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kivel Oct 2018
Oh joy and happiness!
How you fill my world with wonders.
Oh, how I fly with freedom under me.
Oh, how this world seems to support every move i make.

Oh joy and happiness!
How my c̶̤̊̀̈́̈̈́͑̌̓̀̿̔̓͠up fills with yoṵ̴̧̻͔̪̳̮̼̹̲̆̾͂͆̇̇̾̾̈̌͘r juice,
but just under all the liquid-
o̷͈͚̲̯͖̱̜͇̫͎̻̤̍̊̊͗̇̎̏̄̎͜͝h joy and happiness
how your colorful thickness ḣ̶̦̳͓̮͔̕i̶̢̨̬̰͉͙̗̫̩̼̩̗̬̍̽̆̃̏d̴̞̍͐̀̇͜͝͝es
multiple r̸͉͆͘ò̸̥̤̞̣͜t̴̜̞̹̖͚̰̥̑́̎̎ͅt̷̟͙̹͋́̔͋̒͆̒̐̃́̕e̴̲͇̱̲̲̳͖͉̓͌̃̈̑͂̄̑͒̾͜͝n­̶͇͂̈́̄͒ *****
P̴̢̨̰̥͈͕̱̪̰͊̈́̉͗͐͊̆̂͐̄̈́̈͘͝ǫ̸̢͉̘̰̯͉̘̮͈̝̙̅͒̓̀͑̃ḯ̴̧͓̥̱̰͔̖͚̜͈͎­̦̇͋̑̈̊̑͂̇͗͗̕͘͜͠ͅs̷̛͔͉̤͕͖͙͇̟̭͈͛̓̓̊͑̎̆͐̌ͅọ̵̡̨̻͕͚̖͎̦̼̝͎̲̤̘͛͝ņ̸͍̺̤͓̙̙­̘̫͈̄ͅe̵̢̧͍̖̜̮̘̖̮̖͖̼̼̦̔̅͗̓͊d̴̨̨̡̛̛̜͇̦̱͇͔̘̫̭͉̳̯̿̔̒̾̇̇̓̀̀̒̋ ̴̢͇̺̘͍͚͉̦̣͖̻̦͔̲͊̈́̆́̓̈́ḇ̶̭̟̣̠͕͍̝̆̊̌̓͛́̆̈́̊̈́̋̅̕͜͝ͅǫ̶̧̬̼͉̗̘̞̗̺͚̦͇͙­͌͛́̐͊̃̀̊̂͊̓́͝͝͠ͅb̸͍͕͚̥̺̰̦͒͜ͅă̸̬͚̗̩̯̩̻̫͙̬̦͚̼̲͆͗̀̈̀͌̉̎̽̄̎͘͝
poisone­d boba
poisoned bob
poisoned bo
poisoned b
poisoned
poisone
poison
poiso
pois
poi
po
p
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b̷̡̢̺̥͚̲͍͚̏̄́­̈́́͆̈́̽̊͛̚ͅo̸̞̠̞̊͛̒̔͒̚ḅ̶̣̘̹̊̌͛͝a̴̡̛̼̥͔̼̠̓͌̓̎̎̕͠ ̵̛̩̮̺̫̜̟͓̫̗͈̰͇͒͌̌̑̋͠͠ͅţ̷͎̟͕̰̲͍̥̤̲̖̮̊͋͗͗̋̾̓̔̆͑̉̓ę̷̦̦̹͍̐͂̅̉̉́̈̃͛̓͌̿­a̴͇̹̭̯̮͙̱͋̿̏͜ ̷̨̢͙͚̜͖̻̬̲̹̤̳̻̔͊͂̈̀̐͌͒̒́͝k̶̻̳̀͌̓̓̈́͒͆̅̏͝͝͝i̷̯̜͒l̴̪̯̳͊͌̌̉̄͗́̈́̌̌̅̃­̓l̵̢̼̱̠͖̞̪̺̣̞̥̜͑̍̽̌͝͝ͅs̶͈̼̫̤̝̤̥͍͇̻̣͖̮̫̲͒̾͆̓́̀̈́̇̅̚͝͝ ̸̥̖̘̱̺͙̫͔̪̑̄̀͋͜ͅw̸͇̩̑̈́͐͒̈̐̈̈́̆̏̕ị̸̢̛̗̫̣͙̅̈̾̃̒̉̕t̵̡̪̪̪̱̦̭̩̬̮͑̉̈́̌­͒̔͛͊̒́͘ḩ̵̡̛͈͖̫̈́̈̐͗̓̊̐̔̿ ̸̢̨̗̫̪͙̖̩̠͎̝̘̂͋̌p̶̡̛̫̰̖̺̞̱̥̬̰͗̊̿̍̽̇̓o̴̡͖̫̘͕̲̳͔̗̫̔͌̑̾̿̀̏͗̈̑͐̕ȉ̷̖͉̮­̱̮̭͂̾̐̌̂̀̀͜s̵̛͍͔̍̃̾o̷̧̻̤̬̣̣̗͖̬̒̀͌̏͆͒́͗̋͘͜͝͝n̴͙̖͉̻͖̮͉̝͔̐̇͋͌̆͒͒̍̀͗͒­͐̚s̵̢̨̛̠̹̖̣̱̻̭̄̀̍͒̉͗̒̋͑̚̚ͅ ̴͈͎̰̖̗͌̔̄̃́͐̎s̴̨̳̲̣͉̳̥̱̙̀̂̌̋̅͑͂̏̄͑͘ͅt̸͉͊̀͌́͑͐̿͆͝r̵͉͒̃̓̚̕͘͠e̸̛̠̗̗̞­͇͎̫̙̻̮̩̦̞̯̓̄͋́̋̓̎͝å̴̟͚͎͙͊̀̆̊͝k̴̦̘̥̪̟̭̤͍̙̋͗̆ͅs̴̜͉̯͂͒ ̴̫͋̽̋́̓̈́̅̔͛̅̓̎ơ̷̲̐̅̓̀͆͐͂͋̊̓̓̽f̷̨̫͉̹̞̈͌̉̉̈́͛̎̍͛̒͝ ̷̢̦͚̯͍͇͙̩͎̻̖̳͖͑͛̽̆͂̀̉̇̉̅̑̍̚͝b̵̡͚̺̥̭̙̬͎̜̳̱̤̭̩̏̿̐̿͛̏͂̚͘͘l̴̠̹͓̻̪̼͎̪̱­̼̓͒̈͛͐̀͆̀̃ͅͅo̸̡̡̥̣̥̖̻͇̘͕͒́͌̒̊̚ó̴̩͚͈̮̺̌̒̈͌̉̀̄͆́̓̀͠d̴̛̩̖͕͗̍̉̓ ̴̨̲͖͖̩͉͔̠̖̲̥͍̀̈́̓͌̃́͛̿̏͝t̴̨̪͉͖̣͖͓͖̦̞̳̊͆̇̀̏h̷̛̖͇̞̰͚̜͙̘͈̄̀̀̓͐͊̍̏͗̓a­̵̼̝̣͊̓̑͘t̷͕̟̑̅̌̔͋̈̆͒͊́͆͋͘͝ ̷̨̨̛̬͖̩͓͚͔̬̥̯̰̯̤̭͒̔̏̇̇̓͊̐b̷̨̨͖̳͚̼̑̋̂͜͠ȓ̵͖̺̮̘͕̜̈́̾̈̽͑̿̂̅̈́͌͒̅͛͠ǐ̷͇­͇͕̬̟͉͔̺̫͔̅͊̌̈́͗̉̾̀͆̇̄͊͘ͅͅn̷̝̾̑͗̆͜g̸̛͈̖̖̺͖͈̙̘̋̀̓͒̈́͗̄͂͘͝͠ ̷̨̧̡͖͖̺̬͇̙͓̠̋̏́̅̾̆̓̈́̇̕͘͠o̵͈̙̼͑ņ̷̘̈́͝͝l̵̮̐͑̈̾͝y̷͎͇̞̥̓̓̆̎̏͂̆͛̒̒̎ ̶̼̖͕̘̱̭̣̙̄d̷̢̢͙͇̋͐̍e̴̮̘̼͔͋́͛̂̔͆̓̄̐̾͆̆̈́͝a̷̛͓͕̼̬̤̺̖̓̈͌̎͐̍́͑̑̍t̷̡͔̳­̯͙̯͇̭̖̯̭͆̐̀̑͛̑̀͐̓̚͝h̵̛̰̭͕̖̭̼͕̝̭̔̐̕ͅ ̸͕͚̫͗t̷̛̯̝̲̙̥̠̘̮̄̈͑̀͆̉̔̄͂̈́͘͜ǒ̷̡̡̺̤̼̖͙̻̮̖́̔̅͂͊͋ ̷̛̮̣͓͍̦̱̤̗̬̹͍̯̘͉̓̅͗̂̊͛̌̄͑̐̄͒̈͐t̴̛̼͇̟̟͓̲̯̬̲͚͇̹̤̾̏̍̈͆̓̈́̐̎͜͜͝ḩ̴̡̻͚͎­̤̘̟̣̝̰̣̜̽̂̾̏̽̃͐̎͋̀̀̕͝o̶̢̰̺̠̟̱̬͚̺̍̅͌͌̿͒͆̆͘ś̸̡̥̲̬͖̥̬̤̕ē̶̺̙͈̘͇͇̳̱̻͓̹­͜ ̸̛̮̣̦̜̙͔͉͇͈͕̦̝̻̒̉̒̃̈́̓́̀w̷̡̬͍͇̜̭͉͇̱̮̬͔̽͒̇͌̇̀̄͗̇̎͘͠͝h̴͚̮͚̱̜̪͉̿̅̍̈́­͆̀̽̌̚͝͝o̵̧̲͙̍̇ ̴͈̻̪͓̪̫̝͠ͅc̵̫̾o̶̞͎͈̼͇̠͕̩̤̰͕̠̫͐͂̅̇̈̇̓̈́̌̀̍̍n̷̗͇̟͙̖̅͝s̵̨̨̧͉͇̈́̔͂̆͜u­̷̹͚̩̫͛̈́͌̌͗͠m̷̢̢̺͙̫̖̱͕͖͕̟̤͉̒́̀͂̈̕ȩ̷̭͉̤̋̆̍͠,̸̰͊̆́̆̊̏̍̍̒̆̄̓̕͠ ̸̢̡̜̪͔̭͓͖͓̏͑͂̀͂̌́̒̍a̸̛̼̮̫͉̻͓̦͓̘͛̈́̓̏̊͐͊̌̈̒̊͝͝l̸͉͇̼͉̫̜̘̞̦̟͈̰̱̙̾̊̔̐­̑̑̈́̅̇͐͘͜͝l̴̛̲̙͙̱͚̠̫̞̯͇̼̥̱̭̔̈́̌́͂̽ ̶̬̘̰͇̲͈̪͍̙͑̈́̒̃͗̂̊͑̈́̒̚͠t̴̡̛̤̺͕͓͚h̶̢̛̜͖͖͙̺̤̤̹̝̦͓͇͈̎̑̅̊͑̄̾͒͝ȩ̵̛̤͈̣­̮̥͙̖̜̹̙̤̈́͗̊͑̆̌̀̌̾͛̑ ̵͔̻̫̲̩̯̺̉͗́̆̈̿̾̏ļ̷̢̜̦͙̙̀̎̂͋͐̚̕͝i̴̛̱̽͐̒͊̆̆̍̈́̑̐q̵̧͖͍̥̟͍͓̠̜̻̗̞͆́́̈́­͝͝ͅū̴̩̦̼̦͉͍̺͎͐̈́̇͘͜i̶̛̻̱̭̼̥͑̓̂̍̿̋̕d̵͔͔̤͍̳͓̖̟̦͔̝̻͝ͅ ̵̛̻͈̖̺̠̋́̈́͑̍̀̆͝i̷̫͎̲̬̦̘̠͙̰̘̙͒̃ͅͅș̵̛͎͍͍̼̲͚̅͑̽̉͌̑́́̒̀ ̷̨̱̟̩͈̣̦̹̗̘͙̫̬͈́́̓͊̆́͐͒͘͜͝f̸̧̢̢̯̦͈̺͍̪̩̬̏̒̈́ͅo̴̦͕̓̀̀̔r̴̛͚̬͓̮̭̈́̊̔͆­̓̾̄̚ ̵̢̼͍͎̪̦̘̐̓͆͑͒̿͌͂̃̑̒̋̆̅h̸̢̧̛͈̘̟͇̣̪̰̫̙̬̑̓̃̿̏͊̽́͊̾͒͘͝i̶̛̹̪̬̾̽̑̀̇̑́͘d­̶̡̟̙͚̮̳͉͚̲͕́̊́̚͝͝i̸̡͕͍̪͆̈́ͅn̷̛͙͛̉͌̈̈́̂͂͘͠ġ̶̩͇̜̺̮͔̗̼̰̱͓̘̪̐̉͐̔͗̎̿͘͝­ͅͅ ̶̧̡̩̭̮̭͚͌̋͂̑̄͝t̶̻̞͉͖̟̦̙͙̳̝͓̳͇͈̖͆͌̊̎̿̾̈̕h̷̡̧̲̗̳͔̞̠̯̤̝̞͖̲̄̃̐͊́̇̂̍̐̑­̏͊e̸̢̲̖͔̲͙̭̖̬͈̼͇̼͆̒ͅ ̷̗͋͂̐ẗ̸̲̝̗̻͕͔̹͙̻́͌͋͌͆̈́̏̾̑̌̾̚r̵̡̧̫̟̼̥͔̮̳̪͔̙̫͍̂̑̍́̃̒̓͝͠u̴̜͓͙̮̪̰̠͖̘­̤̗͊̈́͝ͅṱ̷͎̞͖̠͉̟̖̳̣͚̭̩̚h̷̨̩͎̠̣̞͇̜̰̳͈͚̩̤͋͒̈̈͊̽͋̉̊̕͘͜͠͝͝͠ ̵̬͚͇̉́͂̾͌̎͒̽̐͜t̶̨̤̝̥̘̲̖͉͇̦͕̽̅́̒̀̈́͘͝h̴̭͎̙͇̆a̸̧̺͎̰͈͉͓̝͍̰̖͕̜̩̤͆̀͊̉́­͊̍̀̐̇̿̃͘t̷̡̛͉͎͖͈̠̉̒̍̆͂̋͑̿̓̒͘͝ ̶͙̠͉̠̺̯͚̪͎͈̯̫̙̀̈͋͂͗͛̐̇̀͘ͅi̵̢̹͖͈̓̎̈̈̾̽̓͐̀̑̄͛̈́́͘ ̵̘͔͖̰͉͈̺̒h̷̖̤̪̳̖̥̫̤͍̟̗̼͌͒͜ͅͅa̸̧̧̞͕͙̰̮͓͙̗͓̹̺̝͐́́͜v̵̞͚̰̣͐̌͘̚ͅè̸̛̫̩̹­̖͒̈́̃͑ ̸̡̡̢̞̱͈͚͎̯̏͑̔̍̍͐̿͊̿͌͒͝͝ͅp̵̨̛̜̮̱̠̻̩̪̮͚̹̣̞̠̼͂̆͑̔̀͑̍̀̑̀́͂́͘ò̶͇̬̂i̸̗̋­̆͒́̃̔̆̒̿̉͝s̵̟̹̀̈́̑͒̃̐̀͋̌̾͑̚ͅo̶̡̗̰̼̙͇͌͐͗̊̂̀͑̋̒͌̃̔̀̋̚͜n̵̡͔͑̇̀̓̾͒̽̈́­̽̐͝ͅẻ̷̟͈̣͙͔̬̹̄̀̑̓̇̾͝d̷̟̼̹̞̣͚͌̊̇͆̈́̏́͋̓̔̽̎̈́̕͠ ̴̨͍̱̺͍͙̤͈̼̐͜ͅt̴̙̲͕̓̉̀̆̿́̎̄̚͝h̵̡̡͇͈̭͖̤͈̙̣̳̼͎͈̎̂̔̓͆͗̀̆̋̿͒̕͠ě̷͉̤̗̗͇̫­̮̹̝͔̱̰̝̙̒ ̶̨̠̬͓̠̪̖̦́̏̽͑d̵̮̱̾̃̽̍̽̌r̵̗̈ǐ̶̛͈̭̗̥́̂̓͗̔͐̑͛͘͝ͅņ̵̢̳̭̖̈́̌̈͗͂͛́̑͜k̵̘̘­̈́̽̇̅̓̏̾͛̓͒͝ ̶͔̗̈́̿̀͗̀w̶̙͍͚͓̤̭̝̞͍̮̝͍͙͛̔͒̆̓̈̈̓̍̀͘͘̚͝͝ͅa̴̢̛̛͗͑̈̾̿̽͗̆̔̿̚î̸̡̛̓̆̿͋͒­̏̾t̸̡͔̭̦̘̅͂͌̽́̓̿̍̉̇̅̃͘̕ȋ̸̙͂̐̋́̎̌͊͐͌͊͝n̵̛͖͖̍̍͂̑̃́͊͘͠g̶̝̹̻̠̝͉̘̩͉̮̙̗­͆͜ ̸̡̨̡̨̮̞̦̞̳̗̖͈͎͎̍͌̈́͋͆͂͒ͅf̸̡̛̟͎̞͎͙̮̰̓̅͆͗̊̾̂̓̈́͒̐̂͛͝o̸̧̥̘̜̪̪̯̅̌r̴̨͔­̝̠͇̖̘̪͍̲͔̙̈́͊̔ͅ ̷̢͔̬̺̭̌̐͒͑ͅt̸̨̢̺͉̟̖̪̮̺̂ͅḩ̴̧̢̗̲̻̺̭͍̭͊̈́́̍̊̿̃͌͋o̴̝̭̗̔̎͌̑̈́̀͆̐̕͝ş̵̧̪­͚̮̟̩̟̔͆̓̑̈́͐͐̕e̸̢̮̤͍̮̙͍̹̘̹̽͐̓́̂̓͆̃̈͗͊̂͝͝ͅ ̸̢̝̻̖͇͕͈̜͓̌̓̎̍̂̄̏̄͝͠f̷̢̧̞͉̬̩̯͔̦̥̱̥͇͊͐̍̄͂̾̒̈́̒̔̋̿̈̽͛o̷̺͑̈̄̂̆̊̉̄̓̄̋­̃͘͠o̷̧̧̹̩̲͚͙̼̜̜̿͠l̶̘͈͎̯̫̋̌̏̄̏̇̽̅̒̃̈́͜ͅi̵̡͎̺̹͇͗̽̂͊͜ş̵̮̩̩͙͚̣͈͇̤̞͔͓͐­͑̂̌̄͐̓͌͌̊̓̂̚͘͜ȟ̷̯̗͈̅̆̎͑̌̒͌͑̇̉͘̚ ̷̧͕̠̣̮̠͇̮̯͋̉̐͐̈́̈́͘ḙ̷̭̙̒̈́̂̐̚ṉ̷̩̣̾̀͂͗̊̓̑́͛̌̚̚͠ỏ̴̘͎̫͚͊̀̎̒͆̌̚̚͝u̸̧̞­͉̹̯͎̻̬͐͋̎̚͝͝ͅͅg̴̢̛͇̭̮̺̖͉̖͎̭͌̎̐̊͗͒͆̾̍͂̈ḩ̴̡͓̭̯̲̯̝̭͇͈͔̮̖̄͐̅̇̀̽͂͜͠͝ ̸̨̨͍͉̥͇̝̮̦͔̮̭͖̩̒̃̀̍̉̏̀̚͘̕͝t̵̬͇̰͆̀̈́͊̽͝͠o̸͓͈̬̭̫͑̅̔̌̈́̉̔̈́͛̈͝ ̸̡̮̱͈̤̮͈̬̰̟̹̺͋̉ͅṯ̸̨̨̨̭̩̠͙̳́̀̈́́̋̓̌̚͜͠ͅa̴̧̗̠̲̰͙̦̞͈̪̟͆͗̂̌̌̍̋̔̃̕͘͠k̷­̡̨̙̜͖̲͙͈̝̘̯̅͌͂͗̍̋͌͋̿̋͐̐̓̿̆ę̴͕͌̃̇ ̷̨̢̧͔̪̩̹̘̩̈́̔̋̏͐̐͛͐̇̈̈́̚̚a̵̰̿̈́̍͂̿̏̀̑̌̂̚̕ ̷̻͓̟̱̟͙͓͈̱͈̞̌̎̂͛ͅş̵̛̩̠̜͈̻̭̰̲̾̀͗͋̑͐̑̔̒̈͐͊͘ǐ̶̭͉̜̿͐p̷̲̰̳̀̃͗̋̓̓̍̀̿̕̕͝­,̴̢̡̻͚̩̥̣̋͆͋͂͂͗̆͘͜͝ ̵̢͈͙̰̜̣̼̾̊͒̓̈́̾̄͆͆͝l̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇­̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅl­̸̨̠̝̯̱̼͉̠̩͇͓̱̖͈̇̃͌́͜ĕ̶̲̦̦̖͗̈̽̄͛͊͐͘͝t̶̠̱̳͈̳̱̰͇̱͙͔̤͔̫͒̀̈́͊̈́̽̋̚ͅ ̶̭̃͂̈̓͊͘͜ẗ̴̯̮̼̟̫́̈́̅̉͜h̸̪̫͓̥̳̞̫̜̊̃͒̍͜ͅë̵̘̗̔̄̂̀̽̅̽̓̈́͘͝͠͝m̶̨̡̛͚͔̩̼­̱̆͌͐͛̿͒̑̊̿̾͋ͅ ̸̢̫͔͊͗̒̔̊͛̉͗̋͒͝͝d̵̹͍͓͎̟̥̽́̔̿̒̆͝i̷̥̣͕̘̱͑ẻ̶̢̛̻̼̣̹̙̤͚̩̝͛͌͆́̑́̆͗̈́͜ͅ
­
I poisoned the best part of the drink
the boba that's supposed to be the prize
for after all this happiness and joy
comes death in the bitterest of ways.

