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Justin Griego Aug 2011
When these words are spoken
this much is true
Their letters speak of actions
that always get through
It's sounds invoke feelings
that cheer the deepest blues
It's whispers produce sensations
turning beauty a yearning hue
Their meaning is always absolute
ringing an infinite tune
And our hearts will yell these words
I LOVE YOU!
55 word poem
(AIP)
Sarah Apr 27
I scream
But a world of deaf can not hear
A wail so loud piercing the night
Excruciating pain tearing at my heart
But a world of deaf can not hear
I bleed
But a world of blinds can not see
Crimson red, staining the bedsheets
Blood spattered across the streets
But a world of blinds can not see
I suffer
I’m battered and withered
But they choose not to see
They choose not to hear
My bleeding agony and silent screams
My bruised body and burning tears
I’m hurting
But a heartless world can not feel.
It’s for all those who are suffering, and the world choose to ignore them.
Osiria Melody Mar 31
Underneath

the

final edition

of a

poem

lies a

catacomb of

drafts that

repose, the

past lives of

creativity.



Melody
3/31/19
How many drafts do you write for your poems?
I write enough to get lost into my imagination,
a place of no return.
AnxiousOcean Mar 2017
I am not a mask
Masquerading is not my task
I am not a decor
To hide a sinister horror
I am not a make up
Worn to cover up
I am not a thing
Used to conceal something
Carter Ginter Aug 2016
How are you still here?
Are you locked in a maze of my memories?
Trying franticly to escape and
screaming your way into consciousness

New pills but the same tunes
It’s been so long and yet some days

It feels like I’m still trapped

In the personal hell you constructed for me

You owned not only the key
Nor the concrete windowless walls
Nor the velvet-thick darkness surrounding me
as I begged for you to let your light in again
but you owned me too

You didn’t even need chains to keep me there
My heavy heart held me down more than any metal could
I can’t even say I escaped
Because you

let me go

Twice

Both times reopening the deadbolts to call me back
And obediently I came crawling in

And then you shoved me out again
This time without warning

The light burned my eyes and my skin
My hands bled as I scratched at the door
Tears choking all the words back to my stomach
And when I couldn’t feel anything anymore
I grabbed a knife

and carved a map into my skin
Desperately waiting for you to call me back again
But you didn’t

And I’d like to say that I’m ok now
That you no longer torture me
But I’m not.
And you still do.

Of course she helps
I swear someone sent an Angel
And I’m not worthy of her
But she still loves me
And I’m terrified that one day
my demons will tear through her wings
just like you tore through my heart
And though she helps mend it again

It will never be whole again

Because you stole a piece for your own sick collection.
Dani Sep 2018
1
Screams in the night,
Sleeping all day.
Yelps of pain,
And cries of anger.

****** torture,
Mind disruption,
Soul disappearance

Tears in the light
Screams in the night.

2
Terror through and through,
Scared thoughts of pain.
Living in sadness,
Then despair,

Life drained.
Dark appears.
Nothing left.

All taken and blue,
Terror through and through.
I wrote these separately, but feel now that they belong together. I spent a lot of my teen years caring for my mentally and physically ill mother. I remember being afraid to sleep because I'd get woken by her screaming in pain or mentally ill fears.
YH Sep 2017
All things, eventually, fall into the hands of vanity.
The pain, the misery,
the sufferings, and the tears;
memories filled with screams of agony.

Oh, child, don’t waste your energy no more.
Cease your frenetic thoughts.

Proceed with what you are now,
for no one really knows
what comes after oblivion.

— Y.H.

Look ahead,
gentle fervor.
You never know.
So,
use up the moments you have
with all of the gratitude
and awareness.

(c) Y.H.
Cassia Jan 15
Words fail me in ways I never thought real
Each word is my downfall, a blow to ****
Another piece of my heart, or piece of theirs sealed
By each sentence I rhyme I further their will

My words were once rain, falling down from the sky
Forgotten and soulless, in the dark they were mine
Like star from the heavens that fell as it cried
We wish upon dead things and never ask why

When I die, give me life like the many before
Let me burn to the wind, while none others mourn
Let the words on my heart give heed to the storm
Let my blood draw the sunset and keep others warm

I live with these words splashed like paint on my heart
My screams etched through veins, my silence my art
My eyes overshadowed in memories marked
As a body which stood while its mind fell apart

There are fires in the sky that will end me soon
But I never wished they would **** you too
Thus, blow out your fire, let its smoke reach the moon
Follow only the clouds that part for you.
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera slowly backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. *****.
CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and empty barns
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak of the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
(the holder of those pigs)
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
This voice in my mind,
Screams at me that it’s time,
To lose control,
And say goodbye to it all!
He won’t leave me alone,
He’s even taken my home!
Chiara Oct 4
There are screams in the darkness,
Exhaustion and pain,
The air’s suffocating,
No space to turn.

