear of Jack and his beanstalk
Do not trust the Ginger Bread Man.
Snow White’s cabin is to the north
Goldilocks lives to the west
Hansel and Gretel will offer you food
Beware, this is a test.
The Three Little Pigs are plagued
By the Big Bad Wolf of lore
But even he is nothing compared
To the curse Sleeping Beauty bore
**** n Boots and Robin Hood
Will save you just one time
Dare to steal the Goose’s Golden eggs
And you will be punished for your crime.
If you manage to defy the odds
And make it through alive
I shall take your hand and under our rule
The kingdom will grow and thrive.
You must understand it isn’t personal, darling
When I slip the poison into your canteen
I miss my game, and nobody can be
More powerful than the crooked fair Queen.
Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 10:57 AM UTC
It’s not a surprise.
It’s terrible but
it’s not a surprise.
Shooting, screaming, scattering, shattering,
it’s not a surprise.
I imagine but don’t understand.
White person mental illness,
illness…
Illness,
it’s called.
He was a poor, lonely, old man whose dog just died,
so he decided
to shoot up a crowd,
and **** and hurt hundreds of people.
Because of his illness.
But just listen.
Listen.
Listen:
you’re calling him ill but he’s really just mad.
There is no kindness in him if he can go **** all those people
and not even blink.
He may have offered you a handkerchief
when you were crying,
but then he goes off and kills,
and kills,
and kills,
and the kindness in him is warped, destroyed -
lost
the second he decides to
shoot,
shoot,
shoot.
Terrorists we fear -
walking down the street with a burqa draped over.
Terrorists we fear -
flying as second class citizens because of our terror.
Terrorists we fear -
speaking in a language we don’t understand.
They’re not the terrorists we should fear.
If the white terrorist is ill, then the US is plagued.
One
after another,
after another
**** us, and we still do nothing.
Nothing.
NOTHING.
We go around the world “fixing” and “helping”,
ruining lives and terrorizing,
because that’s what we are: terrorists.
Terrorists.
Terrorists.
We want to fix the world? We can’t even help ourselves.
We the people are broken.
Who’s gonna fix us?
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 6:40 AM UTC
underneath the covers, no worries of lovers
too busy focused on the uncovering of all my budding flowers
of all my seeds sproutings, if spirit is allowing
springtime is my favourite, it's a fresh start
to be better and bigger than before
to pick yourself up and wish for more
so I will wish for more, more than men who are decor
so I wish to explore, a man not plagued with internal wars
one that is not afraid to see what lies behind the door
one that is not afraid to let their heart pour
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 10:37 AM UTC
Funeral processions
Spontaneous
Money, Money, Money
Bridges to Neverland should exist.
Wedding party
Music
Fall leaves
Breaks winter.
Intuition floods the sauna of life gated in
By the strong arms of the whispering trees.
******** profit, taking advantage of the sheltered
Wallets of men plagued by the insensitivity and greed
of the less mature.
**** you, sir, for charging innocent minds and hungry souls
To enjoy the entrancement of the world
Far older than you
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 9:59 AM UTC
*chaste pecks from the super-sonic youth
numb lips flutter to the hollowed cheeks of normality
no longer the hand-prints on the guide book to hostility
a pamphlet of rudimentary teachings;
the principles of tolerance and rebellion and acceptance of human beings
a concoction of suppressed psychotic behavior, quick wit, and center of satirical tease
constantly moving with heavy footsteps and heavier hearts
their minds and bodies plagued with actions from a deserted youth
soul lusting over the naivety of people before self-actualization; how crude
do they call it an existential crisis or the daily life of a agoraphobic nobody
shouts from the depths of caged fears that scrape the oblivious flesh in their brain; a bit gaudy
mother, sister, brother, father how your words crush the knots of comfort that line my internal organs
bleeding from the pores of my screams; streams of moon-beams shooting out my eyes; oh, not again!
stomping our metaphorically spiked toenails against the idealism of pop culture
oh, my, how adolescence is the worst kind of torture
cherry slushies lined with cigarettes to create a whirl-pool of nostalgia
recreational drugs and ironic situations to ease our instinctual sense of proverbial nausea
loud-mouthed demons spawned out of clothes-hangers and emotional turmoil
show up in our nightmares that we nick-name ‘a good place to contemplate suicide’
repeated imagery stacked like flap-jacks in the mouths of blissed-out sociopaths
too self-indulgent to include us in to their personal stories so we can observe, record, and assess
i don’t perceive doctors to be particularly and predominantly just and true
but i one time met a doctor who told me ‘being a teenager is perhaps the hardest thing you could ever do’*
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
Where are you Paul?
I'm in Cyberspace Mum.
My Pentium processor has broadbanded me
Into this wondrous realm.
A pixel powered virtual landscape
Peopled by avatars
Speaking Internet Slang.
FFS, *** are you talking about?
She asks.
In so many words.
I **** and ROFL at her incredulity.
It’s full of danger, that Internet, says Mum.
That’s true.
It’s full of paedophiles,
Spammers and trolls.
Hackers.
Chat-rooms and forums
Plagued by flame-wars
And spam enough to fill a trillion tins.
Sites full of viruses, Trojans, malware and spyware.
Cyber-bullies and loons abound.
But I just Love it.
A ****** addiction
Needing every fix.
A realm indeed of quantum singularities,
And imploding nebulae.
Paul Butters
(C) PB 3\9\2011 in Yorkshire.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 11:09 AM UTC