I keep this boba a secret
from those around me
but if my cup were to spill
shall the toxins spread through air
eliminating all.

With my own hands shall i ****

ķ̸̢͕̬̼͉̝̺̫̺̔̎̿̉̍͂͑͐͆̿̈́̅͌̕í̶̦̺̟̲̆̚̕l̷͖̟̘̭̜̪͚̆͗͆̌͠ļ̴̫̫̱̹̎̄̎̐­͑̃ ̵̢̧̢͙͔̘̠̘͔͚̭̌̓̍͑͑͋̇̌̋̕ǩ̴͕̹̯̰̀͗́͗̆͛̾̍̕i̵͍̣̪͌́͒̍͋̄̽̾͠l̵̩̮̫̳̞͇̜̰͕̥͇̥­͇̝̅̀̄̏͊̀̀̈́̆͝ͅl̵̟̥̫̗̰͎̜̳̯̜̪̊̅͋̈́̈́̈́͜ͅ ̷̛̜͓̥̹̖̮̝̳̹̹̩̰̋̆̆̍͂̆́̓ͅk̸̢̨̛̥̝̗̥̭͇̟̠̏̉̿͘i̸̢͍̙͇͝l̸͇̂̾̑̊̓̚͝l̷̢̛̛̯̞̫­̼͕̙̺͖̣̱͈̐͊̊̔͊̈́̈͒͛͐̈́ ̶̨̲̼̙̟̪̻͎͚͓͎̹̯͆͗k̴̨̨̡͈̦̗̞̺͚͇̮͍̄̎̀̋̑͆̅̍́̚͝͠killi̶̢̢͎̠̠̘̲̱͇̅̏̋̊͝ͅl̵­̖̬̜͒͛̅ͅl̵̡̡̝̙̹̳͓͙͇̯̗̔̍̀̆̐͌̈́̓̕͜͠͝ ̵̧͛̂͊k̷̛̞͗̈́̅̒̑͘͘i̵̛̲̗̦͔̠͌̿̄̀̇͐̐̏͋̓̏̎l̷͔͎̤̝̭͍̬̠̀̃͆̑̈́͋̃̍͛͘͝͝ḷ̴̡̥̼­̪͒̐̂̎͛̎̋͂̅̈͠ ̸̧̡̢͙͚̟͔̄͂͛̏k̶͈͛̆̑̐́͂̈́̈́̚͘i̷̢͖̜͂̍͆̀͛̈́̓̿̊͒́͘̕͝͝ͅḻ̸̨̖̼̫̝́͗̄̿ĺ̵̛̹̭­̪͕͍͈̭̞̇̃͒͑͝ ̵̗̖͇̅̔͊͋́̈́͝ḵ̴̀͋̒̾̂̑̈́̅̎̐͋̕̚**** them allǐ̸̢̛͗ͅl̶̛̺͚̪̣̇̄̂͛͐͛̅͌̿̉͊̚͝l̵͕͖̫͈͙͉̟̣̇̽͂̓̆̍̈́͜ ̸̛̛͉̜͙͍̂̿̓͑̈́̒̀̀̈͆̆͆͝ǩ̷̩͈̰͉͔̈́̐̀͛̈́̑̓̒i̴̛̮̤̤̼̤͔̼̟͛̏l̴̛̪̜̬̭͈̐͂͒̇̊̌­̅͌̚͠l̴͇͓̱̻͓͔͇͗̆̃̄̀̋̋̾̂̔̃͠ ̶̨̙̖̾́͛̏̃́͗͂̈́͛k̶̦̲͖͉͉̠̟̞̼͕͇͋͌͛̐͜í̵̯̙͇̥̰̱͇̃̓́͗͂̋̆ļ̷̛̹̟̦̫̠̝͈̱̆̇͗̑̃­̕͘l̵͚̯̜̱̥͑͑̍͒̎̀̏͗͛̕̕͜ ̷̨̧̠̠̮̜͙̖̙̭̣̻͎̚k̵̳͙̩͓̞̮͔̪̜͗̄̿ͅḭ̷̜̜̲͍̬̪̟͔̱̹̅̾͗ͅl̴̹͍̩̲̓͑̽͘͝l̸̰̫̞̹͉͉­͍͇̲̠͈͉̾̈ ̴͓̻͚̜̯͙̖͈̔̀̈̕͘k̷̤̫̩̼͎̙̻̣̳̹͌̀̓̉͌́͒̈́̒̏͋͊̒̌́͜í̴̢̙̫̮͓̞̣̽̎̆̊̓̽̾̃̀͊͋l̵­̠̮͖̬͐͛̏̾̔̒͛̃̄̉̇͘͘̚͜l̶̛͓̖͚̟̉̇̂̀̐̐̈́̚͘ ̵̰̜͈̱̦͍͆͊̈́̐͑̎̽̈́̃̎̎̄̿͒͠ḱ̵̨̛̰͚̦̦̟̗̮̻͓̲̩̫̽̓̾̀̈́́̽͛͒̓͛͘͝į̵̰̭̣̮̮̟̘̻̦­̲̺̯̻̾̐͆̀͊̿͘͜l̷̨̨̖̣̜̟̯̳̽ļ̵̢̡̡̳̣̮̙͙͖̩̙̲̖̥̌͑̏̕ ̴̢̡̼̩̜͕̠̠̯͍͇͖̥̳͇̓͊̅̓͋̉̇k̷̛̫͇̰̜̈́͛̃̊̀͗͑į̴̧̢̪͚̩̙͎͓̗̓͆͠l̵̨͚̜̩̜̎̄͂̃̊̄­̉͘̚͝͠l̸̦̽͌̈͌̽̊̈́̑͂̈́̋̒̉̚͝ ̷̙̊̑̚͝k̷̢̧̭̤͍̜̘̣̙̙̬̤̰̉̈́́̀̿̌̊̊̿̂͒̽͘̕i̷͙̰͕̹̦̼̟͕̙̘̯̮̹͂͒ͅl̶̨̨̪̪͈̟̻̣̪­̗̿̌͋̂̀͗̽͝ļ̴̨̘̗̖̱͕̀͒̔̀͆͠ ̴̡̹̻̝͕̪̬͉̬͐͌̋͊͌̇͊̈̈͋̈̈́ķ̴̡̛̦̣̮̗̠͔̪̦̠͉̺̄̿̔̓̊̂̏͆͒̀̚i̷̧̧̙͈̬̰̟̘̯̫̩͉͈͉­̯̿̎l̴̤̳̳͔̻̤̱̀̄̒̍̒͌̃̒͒͜͝l̷̢̹̜͈̹̦̬̝̭͔̙̙̖̯̾̎̐̋̔̄͋͌͠ͅ ̸̗̫͆͆̎̅̀̚k̶̨̰̝͓̺̹͙̙̮̰̘̈̄͊̀̇̊̔̓̎̂̚͝͝͝i̴͇̮̘̒̒͛̑̐̓̍̉̚͝͝them all **** them alll̸̙̺̪͔͒̿̌ļ̶̰̥͍͎̬̞̱͎̳̥̖͔͂̐ͅ ̸̡̢̯̖̞͓̮͕̝͛̉̀̑̑̏̚͝k̴̻̰̗͍͚͙̭̙͙̭͕̇̆͆̔̐͒͒i̶̧̱͖͙̼̤̞̳͈̟͖̞̖̪͗̓̋̅̿̽͌́̍ḻ̷­̡̟̹̦̪̤̘̭͂͝ļ̷̨̙̟̠̩̟̤͛͝ ̸̜͖͖͍̫̤̟̝͈̬̣͛͂̑̐͂͋̾͊͐̋̚͠͠k̴̤̮͇͔̀͂͊̐͗́̓̕͝i̷̡̛̯̰͉̥̘̘̝͉̬͈̥͒̀̌͆͛̿͆͘̚ĺ­̴̠̲̤̯̱̼̝̒͋͛̆̍͗͊̓̋͘̕̕͝l̴̝̲̯͆̈́ ̶̺̾̈́k̴̛̫͈̗̞̺̰͓̙͇̩̤͖̃̓͑̓̆̎̕͠͠i̵̳̮̋͆̚l̷̪̄́͂̋͗̃̑̉̓̀͊͘͝͝l̴͖͚͐̒̽̓̈̕͘͝­ ̷̡͉̦͓͇̪͕͙͒͜͝k̵̢͍̯̗͕̼̗̝̤͕̪̭͙̼̤̈́͑́̈́͝į̴̗̲̰̺͎̠͔̝̹͗͒̇̐͐́́̔̓̃̏l̶̞̜̖͖̙­̪̩͐̽͌̿l̶̼̤̆̀͌̂̽̇̌̃̌̔̽͑̕̚͜͝ ̸̢̧̨̱͔̫̩̙̠͚̙͋̑k̷̡̼̠̪͍̤̱͉̥̩̊̾͘i̵̧͉̙͖̪̤͍͚̲̩̘̘̮͑̑́͗ͅl̴̲̭̮̘̝͇̓͛́̉̑̆̀́­͌̐̌̔͝͠l̵͉͕͇̘̺̫̍̐ ̸̧̼̥͙̯͚͓̠̼͔̞̅k̶̨͚͎̺͉̤̱͎͇̗̠͚͇̔͑͋̈́͂̈́̀̓̿͛̄͘͜i̷̭̝͍͈̠̖̰̘͕̎l̴̞̳̍̑̃͑̔͌­̏͝ļ̷̮̳͙̩̲̭̓̇̄̈́̆́̓͊͝͠ ̷̺̪͌̔̃͗͜k̸̡̧͚̤̔̿͊i̴̧̧̧͇̮̺̜̹̩̱̮̰̍͂͌̈̾͂̉͌͝ͅl̷͕͈̼̭͓̰̑̀̋̓͛͂̓̎̅͠ͅl̴̹̠̭­͕̮̩̠̰͇̠͐̊̐̂̈́̍̆́̚̚̚ͅ ̷̡̛͖͇̗̂̋͂͛̈́k̴̨̢̥̙̭̼̿͒̒̀̒̇͌͛̓̂͜͝͝ͅͅͅi̸̢̨̲̬̲̬̭̗͖̺̒̒̃̊̅̈͆̍̒̓̆̒̋͜l̵̠­̫̟̮̙̤̤̯̈́̎͂̎͌́͂̊̎̈́̊̚ͅl̶̡͕̹̩̍̿̈́̏͜ ̵͖̇́̈́͋̆̄̏̊͐͒̚͝k̷̻̙̙̱̤̮͓̝̯͇̺̐̾ĩ̸̢̧̛͕͈̖̥̬̬̖͎̯̓͊̈́͐͌̾̓̽͒̍̐͜͝l̶̺͐̌̓̍­̑ḻ̸̭̭͈̖͓̋̏̉̓̓ ̶̢̡̬̥̙̞͍̲̯̲̣͖͚̃̑͝**** them all k̷̗͔̪̰̥͍͎̣̫̫̘̀͂̂͛̀͝i̸̳̼͇͕̙̞̝̟̒͛̊l̵̨̖͍̘̣͍͉͈̙̫̩͕̠̄l̴̢͕͓̘̻͈̹̝̹̩̂̎͋̓͒­̓̕ ̶̢̫̥̹̮͖̳͕̼̹̻̜̔̅̕k̴̡̧̝̬̪͉̩̙͖̜͈̭̮̃̆͑̃͆̄͜ͅi̵̧͔̘̝̫̤͈͐̔͑̐̍̇̏̐͛̈́̂̿̑̇̄l­̴̢̛̠̰̟̺͖̒̔̎͗̍͌̀̓̿̑̽̑̍͂͜l̸͚̺̯͎̞͓̙̏͂͊̉̈̇̄̅̏̀̾͛̎̿ ̷̛̛̲̺̻͙̻͖̃͒͊́̿̀̽̀̐̚̕͠͠k̶̢̫͍̭̙̩͚͇̲͓̗͓͔̏̑̔̾̇̌͒̀͒̏̚̚͜͜͠i̴͎̭͉̝̮͇͙̓̉̌͗­͜Kkkkill them alll̸̜̭̭͕͊̔̊̃ļ̷̧͍̰̣͎̼͓̲̬̭̠͉̽͆̂̾̑̾̌̌͂̀̐̕͝͠ ̸̻̬̓̔͂͌̆͛́̏̐̐̾͝k̸̨̰̪̼̮̠̤̝̥̯̄͋͂̀̌́̚i̷̧̨̧̖̠̣̬̽͛̄̽̆͘͠l̵̢̬̰͙͇̱͔̤̙͕̩͙̄­̒̈́̐̒̽ͅͅļ̵̛̼̮͕̩̬̰̲̦̙͎̙͎͔̟͂̽̔͊̈́̿̈́̈́͒́ ̷̡̃͂̐̂͒̔͋͂̄͌k̸͔͕̠̗̪͕͚̃̄͂͆̒͋̈́̏́͒̂̈́̕̕͝**** them alli̴̖͈̳̼͉̞̭̫͉̫͓͓͓̻̒̈́̃̌͘͝ͅl̵̬̖̓̿̀͑̂̌̇̔͘͝͝͠ľ̴̞̱̱͕̲̞̱͉̞ ̶͇͗̃̀̏̈̀͆̒̔̂̅͜͝k̴̡͉̰̗̥͙͎̏͑͛̅̄͛̅̇͜į̷͙̤͕͖͇͎̖͐̃̏̅́̈͝l̷̠̞̲̉͊̈́͆͒l̷̢͉̪­̻͚̪̭̙̩͖̩̲̐̂̑ ̶̗̬̹͕͓͉͚̘̤͙̠͐̅̋̌̄͆̆͘͝k̷̨̡̮̪̟̫̺͙̭̥̊̎͑̐͛͘î̸͉̜̂̒l̵̢͕͎̱̺̟̪̍̓̑̍͊̎̊̂͆̓̊­̒̕͜͝ĺ̵̡̼̼̯̦͕̪̖̦́̌̿̎̾͋͜͠͝ ̵̡̮̳͚͕͕͈̳͓͗̃͌̔̄̓́́̑̾̍͝k̴̨̝̫̦̺̣͍̮͈̲̞̾̃̈́̽́̕̕i̸̲̫̥͔̜̗̋̌́̿̓̅̉̓̂̐͛͋̽͘­͘l̷͎̘̠͖̯̹͓͛̅͂̊͛̉̌̓̈̀̀̋̚̕͠ĺ̶̯̈̏̉̎̊͗̿͐̂̉͛͂ ̶̜͑̓̃̑k̴̢̛̛͉͈̼͖̰̺̘͉̼̤͖̳̖͐̌̓͊͒̐͗͊͆͑̊̚ͅį̸̛͖͉͙̺̘͖͚̺̻̟͚̬̎̒̈́͘͜**** them alll̸̼̆̆̀͌̕l̷͎̹͚̖̯̲̭̳̗͂̓̽́̉̈́̔̿̅͑͠͝ ̸̧̡̰̪̙͉͈̺̭͍̓̎̈́͘͘͝ǩ̷̲̩͙͑̀i̵̪̗͈͉̖̝̬̥̬̻̫͌̈́͋̽̇̔͒͐̈́͒̀͐̓͝ͅl̶͉̠̼̣̙̯̲͚­̦̤̼̣͉̿̐̌̀͂̑̑̇̚̕͝ľ̴̢̦̤̺̪̝̰̯̠̙͋̓̊̒̓̈͘͝ͅ ̸̢̛̛͇͎̠͋͆̋̊̃̇̈́̉͘͠ķ̴̠̲͇̳̘̞̟̪̋͛̋̆̇̆̃ȋ̶̻̼̟̤̭̈̉̄̀͒̎̕ͅͅl̵͔̣̼͈̫͗̑̄̾ĺ̷͖­̫͇̖̐̎̌̉͑̈́̚̕̕ͅ ̷̨̲̲̳̫̦̙̪̥̱͈̾͊́̅͋̽͊̎̐̀̈́̍̚͜͝ͅk̷̳̺̲͚̥͇͍̿̚ȋ̷̡̙̦̞̜̜̼̰͙̝̲́̽͆̀͋̍͝l̸̢͚̜­̫̼͕̝͍̒l̵̢̢̗̬̯̩̯̭̗̣̰̽͂͆͑́̏͠ ̵̻̲̟̰͉̰̯͈̿͌̏͛͌͋̾͒͐̓̚͘͝k̶̡̜̭̰̝̩̭̩̜̿́ï̸̖͉͇͕̳̞̹͖̻̣̰͕̗̀͐͒̋̊̅̈́͋̂̐͐l̴̥­͉̯͔̺̺̲̥͕͈̣̱̳̓̐̈́̽̿l̵͓̺̯̫̗͇͒̾͛̄̈́͗͛͒̄̑̍͜ ̸̱̳͔̱̿̾͋̈́̂͊̊́̆̕k̵̢̛̩̳̙̭̹̫͉͚͚̖͙͊̎̽̇̆̅̊̉̚i̸̬̝̩͑̑̑͆̉͌̀͗͑͝l̵̢̢̼͉̘̿̄̃­̋̌̎͂͐̒̒̈́̚͝͝l̵̢̙̟̤͔̺̤͙̙̞͓̇͛͐͛̉̋͋̚͠͠͠ ̷̠̺̫̰̱͎̺͍̦͉̿̎̄̐͐̈́̌̈́̓͝ͅk̴̙̱̔́̏͒̓̅̈́̕̚͠͝i̴̡̺̬̜̞͎̬̘̒̍̅̈̓̂̈́̒͐͒͆̚͠l­̸̮̝̝͑̀͒̎̌̉͝l̷͓̦̳̼̏͑͋͊̃͠ ̴̰̮̐̓̑́̃̍̉̾̀̑͘k̵͙̓͌̓̊͛̑͒̄͘i̷̧̥̖̲̒̋̂̀͘ļ̴̲̙̫̟̟̳͖͓̈́͛̅̒͒͑͒̂͜l̸̳̦̺̲͎̝­̗̖͌̋̈́͊͜ ̶̫̱̪̣̋̉̃k̵̢̢̛̛̞̲̜̦̮͕͉͆̆͆̅̍͂̊͗̾̇̀i̸͎͍̲͇͕̞̝͑͋̏̍͑͗̏̒̅̈̎͑͝͝ļ̷͙̹͖̠͍̬̝̯­̞͔̞̊̇͗̔͊̆́̽͋͛̏́̈͝͠l̴̘͋̋̌̌̆͊̍̈́͛͗̈̐̀ ̶̤͕̔͌͂̽̇̔̅̃̎̌̀́̑̀͝k̷̡̛̪͉̪̗̞̦̤̼̐͆̈́̋̔̈́̈̀̍͛̊̽̕ì̷̢̞̓͑̑͘l̶̯͇̟̮̥̥̱̯̂̍­͂͂̓̇̂̋̈́ͅl̷̢̖̖͔̠̫̗̗̺̯͙͚̑ ̸̧̞̤̹̐͆̿͆̽̎̋̈́͐̃̈̀͘ͅk̷̨͖̺̋̋͘͝ḯ̶̗̗͔̈́̀̎̚͠͠ͅḻ̷̢̻̽̀̽͆̃̂͐͝ļ̶̨̤̝̖̫̼̅́̂­͑̎̍ ̴̡̫̪̘͖̙̯̲̗͎͙̙͙̟̲̋̏̃̽̔k̶̡͇͍̪͚̤̜̯͌͛̑̐̈̒̅͆͑͊͐͐̚͝ī̵͓̖͚̗̞̹̳̝͕̔̒͛̈́͆͑͂̔­̀̋̚̚͘l̵̢͓̟̭̩̦̥̩̰̘͓̯̱̑͠l̸̙͉̘̙̘̜͖̈ ̴̛͉͚̠̪̿k̸͔͚̠̼̰̐͌͌͒̊̌͊̂̋̿̊̇̕̚i̶̡͍̥̫͕͇̥͖͕̬̽̀̓̓̀̈́̐̂̈́̌̆͆͘ͅl̸̢̨̠̘͍͔̭­͖̠̝̞̈́͛̓͒̈́͌̾̈́́̏̆͒̅l̵̢̗̰̆̀̇̓́̇̀̉ ̶̨͍͇̥̳̜̮͍̻̥̟̜̣͇̀̂̈́̈́̂͛̓͝ǩ̶̡͕̠̤̆̿̈́̇í̵̡̭̪̘̝̞̓͂l̷̤̞̠̦̹̜̦̈́l̸̡̛̦͔͙͈­̞̪̝̐̍̔͌̅̕͠ ̵̹̱̜̰̝͚͖͎̞̲̮̣͛͝ͅk̴̭͕̰̏̄̌i̷͇̟͙̤̠̽̔̀̏̀̐́̚͝͠ļ̵͕̩̩̲͚̫͎̣̹͚̤̺̻̂̌̈́̔̔ḽ̷͙­̫̫͚͎͍̫̈̋̓͛̓̈͐͌̅͆̔̕̕͝ ̴̨̭͉̭͕͓͇̥̟͔̲͍̜̘̣̔̇̆k̶̡̨̤̱̯̮͍̲͓̥̣̩̄̏͊̍̂̈́̇͆͒͊͜͝i̶͖̗͔̞͔͓͐̽̍̏̿̏̀l̸̡̗­̯̺̟̫͈͕̤̮͉̠͎̤̚l̵̨̨̖͇̣͙̪͈͔̖̍̅̄̅̌̏̌́͐̋̑͜ͅ ̸̟̯̮̰̹̯͚̞̦̪̖͎̗̘͙͊k̷̢̢͔̘̠̤̬̐̆͆̄̊̃͂̓̀́̾̈́̑i̴̛̞̤̭͓͎̪̬͓͇̣̝̊͐̋̕͜l̴̨̛̝̘­̪̟̣̰̣̞̼̖̮̗͂̌́́͑͊̃͝ĺ̷̟̞͚̯͇̱̺͖̟͍̹̇̿͆̌̎̄̃͘ ̴̺͎̪̫̼̳̝̘̱͌̀͐̈́͂́͋͜k̸̛̹͖̤͈͍͌͗̑̍̀̌̓́̚͠͝i̷̛̛͕̘̝̪͈̖͖̔͆̆̿̃̂̀̓̈̔̎̕l̵̛̠­̳͔̼̪̾̔̿͐͂͛̌͘̚͠l̷̨̙͍̯̹͉̱̫͐̈́̇͒̉͊͆͂͑ͅ ̶̛͚͎̯̖͑̒̃͒́̚͠k̶̛̛̙̰̦̋͒̃̿̆̿̕i̵̡̢̛͙̯̩̬͐̉̆́̈́͑͌̈͋̔̋l̷̡̢͖͔̳̗̠͍̭͕̼͙̥͚̍­̓́̀̑͊͋̈́̅̇̕͠l̶̨̆̐ ̵̠̥͔̙̣͇̖̪̻̝̇͌̿̃̊̊͠ͅthem all ****