Negative feelings,
Your deepest fears
They’re surfacing now,
And you cannot flee.

You open your eyes,
Thinking waking would help,
But you start to realize,
That it isn’t a dream.
Eryri Sep 2018
Plastic fantastic
Sits in my wallet
Waiting for flirtatious contactless action.

My personal details emanating constantly
From my ruminating flexible friend,
From my ruminating flexible foe.

Never ending debt
Leaves me a slave to a monetary master
Piling on the debt faster and faster.

Battered worn leather houses the card
That screams a constant binary plea,
Begging to be heard by an electric mate.

I need to silence this traitor
- This debt facilitator -
But I'm hooked on its fleeting ability to buy me that which I do not need.

My card constantly screams my personal data,
Broadcasting 1s and 0s endlessly,
Betraying and exploiting me through ruthless efficient binary.
CK Baker Oct 2017
they’re pouring out of the
woodwork
those pretentious machiavellians
in ailing albino frames
eccentric masked figures
milling about the glow light
like night moths
in a cold london fog

lunatic gazers
with seeping moles
pinned by frogmen and twine
spider climbers
in hell fire
splitting seams
on the fading
and hideous ink

guards of the perch
stand on hades hand
while monsters and demons
with severed limbs
taunt the condemned
and wanting
souls of the ******

cauldron fire
in blood red sky
silent screams
hack and wheeze
gas lines broken
words unspoken
teetering backwards
in the dark shadows
of the phantom abyss
BrokenPieces Sep 23
sometimes the pain is so overwhelming
that you can't scream
like when fear conquered you
on an amusement park ride
You don't go numb either
You silently scream
in the inside
these screams are more feared
than the ones heard by man
pa3que Feb 13
wrapped up in caramel daydreams,
trying to resolve the screams,

down the windelstán, below,
is someone that he used to know,

one reached for a grip,
a one cold water sip,

but one could never hold,
as he was far too old,

nor old of age, nor old of gold,
but blood dripped down and it was cold,

thee chateau, a ****** mine,
crying crystals over wine,

given screams, now, louder tune,
mixing sugar with a spoon,

he can’t get them out his head,
wrapped, in bed he’s turning mad,

spiral staircase leads to cache,
he’s stabbed by guilt, gone in dash,

thee chateau still there remains,
screams still whisper, leaving stains.
zebra Aug 2018
The new # 69 hoochi coochi smoochi
rubberized *** robot ****** sucker model 2.0
now available

*******
feelin lonely
tired of spats
credit cards charged up from dates that don't put out
don't like the same restaurants
not ***** to your taste
cant stand the in-laws
you wana live costal, they like Kansas
or
tired of internet dating
and no time for a quickie

when the one you love tells you they aren't in the mood

well bunky
its a brave new world
take a spin in our new model
robot 69, 2.0
they talk
they walk
warm all ova inside and out
scented oiled perfumed *** optional
and flavored
to include
chocolate crunch, vanilla, strawberry
and
phooey
replete with an array of assorted interchangeable
*****, *****'s and butts
extra sturdy for ware and tear
and those little irresistible spankies and whoopins
you just cant live without
plus any colors, or rainbow rubber chasse
*** straight or mix it up how eva
trans trans gender

buy out right
or rent ala cart
deluxe or standard
voice activated

advanced multi lingual
baby talk and hits the high notes
talks back software program
and
NO always means YES
plus
screams
cu cu cu cu cu cummmmming
cooes I love you
**** me now *****
shred me you ****** ******
and many others
in over 50 languages

Other optional features include

age play
ethnic fetish
banjee
blow jobs
tipping the velvet
**** to mouth
salad tossing
*******
spit roast
bare back
chicken head
death grip
*******
mammary *******
*******
Netflix and chill
*******
*******
brown bath
cream pie
*******
motor boating

and the shocker  
two in the pink and one in the stink
adult ***
Raven Jun 2018
He writes poetry
But no one knows

