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"sqeezing" poems
Cloaked in pedals Tame the energy Sweeping and striking Bending in time In repetition of truth Truth is revealed Veins of metal Break the brain seal Cloaked in effects Wield electric whips Sqeezing my mind 'Til my fingers drip
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Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 5:00 PM UTC
Cloaked
Hate is every color Sqeezing from our skin Not just one But all Equal but Drowning each other
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Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 4:20 PM UTC
Hate Is Every Color
Since i left It feels like an empty hole in my chest A dull ache echoing in my bones Fists sqeezing my fragile heart Im lost, lonely Wandering through a maze of pain Lost in a sea of bewilderment Constantly striving for a breath of air Help
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Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Untitled
I don't remember coming in my cotton armor melts in the corner I sit, my arms devouring my bent legs. my knees embracing my cheeks I stare, drop after drop running over the tiles I think of bullets, invincibly unstoppable. I feel, splash after splash stab my back I think of bombs, hopelessly inescapable. But it doesn't matter what I think. My lashes meet the floor of my eyes, weighted down by the battle in my skull. Wish I could say I see dark but I only see a void; colourless, lifeless clouds over a barren soil- a few glimpses of my energetic blood vessels. My shaking fingers curl under my palms, skin imblankets my jagged nails I imagine my back splitting asunder, the blushing water vanishing down the drain I imagine the cage of my ribs tearing up with the strain of my sqeezing lungs- heart leaping out, swriling and whirling with the streams spiriling down a tight eternal abyss- I don't remember giving in. my light dreams wash away with the dandelions I sit, my naked shivering, trembling body under a thousand layers of clothes I stare, day after day running away I think of incinerating masses of uncountable bodies I feel, thought after thought piling up I think of graves feeding in on bygone beings. But it doesn't matter what I think. My skin gets clumsy and tired, The bullets get cold and slow, giving in Wish I could say I get up, dress up & walk out this prizon shell that I now call my home- holding me in, it reads my brain, suffocates my lungs like a vulture it guards the small of my self. I sit, I stare at my closed lids, I hear the water the breathing of something alive and still. I bolt all my muscles shut, tie up my nerves -Not a hair dares stir, not a vein speaks not a tear makes out alive, not a whimper lives. I don't remember going out, a part of me turns off the shower, soaks up the towel, puts on a skin and walks out the door, breathing. I part of me never does.
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Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 4:37 AM UTC
Prison home
I don't remember coming in my cotton armor melts in the corner I sit, my arms devouring my bent legs. my knees embracing my cheeks I stare, drop after drop running over the tiles I think of bullets, invincibly unstoppable. I feel, splash after splash stab my back I think of bombs, hopelessly inescapable. But it doesn't matter what I think. My lashes meet the floor of my eyes, weighted down by the battle in my skull. Wish I could say I see dark but I only see a void; colourless, lifeless clouds over a barren soil- a few glimpses of my energetic blood vessels. My shaking fingers curl under my palms, skin imblankets my jagged nails I imagine my back splitting asunder, the blushing water vanishing down the drain I imagine the cage of my ribs tearing up with the strain of my sqeezing lungs- heart leaping out, swriling and whirling with the streams spiriling down a tight eternal abyss- I don't remember giving in. my light dreams wash away with the dandelions I sit, my naked shivering, trembling body under a thousand layers of clothes I stare, day after day running away I think of incinerating masses of uncountable bodies I feel, thought after thought piling up I think of graves feeding in on bygone beings. But it doesn't matter what I think. My skin gets clumsy and tired, The bullets get cold and slow, giving in Wish I could say I get up, dress up & walk out this prizon shell that I now call my home- holding me in, it reads my brain, suffocates my lungs like a vulture it guards the small of my self. I sit, I stare at my closed lids, I hear the water the breathing of something alive and still. I bolt all my muscles shut, tie up my nerves -Not a hair dares stir, not a vein speaks not a tear makes out alive, not a whimper lives. I don't remember going out, a part of me turns off the shower, soaks up the towel, puts on a skin and walks out the door, breathing. I part of me never does.
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