Oh how great this red liquid feels, parting as my hand intercepts it's p̶̧͍͎͓̙̥̻̘͔̗̉́͛̈͌̓̽̐̅̈́͌̌̓͋̄̓̍́̈́̎̎̚͝͝a̸̰͙̣͓̼̪̼̜̳̅t̴̡̡̥͓̩̘̳̣̹̬͉̝̗­̮͚̬̘͔̫͙̩͉̐̀̾͜ͅͅh̵̘͌̀͌̊̑̈͘͝ towards the floor
My fingers swimming in your intestines
gutting you
how your screams of p̸̗̟̯͉̘͚̝̳͓͉̱̮͎͎͓̩̜̦̄́̊̒̽̔͒̀̈́̿͂̓̀̎̎̏̆͆̕a̵͇̱͔̲̭̲̮͓̲̼͓͌̆̆̓̈́̈ì̸̡̢̨­̳̭̝̠̺̟͎͇̪̘͖͕̫͔̼͍̝̀̆̄̌̾̍͊̒͐̔̋͋̐̂̚͜͠n̵͔͓̺̰̤͙̹̓̒̒́̍́̎̍̀̀̊̌̕͝ fill my ear, bringing a smile of unfathomable pleasure to my face,
how this putrid smell fills my lungs as my knife cuts different parts of your body, letting me savor the moments as i switch paces between slow and fast while you lose the energy to scream, letting your pain and emotion out with little grunts and moans
as i rip off your nails one by one, your hidden flesh comes exposed to light for the first time, your pupils shrinking as you realize that your death wont come anytime soon. I grab your hair as my knife rests in the other hand,
i slowly draw it near your eye, and insert. blood splats on the floor as torture creeps through my brain, filling every thought, like spiders multiplying in a corner, spreading to every inch of the walls. Your helpless cries escape the gag which was designed to limit your voice, your helpless attempts of struggling each time i rip away another part of your body, exposing more and more and more, your bones cracking as i increase my pressure to a point where your bones give in and snap, releasing everything built in and letting it go off onto the flesh the suffocates it, twisting and bending your body in ways that make you unrecognizable, ripping off your nose with the kitchen knife i use almost every single day, your vision darkening with each and every swing from my hammer to your stomach, the red liquid staining my eyes, burning its image into my retina, death is so beautiful. Oh death, the way you ****, how death teases by being so close to touch  yet pulls back once you reach for it, how it makes you wait an et̶̨̧͈̄̈́͗̉́͌̿̍͋͗̀̈́́͒̾̈́̆͆͌͐́̾̀͌̚ę̸̡̘̫̰͔̻̗̘͔̩̗̐͌̄͂̈́͋̊͐͛̊͒͆̅̑̄̀͒­͜͠r̵̢͍͓̙̖͓̥̝͙̝̹̺͕͓̬̻͕̾́nity to achieve its grace. I hate you. I will never forgive you. My eyes are filled with those of a killer. I want to bathe in your guts. They shine so brightly as my knife grazes them. You still move and i question why, are you fighting to live after all this time? Are you trying to make me love you? These feelings, so complicated, oh silly you, moving about like a fly caught in his trap. Stab. Let your pain, blood, and torture fill my recipe. Succumb to me. Let the your beautiful pain fill the mouths of others eager for your lovely boba, let the joy of m̷̡͓͚͕̩̪͎̳̪̟͕̝̖̯͖̥̗͎̈́̂̐͂͊͛́͆̀͒͠͠ͅͅͅmȗ̵̧̩̗̬͈̣̭̮̗̠̦̬̫̟̽͒̌͐̐̓͌ṛ̸̢̲̮­͉̫̝̟̜̏̌̉̉͊̐̇͆́̀̎̐͆̎̔̕͠͝ͅd̴̛̛͇̲͈͗͆͛̉̉̋̎̑͋͝e̴̮̝͖͓͕̪̻̩̦̥͔̪͇̖͋̋̏̇͑̈́̂­ŗ̵̨̢̢̢͈̩̻͖͓̣̗͈̪̖͙̜͔̥̥̳͈͇̖͂ͅ ******, the risk and it's adrenaline flow through my veins as I stab and I stab and stab and stab a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌­̅͆́͆̕͜d ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘ and stab and stab a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌­̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘ a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌­̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅand stab and stabņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜and stab and stabḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅand stab and ststab stab stab stabab ņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜stab stab stab stab b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇­͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗­͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘and stab and stab
a̵̡̨̡̜͇͉̘̭͓̤̙̼̬̠͓̝̙͋̒̏̏̉̇̓̏̋̇͛̍̆͗̃̕͘͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅņ̷̬͈̲̠̫̘̱͇̰̭͍̾̓̔­̄͒̄́̌̅͆́͆̕͜ḑ̶̡̧̺̥̹̦͍̝͉̗̤̦̪͉̬͚̰̘̘̭͗͆̅̽͗̂͑ͅ ̶̢̧̦̙̖͙͔̻̭̳̰̙͍̫̫̲͈̟͚̀̍͑̎͊̈́̏̃͐̉͐́̕͘̚͝s̴̡̢̡̢̢͚̻̭̩͉͔̪̜͎̪̣̹̹̱̿̅̈́̀̓͑­̊͗͛̐̒̑̂͜͜͝͝t̴̟̻̣̲̠̳̭̮́͒̏̋ã̷̦̻̳̗͖̫̝̖̞̰̠̺͓̺͐͜b̷̛͕͎͚̣̭͉̞̯̭̝̖̱̖͈̘̖̑̿̉­̓͆́̇̑̍͒͗̿͑̌͗̂̈̂͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̙̱̲͍̳͚̲̫̭̹͙̓̑́͌͒̔̔̈́͂̀͌͐̀͐͊͋̍͒̚͘




dont mess with my life
i smile when i can, but dont push me
i try to be nice, but the murderer running through my head still exists
and the only time you will gaze upon him
is when your death arrives
Dr Strange May 2015
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Die
Perish
Cease to exist in this world anymore
Everyday it is the same
It is the same everyday
Blocking and stabbing
Perishing and dying
What's the difference
What's the point
To discover who you really are
Well I could of answered that without this civil war
You're a monster
A pleague that infest this once peaceful land
A mere insect destined to die like the rest
Screaming at the top of its lung
But to the rest of the world you are mute
You are nothing
Another soldier fighting for "the cause"
What cause,peace
Since when has peace come from violence
From violence only more violence come from it
That's just how the world works
It cannot look the other way just because you have ambition
The world is a cruel place
But it's only a cycle made up many smaller cycles
Therefore we are just pawns in something bigger than us
Something that we just can't comprehend quite yet
The only thing we can do right now is play our role
As we continue to hope to change the world
Amaranthine May 2017
Wanna stab me?
stab me either on heart or brain....
I will prefer brain over heart...
Memory loss will help me to forget you
& Certainly my heart loss....
So
Stabber will be you
But
Winner will be ME.

But you prefer heart over brain...
Because when I will lose my heart
Definitely I will forget you....
You are the one
Who resides there....
Your existence will go with my heart....
So again
Stabber will be you
But
Winner will be ME.

Wanna stab me?
Don't stab anywhere else...
Because if you'll spare my heart & brain
I promise this agony & pain,
I will repay you with equal love &
With more gratitude.......
So again
Stabber will be you
But
Winner will be ME.
  
Wanna stab me?
Stab me in both brain & heart....
I promise I will return to meet my love
By being a Phantom.....
So again
Stabber will be you
But
Winner will be ME.
What to say dear? love always wins.....
& I love my enemies too... Once upon a time they were my friends..... Dedicated to them......
#stabber  #heart  #brain  #winner
Ariel Leann Feb 2014
A stab in the chest,
A puncture to the  heart,
I seek internal rest,
Because you tore me apart

This is how I have been living,
This is my pain,
Darling, This is only the beginning,
I am on a high speed train

Not a single tear to shed,
Not a single heart to be broken,
I am better off dead,
This can be your token

You put me through hell,
You had it your way,
I am no longer under your spell,
I no longer have to stay

A stab in the chest,
A puncture of the heart,
I seek internal rest,
Because you tore me apart

A pure inncocent life,
You corrupted with hate,
This is how I will survive,
I guess you can call it fate

I took all the pain I can endeavor,
I put your insults at bay,
My heart is now severed,
I have nothing left to say

Look into my eyes,
Tell me you believe,
Do not speak your lies,
Its time for me to leave

A stab in the chest,
A puncture of the heart,
I seek internal rest,
Because you tore me apart
Corina Apr 2015
I need to stab myself
get my blood flowing
red warmth to promise me I'm still alife

I need to stab myself
open up my heart
tonight, madness is better than feeling nothing

I need to stab myself
to get the juice of life pass my own borders
My heart's a prison, I need to be free

I've built walls
Thousands
years of therapy won't break them down
I've muted my feelings
Along with hopes and dreams

I need to stab myself
just in need to feel something
even when it's only pain I'm letting in
I'd plow her like the a farmer.
I'd mount her like a knight.
and if someone was looking.
I'm sure it'd be quite a sight.

I'd slay her with my dagger.
It's hidden in my pants.
and the only way she'll find it.
is with her scalie slant.

I'd stab her every night.
I'd stab her every day.
I'd stab her in the noon time.
I'd stab her in the hay.

I know my blade is useless,
for killing foe or fiend.
but for slaying  scalie women
there's none better to be seen.
I got a thing for lizards...
Terrifying are the attent sleek thrushes on the lawn,
More coiled steel than living - a poised
Dark deadly eye, those delicate legs
Triggered to stirrings beyond sense - with a start, a bounce,
a stab
Overtake the instant and drag out some writhing thing.
No indolent procrastinations and no yawning states,
No sighs or head-scratchings. Nothing but bounce and stab
And a ravening second.

Is it their single-mind-sized skulls, or a trained
Body, or genius, or a nestful of brats
Gives their days this bullet and automatic
Purpose? Mozart's brain had it, and the shark's mouth
That hungers down the blood-smell even to a leak of its own
Side and devouring of itself: efficiency which
Strikes too streamlined for any doubt to pluck at it
Or obstruction deflect.

With a man it is otherwise. Heroisms on horseback,
Outstripping his desk-diary at a broad desk,
Carving at a tiny ivory ornament
For years: his act worships itself - while for him,
Though he bends to be blent in the prayer, how loud and
above what
Furious spaces of fire do the distracting devils
**** and hosannah, under what wilderness
Of black silent waters weep.
IZ J Apr 2019
Every night I **** myself
Every night I die
Every night I look in the mirror and ask myself why

“Tell me, why are you doing this.”
“Tell me, why are you here.”
“Tell me if others love you, why can’t you love yourself as well”

Every single night I scream
Every night I fight
Every night I am attacked, caused by my own great fright

“Hey you, why do you work so slow and procrastinate”
“Hey you, why do you set goals you’re never gonna follow”
“Hey you, are you ever and I mean ever gonna be good at anything”

Every night a dark dark room
Every night it fills with suicide
Every night my bladed heart beats with ****** pride

“Stab yourself to control your weakness”
“Stab yourself to get rid of the pain”
“Stab yourself, it’s a punishment and a favor”

Every night I am up late
Every night my skin drips red
Every night my soul bleeds out and I feel the blood in my bed

“Let them, let the bad memories flood your brain”
“Let them, let them all be better than you”
“Let them, let them never know you’re effort”

Every morning I am awaken
Every morning I think about my life not taken
Every morning my body covered in scars
Every morning my pain trapped behind bars

Every morning I put on a smile
Every morning I am not fake
Every morning I find my new day worthwhile
Every morning I give and I take

Every morning my blood is dry
Every morning my skin sewn anew
Every morning I don’t have to lie
Every morning when the world is blue

I will be back again tonight
I’ll scream and twist and shout and fight
I’ll stab and cut until I die
And I’ll **** myself, at least I’ll try

The reaper I know, he’s come before
And tonight he’ll be back right at my door
We will rejoice together and soak up our sorrow
But then he’ll leave again tomorrow

Every night I know I die
So every morning I ask myself why
If every night I lie their dead
How am I now alive instead

Every morning given a second chance
And not even until night do I give it a thought or a glance
I am my own enemy and my own greatest strife
Every day I’m given a gift from my old friend life

Life, this is a love letter to you
For all the great things you’ve done and will do
Because I know I’ll **** myself tonight
But tomorrow morning I’ll be alright

Through all my living, you’ve given me a skill
I’ve cheated death once, and again I will
RecklessMagic Sep 2013
Stab me again and again, darling,
Puncture me yet again.
The piercing bellows that my body give out -
Are only whimpers for more?
The blood that drips from the wounds is satisfying to savour.
Your psychotic acts are my vicious, outrageous, indescribable infatuation.

Stab me again and again, darling,
Puncture me once again.
Knees meet concrete with a condescending crash.
Poor thing, so deceived to this excruciating game you’re playing.
This was not ever the game I had anticipated to participate in.
Can I abandon you now?
Will you let me?

Stab me again and again, darling,
Puncture me yet again.
Persevering thing,
I worship this,
This mockery,
This exchange.
You were the only one that heeded,
So I snooped too.
Except your tidings injure-
More than mine do.

Stab me again and again, darling,
Puncture me once again.
Keep your ****** symphonies,
I don't care about the prose.
Give me the blade I'll do it for you darling.
Isn't that what you want?
To slaughter me?
With every lyric, and every metaphor.
This kind of adoration damaged way more than the death I went through afore,
Fragmented by crystal,
And I still slice too deep and it’s only my fault darling,
You did nothing wrong.
God, you didn’t nought wrong.

Stab me again and again, darling,
Puncture me yet again.
Let’s rest now, hand me the dagger,
Let’s be thoughtful about things,
Take me out of the way,
Gut me,
Dissect me,
Mutilate me,
Let me bleed,
Let me drown,
****** me,
Empty me out,
Look at me for who I am.

Stab me again and again, darling,
Puncture me yet again,
Help me commit.
We all have our dark hours.
RAJ NANDY Sep 2018
Dear Poet Friends, Torin Galleshaw from Charlotte NC, a Member of this Site, had requested me to compose about the Rise of Third *****. Therefore, I have commenced with the causes for its Rise in my Part One posted below. Planning to compose Part Two with ******’s Blitzkrieg campaign of Poland later. It is unfortunate that I am unable to post related Maps & Photos for better appreciation of my Readers! Such options are not available for us here! However, I have managed to post a copy with maps & photos in the E-mail ID of my friend Torin!  Kindly give comments only after reading this researched work of mine, during your spare time.  Thanking you, - Raj, New Delhi.