He writes poetry
He writes about love
And loss

He writes about smiles
And frowns

He writes about sorrow
And forgotten towns

He writes about how lost he gets
Caught up in his own mind

He writes poetry to
And about others

But no one knows

Know one knows the depth of his soul
Because they all choose to see the exterior
And that exterior screams

Preppy
And preppy
Don't have souls

Or so they thought
Until the day he was consumed
By his own poetry
Caleb Hess Aug 2018
I put a dandelion head between my fingertips and snap my fingers. I plead to be in your presence. I yell for you, I scream for you but it seems that this paper screams louder than me. To my heart you are the tyrant leader, it aches for you and you do nothing to cause it. I can’t imagine how bad it would hurt if you tried. When I’m around you I hide my feeling for you in a hollow leg and swallow the key. My lungs now ache from screaming your name. I beg for your acceptance. Let me prove myself.
END
A poem about being in love but the other doesn't know.
Bryce Jul 2018
I got an award
For being the stupidest young boy
With a wax soul
And impressionable.

I thought I'd find something
Nestled here amidst the trees
And I did,
But in no halls but the hall of god
Speaking to me
Dancing between the leaves
Singing with every whispered breeze
And yet when I stepped
Past the threshold and into the
"real world"
I was sold
A maniac of utter delinquency.

Everybody there
Waiting for their turn
Auditioning for the favor of hearts
They'll never win
Can't see
Laughing and wondering
Reading without comprehension
Sticking their *** in the face of the classics
Lap dogs licking the milk from
Professed *******
Thinking they'll be next

Its not resentment--
Is it fair to be bent
Towards dollars that've never been spent?

All those silly parks
Divided from the civilized lands
Frontiers of the past
Left to be little staging areas
For that invisible hand

Kids go on spring break
Take pictures between the towns
Maybe a stop along
On the way
To Vegas
Deep in the desert where it'd **** any other day

I cannot escape the unfathomable beauty of that place,
Living off the world in a way God said
To toil and love the pain
In a way nobody does

I am guilty of pride and
Stuffed like a pie full of anger
Cooking it into solid joy
And trying hard to scrape the cancerous crust away
All the dark sides we avoid

But screaming the heat away is good
Thermal induction is the name of the game
Entropic fizzlements like bubbles in the wind
Sublimating all that ever stood.

Yet soon enough I'll be born anew
And what I leave behind
Lifted up
Nautoloid shell
With a sparkling abalone interior
Someone will place on their shelf
And think,

"I wonder where that thing had been."
Nobody Oct 2017
That's right baby, come on over here.
Close enough so I can smell you,
long for me, touch my hair.
Put your hands on me,
I got you right where I want you.
Always grossly staring at me,
with those googly eyes.
I ******* despise
your sick pervy eyes.
Oh don’t act so surprised,
What you don’t recognize me
with my disguise?
It’s too late for you anyways.
You didn't even notice
I slashed open your vein.
Now It’s your turn to be tortured for days.
I’m gonna ******* open
with your own blade.
Flay you alive, now I get to play.
Slowly rip out your intestines to burn,
make you shriek as I pick open your brain.
  Nail you through your **** to the wall,
as you whimper ‘please **** me’.
Staple your lips closed
to quiet your screams.
Cut at your heart, pick out your eyes.
Laugh as you suffer,
while you try and weep.
Now you're wishing to god,
you never laid your ******* eyes on me.
Izza Mar 5
At least,
She knows how the end will be

At least,
She has more time to heal, more time to build walls  on her heart when the end comes

At least,
Someday, shee will stop being the victim and start to be the main role of her own story

At least,
There will be no screams and the sound of slamming door

At least,
It just gonna be another sad memories

At least,
It just gonna be another trauma that she has to live with
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2018
Art, unborn,
aches to find form;
to manifest itself.
Within me it screams,
while those around
remain deaf to its cry.

It claws to free itself
from mortal chains,
restless to share its vision
with the world;
to tell its story
in verse and beauty.

This art within,
impatient, cannot wait.
It struggles to find
its voice
within my finite days
and world.

Until at last,
like a volcano,
unable to restrain that voice,
it erupts,
and my art flows out,
spilling onto paper.

The words and images
become solid,
taking form,
giving birth to the art within.
Thus, completing me,
quieting the cry inside.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
ThePoet Feb 2017
I have oceans of
emotions,
but my mind
is numb
These shallow
lines of
confines,
my words have
become

I've been strong
for so long,
but it's made
me weak
And these
screams in
my dreams,
are the
whispers
I speak
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