            STORY OF SECOND WORLD WAR – PART ONE
                            RISE OF THE THIRD *****
                                       By Raj Nandy

                                  INTRODUCTION
In this part I shall mainly deal with the causes leading to the Second World War,
Which had also created favourable conditions for the rise of Third ***** under ******.
The word ‘*****’ derives from old German word ‘rihhi’ meaning ‘realm’;  
But is also used to designate a kingdom or an empire in a broader sense.
Historically, the First ***** was the Medieval Holy Roman Empire which lasted till the end of the 19th Century.
While the Second ***** was the First German Empire from 1871 to 1918, when dynamic Otto Von Bismark had united all of Germany,
Which ended with its defeat in World War One and birth of the Weimar Republic.
The Third ***** refers to the **** German Empire under ******, Which lasted from 1933 till 1945, for twelve traumatic eventful years!
Historians opine that the ending of a war is equally important as
its beginning;
Since the causes for the start of a war is often to be found embedded in its ending!
The First World War came to an end on 28th of June 1919 as we all know.
With the signing of the Treaty at Versailles by the German Foreign Minister Hermann Muller and the ‘Big Four’.  (Britain, France, America, & Italy)
Yet it is rather ironical, that this Peace Treaty of Versailles, considered as President Woodrow Wilson’s ‘brain child’,
Had sowed the seeds of discontent resulting in the outbreak of the Second World War, and Adolf ******’s dramatic rise!

Though several causes are attributed for the outbreak of the Second World War by our Military Historians.
Let me try to summarise those causes which are considered to be more relevant.
Commencing with the harsh Treaty of Versailles, the British and French Policy of Appeasement, followed by Hyperinflation and the Great Depression of 1929, and failure of The League of Nations to maintain peace;  
Are relevant factors which collectively combined resulting in the outbreak of the devastating Second World War, scarring human memories for all time!
But not forgetting ******’s forceful and persuasive eloquence which mesmerised the Germans to rise up as a powerful Nation once again.
Since ****** promised to avenge the humiliation faced by Germany following the Treaty of Versailles,
Which was drawn up with vengeance, and dictated by the victorious Allies!

THE  ARMISTICE  AND TREATY OF VERSAILLES:    
Armistice means a truce for cessation of hostilities, which provides a breathing space for negotiating a lasting peace.
Now the Armistice ceasing the First World War was signed inside the railway carriage of the Allied Supreme Commander Marshal Foch, in the Forest of Compiegne,
On the 11th of November 1919, sixty km north of Paris, between the victorious Allies and vanquished Germany.
But in the meantime naval blockade of Germany had continued, and the German Rhineland was evacuated and partly occupied by the combined Allied troops!
Release of Allied POWs interned civilians followed subsequently; And the Reparations Clause of monetary compensation was strictly imposed on Germany!
Now, following a wide spread German Sailor’s Revolt towards the end of October 1918, Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm-II had abdicated;
And on the 9th of November Friedrich Ebert, as the new Social Democrat President of Germany, authorised his representative to sign the Compiegne Armistice.
We should remember here that this Armistice seeking cessation of hostilities did not stipulate any unconditional surrender;
And the signing of the Armistice by the German Social Democrats, was considered as ‘a stab in the back of the German army’ by majority of the Germans!
These issues get repeatedly mentioned by Adolf ****** in his eloquent speeches subsequently,
To arouse the spirit of German Nationalism, and resurgence of the ‘Master Aryan Race’ of the Germans, - in Germany!

The Versailles Treaty was signed on 28th of June 1919, exactly five years after the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand which had sparked World War One.
Let me mention few aspects of this Treaty which was detested by the Germans!
Germany lost 13% of its land, 12% of its people, 48% of its iron resources, 15% of its agricultural production, and 10% of its coal, following its implementation!
German army was reduced to 100,000 men, its Navy reduced to 36 ships with no submarines, its Air Force banned, and its union with Austria forbidden.
Now to use a Shakespearean phrase the ‘unkindest cut of all’ came in the shape of Article 231,  the ‘War Guilt Clause’ of the Versailles Treaty,
Which provided the legal basis for the payment of war reparations by Germany.
The reparation amount of 132 billion gold marks (US $33 billion) to cover the civilian damage caused during the war, now had to be paid by Germany!
Thus the humiliation, resentment, and the virtual economic strangulation following the Versailles Treaty,
Was exploited by extremist groups such as ******’s **** Party.
And in the decades to follow, ******’s Nazis would take full control of Germany!

NOTES: Following Versailles Treaty, Alsace-Lorraine captured by Germany in 1870 was returned to France. The SAAR German coalfield region was give to France for 15 yrs. Poland became independent with a corridor to the sea dividing Germany into two. Danzing, a major port in East Prussia, became a free city under the League of Nation. Finland, Lithuania, Latvia, & Czechoslovakia became independent. Industrial area of German Rhineland, forming a buffer zone between Belgium &France,was
demilitarised.

WOODROW WILSON’S  14 - POINT PEACE INITIATIVE  & THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS:
American President Wilson was an idealist and a visionary, who in a speech to the US Congress on 8th Jan 1918,
Introduced a 14 Point Charter as a platform for building global peace, based on the principles of transparency, self-determination, and Democracy.
But for the first time in US history, the Republican-led US Senate rejected this Peace Treaty, and prevented America from joining the newly created League!
The US Senate wanted to retain its sovereignty without external entanglements;
Free from the League of Nation’s political dictates in its foreign commitments!
The Irish immigrants refused to support Wilson's Fourteen Points because Wilson was concerned about stopping WWI, rather than forcing the British to set Ireland free.
Many Jews also refused to back Wilson, since he was paying too much attention to the War, and not enough to the Balfour Declaration of 02 Nov 1917, -
Which promised an Independent Jewish State with a distinct Jewish identity.

The League of Nations had emerged from Wilson’s 14 Points on the 10th Jan 1920, with its HQs at Geneva, Switzerland, but it had no peacekeeping forces those days!
The League had failed to prevent invasion of Chinese Manchuria in 1932 by Japan;
Italy’s invasion of Ethiopia in 1935; annexation of Sudetenland and Austria by Germany!
The Axis countries Germany, Italy, and Japan, withdrew from the League subsequently.
Thus the League of Nations was disbanded in 1946 officially!
But President Wilson’s ceaseless efforts for global peace did not go unrecognised,
Since on the 10th of December 1920, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize!
While his disbanded League of Nations, as the first global humanitarian organisation,
Continued to survive in spirit with the establishment of United Nations Organisation on the 24th October, 1945.

ECONOMIC CAUSES - FOLLOWED BY THE GREAT DEPRESSION OF 1929 :
Germany emerged from the First World War with loss of 25,000 square miles of territory;
Loss of seven million inhabitants, and a staggering debt imposed by the Versailles Treaty!
The Wiemar Republic, after abdication of Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm-II  to Holland,
For the first time in German history, established a Democratic Constitution with Friedrich Ebert as its first President.
But The Republic first had to consolidate itself by squashing the Spartacist Revolt of January 1919 led by the extreme Leftists, and inspired by the Russian Bolshevik Communists!
The Freikorps, in March 1920, an Ex-Soldiers Rightist Group, tried to overthrow the Wiemar Republic with support of their Rightist allies and their own veteran troops!
This was soon followed by a Communist attempt to takeover of the Industrial Rhur;
But fortunately, all these uprisings against the Republic were effectively subdued!
But the 33 Billion Dollars of Reparations hung over the Wiemar Republic like the legendary ‘Sword of Damocles’, followed by the Great Depression of 1929;
Coupled with the ‘Policy of Appeasement’ practised by the British and the French;
Became the most important causes for ******’s expansionist ambition and his short- lived meteoric rise to fame!

GERMAN PAPER CURRENCY & HYPERINFLATION:
Gold Mark was the currency used by the German Empire from 1873 to 1914 only.
But to pay for the costs of the ongoing First World War, Germany suspended the gold standard, and decided to fund the war by Borrowings entirely,
Hoping to pay back the loans after Germany achieves Victory.
But having lost the war, and faced with a massive debt imposed by the Allies,
Exchange rate of the Mark against the US Dollar steadily devalued and declined!
Papiermark became the German currency from 04th August 1914 onward, when link between the Mark and gold reserve was abandoned,
In order to pay for the ongoing expenses of the First World War with paper marks, which was constantly being printed!
But later after the war, when the London Ultimatum of May 1921 demanded payment of war reparations in gold or in foreign currency only,
Even more paper marks got printed by the Republic to buy those foreign currency !
By December 1922 hyper-inflationary trends emerged, when the US Dollar became equivalent to 7,400 German Marks, with a 15-fold increase in the cost of living !
By the fall of 1922 when it became impossible for Germany to make further payments,
The French and Belgium armies occupied Germany’s Ruhr Valley area, its prime industrial region!
French and the Belgians hoped to extract payment in kind, but a strike by the workers of the Ruhr area their hopes belied!
The Wiemar Republic printed more paper notes to pay and support the workers of the Ruhr area,
When hyperinflation had peaked at 4,210,500,000,000 German Marks, to a US Dollar!
Paper currency having become worthless, some form of ancient barter system began to be used instead!

STABILISATION OF GERMAN ECONOMY WITH ONSET OF  THE GREAT DEPRESSION:
Following the hyperinflation Chancellor Josef Cuno’s cabinet resigned in August 1923,
When Gustav Stresemann became the new Chancellor of Germany.
Stresemann’s Government had introduced the Rentenmark as a new stable currency,
To end the hyperinflation which had plagued Wiemar Germany.  
Rentenmark was backed by real goods, agricultural land and business,
Since gold was not available in a beleaguered German economy those days!
When One Rentenmark was equivalent to One million, million, old German Mark;
While One US Dollar was equivalent to only 4.2 Rentenmarks.
Though Stresemann’s Government lasted for 100 days only, Stresemann continued to serve as the Foreign Minister in successive Coalition Governments of the Republic,
Till his death in the month of October 1929, but working for the betterment of Germany all the while!
His ‘Policy of Fulfilment’ stabilised German economy with a 200 Million Dollars loan from America under the Dawes Plan in 1924,
Which had also ensured the evacuation of France from the occupied Ruhr area, with their future reparations payments ensured.
Stresemann’s signing of the Locarno Pact in London on 1st Dec 1925 with France, Belgium, Great Britain, and Italy, was considered as his achievement and a feat!
Since it made Germany to enter the League of Nations ensuring stability and peace;
While the Noble Peace Prize was awarded to Stresemann for his efforts in 1926!
Later, the Young Plan of 1929 further reduced German reparations payment by 20%, while extending the time frame for the payments to 59 years!
But following a sudden Wall Street Stock Market Crash in late October of 1929,
The American Banks were forced to recall money from Europe and the Young Plan;.
Which created acute financial distress when unemployment soared to 33.7%  in Germany in 1931, and quickly rose to 40% during the following year!
Lausanne Conference was held in Switzerland in 1932 by Great Britain, Germany, and France, to further reduce the War Debts imposed by the Versailles Treaty.
But in Dec 1932, the US Congress had rejected this Allied War Debt Reduction Plan completely.
However, no further payments were made by Germany due to the Great Depression;
And by 1932, Germany had paid only 1/8 of the total sum required to be paid as per their pending wartime reparations!

NOTES: Rentenmark was issued on 15 October 1923 to stop the hyperinflation in Wiemeer Germany. Reichmark was the currency in Germany from 1924 to 20 June 1948 in West Germany , when it was replaced by the Deutsche Mark; but had continued in East Germany until 23 June when it was replaced by East German Mark.
During the Stresemann Years of Stability from 1924 to 1929, (prior to the onset of the Great Depression), with help of American financial aid, created more housing & production in Germany. Dada & Expressionist Art forms flourished, followed by modern architecture; also the Philosophy of Existentialism of Thomas Mann – influenced the Western culture. Paul Whiteman's Band for the first time brought in American Jazz to Germany, and Jazz signified the liberation of German youth and women folks of the younger generation generally. But the US Stock Market Crash had unfortunately ended this short lived euphoria, and as it soon became a global phenomena!                                


FAILURE OF THE WIEMAR REPUBLIC & THE GREAT DEPRESSION WHICH BENEFITED THE NAZIS:
Last Days of Wiemar Republic:
Ever since Otto Von Bismarck that ‘Man of iron and steel’, united Germany into a single Empire in the year Eighteen Hundred & Seventy One,
For the first time a Constitution for a Parliamentary Democracy was drawn up in August 1919, in the eastern German city of Wiemar.
Wiemar was the intellectual centre of Germany associated with musicians like Franz List, and writers like Goethe and Schiller.
The Wiemar Republic of Germany which had lasted from 1919 till 1933 had seen,
20 different Coalition Governments, with frequent elections and changing loyalties!
Due to a system of proportional representations, and the presence of very many political parties those days,  
No single party could obtain absolute sole majority in the Reichstag Parliament!
The longest Coalition Govt. was under Chancellor Bruning, which had lasted for only 2 years and 61 days!     (From 30 March 1930 to 30 May 1932)
Now, to understand the reasons for the failure to maintain a Democratic form of Government by the Wiemar Republic,
It becomes necessary to monitor its ‘dying gasps’ during its closing years so to speak!
Since faced with the economic depression Chancellor Bruning had worsened the unemployment situation by adopting stringent and unpopular measures!
Thereby having lost popular political support, Bruning with the approval of President Hindenburg, invoked emergency powers under Article 48, to survive his last few months and years!
During the years 1931 and 1932  it is seen, Bruning had used this Emergency Clause 44 and 66 times respectively!
Thus his so-called ‘Presidential form of Govt.’ had undermined Wiemar Democracy!
If Burning was the ‘Republic’s Undertaker’, now remains a debatable issue of History!
But Burning’s vigorous campaign made Hindenburg to get re-elected as the President;
Thereby he had removed the defeated Adolf ****** out of the Presidential race!
Therefore, later when ****** became the Chancellor on 30 Jan 1933, Bruning had very wisely fled from Germany!

Following Bruning’s resignation in May 1932 came Chancellor Papen’s ‘Cabinet of Barons’ consisting of individuals who were not members of the German Reichstag!
While in the election of July 1932 ******’s **** Party won 230 seats, making it the largest party in the Reichstag.
But ****** refused to form a coalition with Papen, because he wanted to become the Chancellor himself !
Now General von Schleicher advised President Hindenburg that the German Army,
Would not accept Papen’s use of Article 48 to remain as the Chancellor of Germany!
Therefore following Papen’s resignation, Schleicher took over on the 04th of December 1932 as the new German Chancellor.
Schleicher tried to restore a democratic form of government to get the Wiemar Republic back on its feet.
But in the ensuing political power struggle Papen wanted to take revenge on Schleicher for his removal from power and defeat.
So Papen persuaded Adolf ****** to become the Chancellor, and retain for himself the post of Vice-Chancellor.
In doing so, Papen mistakenly thought that he would be able to reign in the self-assertive Adolf ******!
Papen finally made President Hindenburg agree to his proposal, and on 30th of Jan 1933,
****** became the New Chancellor, with approval of the President!
A month later a sudden fire in the Reichstag made ****** invoke Article 48, in order to squash the suspected Left Wing Communists;
But while doing so, the Press was muzzled, and many Civil Rights of the German people were abolished, inclusive of their right of assembly and free speech!
****** acted swiftly, and by passing the Enabling Act on 23 March, 1933, armed himself  with dictatorial powers for enacting laws without the approval of the Reichstag whenever necessary!
Thereby ****** threw Democracy to History’s wasteland most unfortunately!
Following the death of Hindenburg on 29 June 1934, ****** combined the powers of the President and the Chancellor, and became known as the FUHRER!
Historians generally agree the Enabling Act of 1933, as the date for establishment of The German Third *****.

THE POLICY OF APPEASEMENT AND GERMAN AGGRESSION:
The horrors of trench warfare with the rattling of machine guns and bursting of poisonous nerve gas shells,
Even after 20 years remained fresh, in the minds of all World War One participants!
Therefore, it was natural for British and French Prime Ministers Neville Chamberlain and Edouard Daladier initially,
To grant political and material concessions to an aggressive Germany, for the sake of peace and stability.
Thus the diplomatic stance of Appeasement between 1935 and 1939 followed by the French and the British, was mainly to avoid another dangerous armed conflict!
But the trusting Mr. Chamberlain had underestimated ******, who had served in the German Army as a Corporal, winning the Iron Cross during the last Great War!
****** was not afraid of war, but wanted to avenge the Treaty of Versailles and its punitive dictated peace;
And also establish for the superior German Aryan race a lasting Third *****!
Therefore, having consolidated his power as the Fuhrer along with his trusted **** Party cronies, he withdrew from the League of Nations in October 1933.
Introduced conscription in March 1935 in Germany, and embarked on a mission to rebuild a new modernised German Army for combat on land, air, and sea!
In March 1936, in another open violation of the Versailles Treaty, ****** re-occupied the demilitarised Rhineland, followed by a Treaty of Alliance with Japan and Italy.
The much desired Anschluss (or merger) with Austria, the country of birth of ******,
Saw the German Army in March 1938, triumphantly and peacefully marching into Vienna!
Now with the Munich Conference of 19 September 1938, this Policy of Appeasement is said to have reached its climatic peak!
The Sudetenland area, consisted of 3 million Germans were made
to join Czechoslovakia when the frontiers were drawn in 1918-19,
Much against the wishes of the Germans!
When ****** wanted to annex this Sudetenland area, Britain, France, Germany and Italy, met at Munich to diffuse an explosive situation peacefully.
It was agreed at Munich that once Sudetenland joins Germany, ****** will not invade Czechoslovakia and honour the terms of peace.
But on 15th March 1939, in violation of the Munich Agreement, ******’s army invade and occupied Czechoslovakia, thereby openly flouting the Policy of Appeasement!

NOTES: ******’s desire for ‘LEBENSRAUM’ or ‘increase of living space’ for the Germans, commenced with his ‘Border Wars’, which soon turned into a Global War because of the ‘appeasement policy’ of the Allies. ****** had secured his Eastern Front with a treaty with the Stalin, since fighting on two fronts would have been very difficult for the Germans.

Now when ******’s army invaded Poland on 1st of September 1939, it became ‘the last straw on the camel’s back’ for the Western Allies!
Committed to the Anglo-Polish Defence Pact of 25 August, 1939, both Britain and France declared war on Germany,
Which I propose to narrate in Part Two of my Second World War Story.  
The Policy of Appeasement no doubt gave some time for Britain, to regain its depleted military strength,  but Adolf ****** had viewed it as a sign of weakness!
With Russia and America initially as non-participants, ****** became more confident and arrogant!
Thereby turning his border wars into a global conflagration lasting six long years.
When the use of advanced technology, resulted in greater loss and casualties;  
Which was followed by the holocaust and unprecedented human suffering!
I would like to conclude my present narration with a poem by English soldier-poet Seigfried Sassoon, who participated in the First World War on the Western Front.

DREAMERS  -  by Siegfried Sassoon
Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land,
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal ****** with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.

I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
Dreaming of things they did with ***** and bats,
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
And going to the office in the train.
…………………………………………………………………………
Thanks for reading patiently, from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
  *ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
Kelvin Apr 2015
Hormones raging,
heart racing,
I raise my hands,
And she's screaming,crying,

Why, baby, why do i like it,
Please tell, i'm not an addict,
Cuz' if i am who's gonna cure it,
When you are dead, forget it.

So she started stabbing,
Stab, stab, stab and jabbing,
I started shouting,chanting and providing:

*"baby keep finding, for someone worth fighting, fighting for the person that's worth loving, loving will only start by believing, i love you baby but now i'm leaving, for your good baby, i'm bleeding, I'm fading, bye baby, love you more than everything, and anything."
Yee han please rap to dis
zebra Aug 2016
on the first date
she confided in me
i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder
i need love and pain strangely mixed together
my elixirs
i suffer reality distoooorrtions
a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions
my soul is black matter
my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire
my *** cries for homicidal cruelty

mold me into a *******
fold me like a two dollar beach chair
the wrong way
tear me to bits
unwind my intestine
eat me like a blood ******* ghoul
make me squirm like an anime victim

i thought oh finally a soul mate
with soul

strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics
hot girl creeping
grimacing at me
meandering conjurations by ****** contortions
stunning impersonations of a Fellini impaling
shes a famous artist
keeps broodish bowels and blood tampons in stainless vitrines
spot lighted
ready for her debut at the
Museum of Modern Art

she blows torrents of snot like ****
her beautiful desperate tongue searching the upper lip
a salty runny viscoses snack
oozy
finding it finally with her frenetic tongue
feeding her gooey ****
with wet fingers
oh yummy yum goo
up her *** too

first smiling then hideous scowls
exposed teeth
posing with a knife
wana see me cut my self bad boy, she taunts
wana see my impersonation of pizza with extra tomato sauce

blood blood *** in the be in the bed
wipe it up with ginger bread

some how she miraculously bulges her eyes out
then performs, ******* lips as if a minnow in a fish jar

pointing to her ***
giving me that **** hurt me twisted look
how about a peanut butter jelly ******* sandwich
with a side of ****** feet
**** and **** on toes
its especially prized this day of the month
as her **** tears like a vampires mouth, a torrent of blood
pouting **** with white red stained thighs that break a mans heart
*** nothing at all she quips
just a little accident
do you like it?
as she glares like an invitation
to play slip and slide bare foot in her puddle of blood

oh she made me *****
my cherry red **** having a nervous breakdown
from apoplectic horror gasms
a dose of heavens hell

i want her
she is voluptuous like a dozen venomous snakes
copulating in warm soup dark water everglades
she is slither theater

curdling screams
then muggling *******
brought on by the first belly stab
falling to her knees
looking up shocked
mouth gaping
eyes wide
grinning
glance steady
holding holding holding
the belly cut
a cacophonous modern dance of agony
followed by rapturous convulsing *******
that went on and on and on

get a bat she implored

she is a real ******* movie star
the Greta Garbo of *****
a dark jewel
a must have
a hell wife
goddess of dread
a ******* *** genius
my best girl ever

fused by desire
we kissed like **** loving catholic priests
in adoration of their savior
young boy *** castrato hitting the high notes


she looked up with desperation
eyes with glittering tears
and said
are you my black knight?
do you know how to hurt a girl
are you my
Vex Mallus
Dr Satan
Marquis De Sick
Nick Nick
Dark Officer
Remus the Werewolf
Dom Sugar Daddy
Pit Bull
Tommy the Tummy Gutter
5 o'clock Shadow
London Cabby
Amputee ******
Uncle Surgery Gone Wrong
King of the Carpathian Vampires
my sweet kissy Kitten

ooohh yes i said
i am all that for loves sake
albeit twisted
i am what you crave.. your no taboo lover boy
your ******* licking foot slave with a razor in hand
a bubble of poison between my legs
your homicidal suicidal cockealiciousness

she said good,
now that we have that settled
can we go out for dinner
ill be dressed in a jiffy
if i can find my dead skirt
of soft white gauze
with that lovely motif of dread red
and my precious toe tag jewelery
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
blue mercury Dec 2018
it's just us in this hazy bedroom. me & you, your mouth & my neck. i know that these bruises are the kind only love leaves. your teeth, they sink into my skin like i am a fruit forbidden from your tongue, like i am a fruit you needed to taste even if it meant succumbing to the shame of sin.

but there is no shame here, & i'm only allowed to glow, i'm only allowed to sing (to bleed) when you leave me little stab wounds onto my bare skin with the sharp edge of your canines. with your animalistic passion. & when god turns the other way, my nails scrape your skin, digging through your flesh to search for the paradise that lies underneath. you ask if i have ever felt so holy, & i can only respond with this hot spring of tears down my cheeks & eyes that beg you to devour me.

you stab your way into my fallen kingdom. you wash over my collapsed temples. you bite into my fruit. you cry amen & my choir follows suit.
please don't bite
brian has a knife to his neck



today is a horrible day for brian, well, not that horrible, well he went to

the baseball, with cath and michelle from his work, and they all went for

the local team which was the canberra cavalry, and every time the cavalry

scored a home run, brian, cath and michelle would cheer very loudly,

cavalry clap clap clap, cavalry clap clap clap, cavalry clap clap clap

and the cavalry didn’t disappoint their supporters in this match, and

then the hit a beautiful home run and cath caught it, what a absolute whopper

and she said, that she will give it to her 12 year old son, and then daniel sat near

brian and said you are too woosey to be a man like this, how about we leave now

so i can hold a knife to your neck, i don’t want to harm you, i just want to have

a piece of you with each of us, brian said, no, i am watching the baseball, can’t

you understand this, and daniel said, no, i can’t understand why you can’t come

with me, you are too woosey to be a family person anyway, buddy, and brian just sat there

and then young micheal sat next to brian, and he had a little pocket knife, with him

and mate, he was very inexperienced with knives, like he often put a knife at people’s

necks, as if it was a special game or something, and after the game was over, brian

said goodbye to cath and michelle and ran off towards the bus, and daniel followed him

with his pocket knife, if brian stopped, the knife would go straight through his neck, and

as usual, brian was scared that daniel was going to **** him, and ran home saying

leave me alone leave me alone, i am a cool kid, i went out with people from my work

and i don’t deserve what you are doing to me, and brian got home and locked his door

and daniel yelled through his door, saying open up little woosey, you aren’t like the adults,

open up little woosey, you aren’t like adults, and brian went to bed, and the next morning

brian got up and went to work and micheal was in the front, playing with his pocket knife

while daniel was in the back, playing with his pocket knife, and brian hates the idea

of dying, but every time daniel picked up his pocket knife, he would hold it to brian’s neck and

say, come on little woosey, allow me to stab you, man, allow me to stab you, and brian’s mate

from 1989  was screaming through houses,,saying shut up, every time brian tried to be a family

person, despite not really meaning to do that, he just did that to make the other young dudes to like him

and brian massaged nicheals neck, and micheal said, stop it, or i will get this knife, and put it right to

your neck and then daniel jumped into the back seat and said, come on little woosey, except me

as i am holding this knife to ya, i want to scare you off from being a family person, cause youy

are too woosey to be a family person anyway, brian, and daniel picked up the pocket knife and

said, i will stab you woosey, brian said, i am a famous family person, and daniel said, yeah, a

family person to a ****, yeah and famous only to your mothers eyes, only, if you try and be like us, brian

i will get this knife and stab you in the neck, cause you are a little trouble making woosey, and

brian said, leave me alone, i am reformed, i haven’t done a crime for years, and this person

said, no you are not reformed buddy, be like us buddy, your not reformed brian, brian said

i am reformed, it’s daniel and micheal that need to be reformed, and you need to be reformed

too, and then daniel held a knife to brian’s neck and said you ain’t a man, your too woosey

to be a man, your not reformed brian, and brian said, i am so reformed, i don’t need this

awful treatment i am getting from you, you see micheal was playing with his pocket knife

he looked like bart simpson, and daniel kept on holding the knife to brian’s head saying

no your not, you ain’t reformed, buddy, you are a little woosey, and brian screamed out

I AM NOT A LITTLE WOOSEY, I AM FAMILY PERSON, WOULD YOU STOP TREATING ME

LIKE A HOOLIGAN, I HATE HAVING A POCKET KNIFE TO MY HEAD, IT’S NOT A FUCKEN PRISON

brian was horrified that daniel was going to **** him, and micheal wasn’t that gentle with his pocket knife either

and brian said, it’s not a prison, and then said, please don’t treat me like a little woosey, for i am a family person

and then brian jumped out of the window, saying, I AM REFORMED, please leave me the **** alone, and

then brian took off through the paddock, back to his house, and never saw daniel and micheal again,

good riddens to bad ******* thought brian, as brian sat in his house watching foxtel thinking about how stupid micheal and

daniel are, the end
Sacrelicious Aug 2012
Using God,
as an excuse to
stab your Brother.

Praising men,
who preach pity
and create hate.

Using God,
as an excuse to shun
personal phobias.

Confession, can't save you know.
Like you said, he decides where we go.
Right?

I'll see you down here.
:)
Cameron Godfrey Feb 2012
A stab in my heart
torn apart
I’ve been smashed in pieces.
No blood, no gore,
but a heart  that is sore,
the pain inside hurts so much more,
than a shot to the heart,
a body in flames,
a stab in the heart hurts more than the brain.
Another poem
another day,
another truth that’s gone away.
Sharing my lies with all of you
appearing damaged
believing it too.
keep on crawling to the shore,
no longer drowning,
not anymore.
Nicole Corea May 2015
I was a caterpillar ,
before I became a butterfly .
The pain I had to endure in order to transform into the beauty I am today .
This is my tale .

In the forest there was,
My cocoon wrapped in the finest silk,
With a power to live in a colorful world.
To dream and conquer goals.
A Vivacious soul spinning in the purest silk
Growing and maturing as I spun.
Wishing for freedom with my beautiful wings,
Counting the days to be free and soar
as a lively butterfly
until
You winded into my community
Lured my queen and her uneven monarch.
Tempted to sabotage my purity.
For that you,
Lured yourself into my vulernable cocoon
with that trust,
you decided to disrupt my process.
How can one man ruin my nesting site?
And I had faith in you ,
to be a figure
I never had.
I wanted.
My heart ached for it.
I needed it.
To be loved .
To be nurtured.
To never be like those stray dogs
looking for a home.
This was the moment .
Where....
Innocence stripped, heart captured.
My Freedom gone.
You were naive to comprehend
On what you were doing...
You would stab my cocoon
with your sickening poison .
Over and over you stabbed .
Ruptured the veins of my innocence .
To break my finest silk .
Purity banished.
Stabbing your poison was
Making my cocoon
useless ,
worthless ,
unwanted,
colorless,
I tried to run and I tried to scream
but I was devoured by this poison
It was the love I deserve.
Couldn't escape , numb to the pain
For every poison injected, I began to
Question God?
Where was he ?
when I shed out a tear of help.
Where was he?
when my cocoon was destroyed.
Was I loved God?
when I muffled help in your name.
I hated myself ,
I stay in my cocoon
afraid to see my future.
I wasn't going to be a beautiful butterfly
Battered Butterfly
My life seemed to be colorless
No one wants a battered butterfly
My life....
It seemed it had ended
when poison sunk onto my helpless body .
No one wants a battered butterfly
Imprisoned to these chains.
Being poisoned every night by different
Predators.
Oh God....
Those predators ...
Battered lifeless little butterfly
Was I ever loved in my nesting site?
But then again nobody loves a battered butterfly
How can I reach to heaven when
I was worthless.
Believed I was a vile *****.
Tricked into a poison of hell.
Battered Ugly Butterfly
***** Little butterfly.
There was no light in tunnel
There was no holes in my silk
To escape this poisonous nest.
Why?
Because I believe nobody wants save a battered butterfly
How can the man I trusted ruined me.
I thought you could be the one to complete my lovely monarch .
To complete the missing piece.
But you continued to misuse me.
To haunt me.
To barricade my heart
To own my soul
But one thing I can truly say
You never once won over me.
You never imprinted my change.
I endured your pain
That was a sign of God
To show me what strength I am capable of.
That was the light that I found,
You had no control to inflict pain anymore.
Because I became impervious to your pain.


I am a beautiful butterfly
reigning over my monarch
with no thought of you.
**That is my freedom
Speaking out on my ****** abuse
Stab Stab
Your  words are like a knife
When we are together
We can never make things right
I try to put the fire out
But you just make it worse
Our friendship can be good,
Or it could be a curse
This poem I wrote during a time were me and an ex-friend were not getting along soooooooooo yeah
(NOTE: This is a humorous stab at *** from a Man’s point of view)


I can see your blood boiling
through the blades I once called eyes,
they were once beautiful like jewels
now they hurt my deep insides.
cutting at my guts
and like a noose on my lungs;
your words seek like bullets
your mouth like ****** guns.
I’m hit with each inaccuracy…
Being killed by words untrue;
and you even got the nerve
to tell me what you think I do.
But let me get mad
and try to plead my case;
then suddenly the world
is a fked up place.
You got tears running down…
What the Hell did I do?
We were just sitting and laughing
I could swear that we were cool.
Oh God…
Oh no…;
I should have seen it…
It’s Aunt Floe…,
This battle can’t be won or reasoned
I think its best I go.
Cause I hate Aunt Floe
and she hate me too;
she sit and talk sht
about the gum I chew.
The color of my shirt…,
She say my look is a stare;
She say my best has no worth
And she doesn’t stop there.
I didn’t change
I’ve been the same
these 28 days,
but now I’m f
ckin A
hole
Aunt Floe gave me that name.
She said get out my face
This ain't your home no more,
But I’m more puzzled by
What was said before.
I love you
With her glossy eyes
I knew it was true,
But horribly sly
You see these words
make me the fool.
The one that’s cruel
That ahole dude,
That sparked the fuel
To this f
kin feud.
But I swear to God
I didn’t start this sht,
Why would I give up my love
To live my life like in a pit.
This is horrible sh
t
Wasted days spent,
On nothing but the worst
I could be bathed in your sent.
You could be laughing
While I’m smiling
But Aunt Floe won’t let this be,
And the only way to make this right
Is hold my tongue a week.
And that ain’t gone happen
I’m a person too,
Not soft
But I got feelings
and don’t know what to do.
Now its been six days
Unbelievable rage,
She locked herself
In the room
I call it her cage.
I smell a sent in the air
It wasn’t there before,
Now looking down the hall
I see an open door.
Is this a trap
I’ll guess I’ll see,
If I fall for another
You know that’s dumb a_ me.
Curled in the bed
I think I know that girl,
But where’s the hells Aunt Floe
The one that f
ked my world.
She packed up and gone
Didn’t even say good bye,
Just came wit gang of bullsh
t
And vanished in the sky.
Is that you my dear
Can you please come here,
Listen close and crystal clear…
I hate Aunt Floe
Next time she here
Make sure I’m stocked
with **** and beer.
I love you punk.
Thank you for taking the time to read my scribles.
Nobody May 2018
I welcome the silence from the middle of the night  
and I was counting on the
cover of darkness,
so there'd be no one to see me
end your life.
I step as quietly as I can
trying not to be loud.
I was careful to slowly
open your door,
then I slipped into your room
without making a sound.
I smile as I see you lying
helpless in a dream.
I move closer so I'm right beside you
kneeling on the ground as
I slide my blade out.
I’m inches from your face
close enough to smell your breath,
I place the cold metal to your neck
then swing my arm once to the side.
Your blood is black in the moonlight,
gushing all over your clothes.
You wake up and grab your throat,
and can't swallow the blood
so you start to choke.
I watch you try and put up a fight.
You squirm, and stare, with dying eyes.
And as you look me in the face
I stick you another time,
in the side right through your heart.
Too bad it took more than one stab
for your body to go limp.
Finally your death has come,
I’m free from the burden of your grip.
THE HOUSE OF DUST
A Symphony

BY
CONRAD AIKEN

To Jessie

NOTE

. . . Parts of this poem have been printed in "The North American
Review, Others, Poetry, Youth, Coterie, The Yale Review". . . . I am
indebted to Lafcadio Hearn for the episode called "The Screen Maiden"
in Part II.


     This text comes from the source available at
     Project Gutenberg, originally prepared by Judy Boss
     of Omaha, NE.
    
THE HOUSE OF DUST


PART I.


I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night!  Good-night!  Good-night!  We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride.  We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for?  Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.


II.

One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.

One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.

Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,-we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.

The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.


III.

One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.

Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air,
These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.

Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.


IV.

Up high black walls, up sombre terraces,
Clinging like luminous birds to the sides of cliffs,
The yellow lights went climbing towards the sky.
From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,
Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.

They trembled from coign to coign, and tower to tower,
Along high terraces quicker than dream they flew.
And some of them steadily glowed, and some soon vanished,
And some strange shadows threw.

And behind them all the ghosts of thoughts went moving,
Restlessly moving in each lamplit room,
From chair to mirror, from mirror to fire;
From some, the light was scarcely more than a gloom:
From some, a dazzling desire.

And there was one, beneath black eaves, who thought,
Combing with lifted arms her golden hair,
Of the lover who hurried towards her through the night;
And there was one who dreamed of a sudden death
As she blew out her light.

And there was one who turned from clamoring streets,
And walked in lamplit gardens among black trees,
And looked at the windy sky,
And thought with terror how stones and roots would freeze
And birds in the dead boughs cry . . .

And she hurried back, as snow fell, mixed with rain,
To mingle among the crowds again,
To jostle beneath blue lamps along the street;
And lost herself in the warm bright coiling dream,
With a sound of murmuring voices and shuffling feet.

And one, from his high bright window looking down
On luminous chasms that cleft the basalt town,
Hearing a sea-like murmur rise,
Desired to leave his dream, descend from the tower,
And drown in waves of shouts and laughter and cries.


V.

The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while
We shall lie down again.

The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,
Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .
One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,
We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;
But whether he lives or dies we do not know.

One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.
He sings of a house he lived in long ago.
It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.
And coiling slowly about him, and laughing at him,
And throwing him pennies, we bear away
A mournful echo of other times and places,
And follow a dream . . . a dream that will not stay.

Down long broad flights of lamplit stairs we flow;
Noisy, in scattered waves, crowding and shouting;
In broken slow cascades.
The gardens extend before us . . .  We spread out swiftly;
Trees are above us, and darkness.  The canyon fades . . .

And we recall, with a gleaming stab of sadness,
Vaguely and incoherently, some dream
Of a world we came from, a world of sun-blue hills . . .
A black wood whispers around us, green eyes gleam;
Someone cries in the forest, and someone kills.

We flow to the east, to the white-lined shivering sea;
We reach to the west, where the whirling sun went down;
We close our eyes to music in bright cafees.
We diverge from clamorous streets to streets that are silent.
We loaf where the wind-spilled fountain plays.

And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,
Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,
Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;
Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream
Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.


VI.

Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.
On one side purples the lustrous dusk of the sea,
And dreams in white at the city's feet;
On one side sleep the plains, with heaped-up hills.
Oaks and beeches whisper in rings about it.
Above the trees are towers where dread bells beat.

The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.

Rain with a shrill sings on the lapsing waves;
Rain thrills over the roofs again;
Like a shadow of shifting silver it crosses the city;
The lamps in the streets are streamed with rain;
And sparrows complain beneath deep eaves,
And among whirled leaves
The sea-gulls, blowing from tower to lower tower,
From wall to remoter wall,
Skim with the driven rain to the rising sea-sound
And close grey wings and fall . . .

. . . Hearing great rain above me, I now remember
A girl who stood by the door and shut her eyes:
Her pale cheeks glistened with rain, she stood and shivered.
Into a forest of silver she vanished slowly . . .
Voices about me rise . . .

Voices clear and silvery, voices of raindrops,-
'We struck with silver claws, we struck her down.
We are the ghosts of the singing furies . . . '
A chorus of elfin voices blowing about me
Weaves to a babel of sound.  Each cries a secret.
I run among them, reach out vain hands, and drown.

'I am the one who stood beside you and smiled,
Thinking your face so strangely young . . . '
'I am the one who loved you but did not dare.'
'I am the one you followed through crowded streets,
The one who escaped you, the one with red-gleamed hair.'

'I am the one you saw to-day, who fell
Senseless before you, hearing a certain bell:
A bell that broke great memories in my brain.'
'I am the one who passed unnoticed before you,
Invisible, in a cloud of secret pain.'

'I am the one who suddenly cried, beholding
The face of a certain man on the dazzling screen.
They wrote me that he was dead.  It was long ago.
I walked in the streets for a long while, hearing nothing,
And returned to see it again.  And it was so.'


Weave, weave, weave, you streaks of rain!
I am dissolved and woven again . . .
Thousands of faces rise and vanish before me.
Thousands of voices weave in the rain.

'I am the one who rode beside you, blinking
At a dazzle of golden lights.
Tempests of music swept me: I was thinking
Of the gorgeous promise of certain nights:
Of the woman who suddenly smiled at me this day,
Smiled in a certain delicious sidelong way,
And turned, as she reached the door,
To smile once more . . .
Her hands are whiter than snow on midnight water.
Her throat is golden and full of golden laughter,
Her eyes are strange as the stealth of the moon
On a night in June . . .
She runs among whistling leaves; I hurry after;
She dances in dreams over white-waved water;
Her body is white and fragrant and cool,
Magnolia petals that float on a white-starred pool . . .
I have dreamed of her, dreaming for many nights
Of a broken music and golden lights,
Of broken webs of silver, heavily falling
Between my hands and their white desire:
And dark-leaved boughs, edged with a golden radiance,
Dipping to screen a fire . . .
I dream that I walk with her beneath high trees,
But as I lean to kiss her face,
She is blown aloft on wind, I catch at leaves,
And run in a moonless place;
And I hear a crashing of terrible rocks flung down,
And shattering trees and cracking walls,
And a net of intense white flame roars over the town,
And someone cries; and darkness falls . . .
But now she has leaned and smiled at me,
My veins are afire with music,
Her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light;
I shall dream to her secret heart tonight . . . '

He rises and moves away, he says no word,
He folds his evening paper and turns away;
I rush through the dark with rows of lamplit faces;
Fire bells peal, and some of us turn to listen,
And some sit motionless in their accustomed places.

Cold rain lashes the car-roof, scurries in gusts,
Streams down the windows in waves and ripples of lustre;
The lamps in the streets are distorted and strange.
Someone takes his watch from his pocket and yawns.
One peers out in the night for the place to change.

Rain . . . rain . . . rain . . . we are buried in rain,
It will rain forever, the swift wheels hiss through water,
Pale sheets of water gleam in the windy street.
The pealing of bells is lost in a drive of rain-drops.
Remote and hurried the great bells beat.

'I am the one whom life so shrewdly betrayed,
Misfortune dogs me, it always hunted me down.
And to-day the woman I love lies dead.
I gave her roses, a ring with opals;
These hands have touched her head.

'I bound her to me in all soft ways,
I bound her to me in a net of days,
Yet now she has gone in silence and said no word.
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?
There is no use: we cry: and are not heard.

'They cover a body with roses . . . I shall not see it . . .
Must one return to the lifeless walls of a city
Whose soul is charred by fire? . . . '
His eyes are closed, his lips press tightly together.
Wheels hiss beneath us.  He yields us our desire.

'No, do not stare so-he is weak with grief,
He cannot face you, he turns his eyes aside;
He is confused with pain.
I suffered this.  I know.  It was long ago . . .
He closes his eyes and drowns in death again.'

The wind hurls blows at the rain-starred glistening windows,
The wind shrills down from the half-seen walls.
We flow on the mournful wind in a dream of dying;
And at last a silence falls.


VII.

Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers
The golden lights go out . . .
The yellow windows darken, the shades are drawn,
In thousands of rooms we sleep, we await the dawn,
We lie face down, we dream,
We cry aloud with terror, half rise, or seem
To stare at the ceiling or walls . . .
Midnight . . . the last of shattering bell-notes falls.
A rush of silence whirls over the cloud-high towers,
A vortex of soundless hours.

'The bells have just struck twelve: I should be sleeping.
But I cannot delay any longer to write and tell you.
The woman is dead.
She died-you know the way.  Just as we planned.
Smiling, with open sunlit eyes.
Smiling upon the outstretched fatal hand . . .'

He folds his letter, steps softly down the stairs.
The doors are closed and silent.  A gas-jet flares.
His shadow disturbs a shadow of balustrades.
The door swings shut behind.  Night roars above him.
Into the night he fades.

Wind; wind; wind; carving the walls;
Blowing the water that gleams in the street;
Blowing the rain, the sleet.
In the dark alley, an old tree cracks and falls,
Oak-boughs moan in the haunted air;
Lamps blow down with a crash and ****** of glass . . .
Darkness whistles . . . Wild hours pass . . .

And those whom sleep eludes lie wide-eyed, hearing
Above their heads a goblin night go by;
Children are waked, and cry,
The young girl hears the roar in her sleep, and dreams
That her lover is caught in a burning tower,
She clutches the pillow, she gasps for breath, she screams . . .
And then by degrees her breath grows quiet and slow,
She dreams of an evening, long ago:
Of colored lanterns balancing under trees,
Some of them softly catching afire;
And beneath the lanterns a motionless face she sees,
Golden with lamplight, smiling, serene . . .
The leaves are a pale and glittering green,
The sound of horns blows over the trampled grass,
Shadows of dancers pass . . .
The face smiles closer to hers, she tries to lean
Backward, away, the eyes burn close and strange,
The face is beginning to change,-
It is her lover, she no longer desires to resist,
She is held and kissed.
She closes her eyes, and melts in a seethe of
It's stuck in my head,
Until it's gone,
When I can make endless complaints
Endless back stabs to match.
But till its gone, it is there.
After it's been there and gone,
It is there again.
Every night of everyday
And also in random hours of my days.
I see the old, then I see the new.
It seems my world has turned black and blue.
My heart beats faster
And my eyes: they cry.
I feel I am mourning a loss;
Of someone never born to be able to die.
It's the cases like this
That are always the worst.
You think you've found someone,
When they're not there at all.
So many good times
Have all gone down the drain,
Because everyone's a faker.
Don't you know I hate liars?
You liar, you deceitful and manipulative ****!
You *****!
I hate you,
I hate you,
And then I hate you even more.
What you have done made me fall to the floor.
I don't know how I can get through this,
Because last time I could just hate,
Which still I am doing.
You make that more difficult.
Because when all the memories
Come back again,
I don't want to believe that was you,
Surely it can't be true?
But I know too well
To be fooled more than once,
Not that there's a way you would make it twice,
Because you hate me too.
It's all because of you.
And her
And the other.
All "best friends" do
Is end up having to stab each other.
You see I am missing,
Someone nonexistent.
I knew it was too good to be true,
But that won't stop me bleeding.
I wish the 'you' I was friends with
Was actually real.
Instead I just feel messed over,
All over again.
I don't want to picture,
Not anymore,
Of what's flashing through my head.
The so many too good times.
They've been damaged again.
I trusted you
As I trusted them all,
Because you have to trust to do anything at all.
Again and again trusting proved to be devastating,
Because there is no one who actually
Has your back.
So no I don't want to picture,
I don't want another picture game.
When I'm talking about you in rants,
The devil is your name.
When I'm speaking I do not have to be sad,
It's only the times that I get to think on my own,
When I feel even more torn down.
When I see you walking around,
I wish you were not.
Do you know not what exactly you all have caused?
I can hear you all talking,
Just like we all used to do,
Then the thousands of memories
Come flooding in once again.
And until I convince myself to dry up my emotions,
I watch the dry river banks
Become diluted without letting the rain fall.
Because my tears;
You never deserved them at all.
I don't want to picture what you may think of me.
If you hate me then go on,
You can resent me as much as you can.
But maybe you'd like to know:
I stood up for you.
Even though it was proved to be true.
I didn't believe it at first,
Because it was you.
How dare you!
If you think I didn't know reasons to take sides,
Didn't you think I would defend you as I did her?
Well I ******* tried!
And if roles were reversed then I would've taken yours,
As it wasn't out of favouritism as it stood,
But because you were so unbelievable
That nothing could be done.
No friendship was saved.
Being civilised?
Well I just try to ignore your name.
Paul Kgaje Aug 2018
Stab me in the eyes, let me not see your filthy crimes.
Your hands are full of blood, the victims everlasting cries.
Your voice is swarmy as you hide beneath the tides of your lies.
You ******* with fear as your smile is not sincere.
The ringing bell shall be of help but if it rang.
With the question at mind I ask you very nice.
Where were you last night when Mrs Helmer died?

Your rage reeks upon your neck as you answer me.
Your sky is no longer blue and I can see.
It's on this day when I wish I couldn't see.
Oh what great trouble you're in.
"Curiousity kills a cat"
I now know what that means.
I wonder of the ****** weapon and where it's hid.

Stab me in the eyes, let me not see your filthy crimes.
You've ruined my life intirely.
For years you've been a friend undoubtably.
Lies, lies, lies.
There comes a time for those, the wise man knows.
My poker face isn't as fine as that of a friend I know.
Stab me in the eyes, let me not see your filthy crimes
A poem about a crime committed
"Pinch the pink rose bud"*  He whispers

"ahhh mmmm"* she responds

"Harder dear one"

"ohhhoww" as the dark heat shoots through her body

"Yes that's it girl"

"Roll it between your thumb and forefinger"
"How does that feel girl?"

"Mmmss ohhh it feels so good"

"Pinch it hard now"

She cries out as the painful heat surges

"That's it, again now harder"

Calls out louder as the heat in the bud hurts but feels so decadent

"Take your other hand and slide your fingers between your rose petals"

She continues rolling the ****** as her other hand obeys His demand
Her fingers reach the nether lips and find them laden with dew
"Mmmsss" As the fingers slide through the moisture

"Slide your fingers into your well and pull forth what you find"*

Her hips lift off the bed as the fingers slip inside her tight wet well
the heat intense her tunnel soaking wet, how she wonders

"Pull it up over your little nub now and begin circling it as you continue to pinch that tight ******"

"OHHHHH ohhh yesss!!!"
It feels so good she wants to move her fingers faster but doesn't dare

"Circle Your **** round and round now pinch hard and hold it"

Gasping as she does so, her legs jump as the heat seems to stab her between her quivering thighs
Whimpering as desire washes over the ivory flesh, feeling the nectar as it flows between the cheeks of her ***

"What are you thinking girl?"

"How I wish you were here, How I want you inside of me so badly"

"Mmmm I wish I was there to girl"
"Now release your pleasure nub and begin to rub faster"

Fingers flutter over the taut nub, hips lift pushing into the fingers
Other hand continues to roll, pinch and pull the ******
He hears her moans, whines, and whimpers growing in intensity

"Lift your ****** to your mouth girl and suckle the hardness, I want to hear you, keep those fingers moving over that taut lil nub" He whispers sensually

Suddenly he can hear her mouth as it pulls upon her own ******, breathing through her nose as she ***** harder, fingers moving faster now as the passion begins to take over from his demands

"That's it girl, bite it hard as you ****, imagine my teeth against your chest"

Her scream is muffled by the large ample globe of flesh as fire shoots to her *****, nectar floods her well

"Yes my girl you sound so good, are you close" He asks softly

"Yessss" is muffled as she continues to **** and bite her bruised breast

"Rub harder girl, faster, I want to feel your release" He says firmly

Her fingers pinch and pull her **** as her mouth suckles on the breast harder pulling more of the flesh into her heated mouth

Tension builds, hotter, as body tightens, muscles grow taut, suddenly her breath holds, her body stiffens liquid shoots into her mouth from her ******, as the clear viscous fluid floods her bed

"Screaming yes oh yes oh **** yes"*  She cries

She hears him as he responds to her ******

"Yessss oh yes girl I am ******* you so hard, oh godddd yes here it
comess"


She hears him hold his breath as his body releases the slapping liquid sound is heard as her own body is still pulsating, muscles finally relaxing as fireworks still explode behind the closed eye lids

"You are so ******* hot ****, I can't wait to yank that long hair as I ram my hard **** deep into you"  He pants

"I can't wait either, I need you soon, please don't make me wait much longer" she begs

His wicked laugh is heard on the other end of the phone as He says firmly
"Now **** *** now"

Believe it or not she did, this time harder than before, thighs quivered where she could not walk, they were actually sore from the strain, she blushed at how easily he could get her to release

"It won't be long now girl, we will meet and you will feel my hand pulling those long locks as I push deep inside you, where you can taste the effect you have on me and I can taste your sweet essence"

"Oh yes I can't wait to be beneath you, on top of you, in front of you, I can feel your bites on my flesh already, I can feel your hard shaft opening me up over and over again, I can't wait"

"Yes that isn't all you will feel is it girl?"  He asked

"ummm no Sir" she shivered thinking of the sting of leather against her flesh, the feel of rope binding her tight, and the clamps all strategically placed to enhance her ******

"Sleep now My girl, naughty dreams"  He whispered huskily

"Sleep tight my Love" She responded softly
The pain scared her but she had experienced it before and the pleasure it brought was so all consuming words could never describe


****** pain can bring intense pleasure. I would suggest you not try things on your own without the guide of an experienced lifestyler.  This definitly enhances the ****** experience.  Not everyone is into it but I hope my poem did it justice
Written by : Jennifer Humphrey all rights reserved   Updated 1/31/15
Please don't hurt me.
I've only just recovered,
from the very last time.
I may keep trying to forgive you,
but the memory won't go.
I still remember how you made me fear.
I don't want to feel that pain again.
It's that part of you I can't bare.
You seem to take my heart right out,
which brings all the pain.
But then you come right back,
and put it back again.
But then you don't just take it.
I've just got my heart back from you.
So what else can you do now?
You stab at my heart again.
Once is not enough.
You keep coming back for more.
You've stabbed me a thousand times,
but you're still at my door,
asking for one more.
But what if it's like last time?
Because I can't take another stab.
This one is the last.
The next time you come back,
I'm lying dead on the floor,
bleeding from my heart.
I couldn't live with you stabbing it anymore.
paprika Oct 2012
Only love her when she's dead
Swallowed whole by words unsaid
She sleeps among our gritty lies
A stab of truth to open eyes.

She walked among the living, shamed
Burdoned by the sharpest pain
It slid beneath her skin like glass
Haunting her with days that passed.

She never meant for this goodbye
But solace comes in quick demise
Now she's a thought and nothing more
A bruised and broken opened door.

She tried to tell us what she saw
The chafing life that rubbed her raw
We closed our eyes, our ears, our souls
And bundled up against the cold.

You see a perfect amber girl
Preserved in another world
But she will soon be cast away
Overcome by future days.

To keep the stifling guilt at bay
We give her life in hollow ways
Born again by selfish needs
An angel just to give us peace.

We act like we respect her pain
But we're just scared we'll do the same
She was not too perfect for this world
But just another broken girl.
Drifting Down Dec 2014
The stomach pain is horrendous
The taste of dessert coming back
The look of disaster
stab me, choke me, **** me
The disapproval upon the faces
The miserable sounds in the background
The insecurity peaking out
save me, help me, rescue me
The choke before the gag
The spit before the rest
The death in my stomach
take me, be me, please
The blood in my gums
The ache in my throat
It's over–
I'm alright again.
Repeat.
Lady Narnia May 2016
Oh, how dark our history is
You, my author of misery and pain
With fingers set to scribble my demise
This is our story, writ with chaotic pen

One that left calamity in its wake

You would always start the chapter
Every page inked with words of black
On the point of a pen, you'd viciously write
Using the sharp edge to stab into my being

Scripting, deeply, my eternal damnation

You erased my name and made me delusional
Always forcing me to your divine will
For the pen, always mightier than the sword
Was kept toward the edge of my neck

Swearing to strike at any given moment

Always determined, I'd end our sentences
Fighting to gain balance and bear the final period
Yet it was not without consequences
For you and I were wrought with scars

Etched into the bottom of our hearts, a burning black

If only these words painted a happy picture
But the thousand only paint a picture of pain
A dreary battle between two broken forces
On timeworn pages, brittle-ing on and on

Begging for the piece that holds our final chapter

And that chapter swiftly came for I was the ending
Leaving in the night, gone without a trace
With no words or ink left as a guiding clue
Carefully escaping from your paper prison

Free from the agony of the writer's press

On that day, I began my life again
Starting a happy story; free, original, and new
A home of letters filled with love, life, and joy
Where I'd never dare see you again, my dear, dear author

And never bleed black from your miserable weapon
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.do you really need a disclaimer, for this sort of work? no, not really... it's not exactly being allowed the equivalency of dropping an in excess of 2000mg of paracetamol.

the one aspect of legacy media, that still has some viability, akin to rekindling the famous extract from the movie: all the presidents men... is concerns for metal health issues of youngsters, who didn't have, the, "privilege" of being exposed to internet ergonomics, other than within the confines of gaming, they came far too late for, what replaced mp3 sharing.... ideas are not exactly sound-bites of copyright infringement...

**** me... do i really have to slap then punch
myself in the face, to remotely stay
awake while drinking ***** like pepsi
sharpshooters?
     i guess so...

   i too, "suffered" from roman bulimia,
the classical kind...
   don't ask me how i managed to make
the esophagus contender of the heart,
muscle...
                 at first it was cheap choc down
the throat, missing on brushing my
teeth for 48 hours...
   then... ******* down the throat,
like the ****-style gimmick of the Watergate
informant...
       came back up, bundled in quasi turds
packages...
               classical Roman bulimia -
eat, regurgitate, eat some more,
hell, now you have a Pompeii style
banquet of the coming of age...
laxatives?
that's no bulimia...
  bulimia is an extension of an ancient
Roman practice, akin to throwing yourself
****-naked into a nettle shrub area...
to get the "itches"...
     that method, involved in energizing
the neuron extension of the skin...
              it's a "placebo" itch...
   nettles, ancient Romans,
and bulimia like the rite of a loss of
virginity of kings...
      festering at its core... of the French court...
with a *****'s teaching apparatus,
leveraging the use of, a single "tool"...
           and even though the ancient Romans
never reached my people...
i get to abuse their phonetic encoding stratum...
bulimia... sure... i, "suffered" from it...
not really, no... i ******* enjoyed
the regurgitation process...
   anti-Grecian pederasty gimmick...
(a) taking a ****
   (b) oral regurgitation
   imitating an ancient Roman banquet
(c) / (d) ensuring the two entry points
are filled by an external source -
wishing for vanilla custard *******...
none to be...
    oops...
               so no one taught these girls
about ancient Roman bulimic
practices?
   you work on the esophagus...
                       by the time i finished
the transition period...
  i automated the esophagus reaction...
like training gymnastics for a six-pack...
no longer ******* down the throat...
you say charge? i think of
a rhino juggernaut...
           so no one bothered these girls
introducing ancient methodologies
to their predicament?
    no training of the esophagus,
no two (index + middle) fingers down
their throat to ease their larynx from
a gagging order?
    none of it?
   they'll grow out of it!
i did...
       drink a liter of ***** per day
and i'm feeling: shimmy!
          upon each nocturnal investment
that i translate into writing...
      anorexia?
    give them excess coffee...
              or strong cider...
      the most pristine aperitif...
    you can't cure anorexia with either
drips or syringes...
   you need aperitifs...
                     but please don't give them
white vinegar...
           you need a balance of alcohol
overcoming the sugars...
     strong beer is alcohol overcoming
starches... won't work...
     coffee and sugar helps...
  both simulate the pristine form of
the marijuana *****...
             it's not poison...
so why should i care?
   oh but i do care... reading this article...
troubled teenagers dodge Instagtram
   curbs on photos glorifying self-harm
...
ever tried burning out a cigarette tip
on your knuckle?
   ever wondered about
    warming up a hand of scissors and
giving yourself an indie tattoo?
   while at the same time...
relying on the mouse principle?
i.e. remaining pipsqueak clean from
making any noise?!
              cutting is so crass...
so unimaginative...
  you will not achieve the adrenaline *****
status of a stab-victim...
   there is no element of surprise...
but...
     if you really want to ingest pain?
hmm... hmm?
            heat up a scissor arm...
   and put it against your skin...
            and then... EAT... the pain...
with what you can surmount in and with,
silence...
                   cutting is too... dramatic...
at least burning yourself you have
not achieved the stature of a shedding blood...
cleaner, more effective,
think of orange recycling bags
collected at the start of the week...

              **** me though...
you seen the comradely behavior
of competing athletes, at the european
championships in Berlin,
   with the pole vaulters?
   Armand Duplantis -
congratulated for having crossed
the 6m benchmark of respectability...
now... that's sport!
football, soccer, basketball,
call it what you like...
   that's not sport, that's business,
that's advertisement...
     that's concussion cover-ups...

Epke Zonderland? also a doctor...
communist Poland believed in
sport, sport on the side,
   sport was never to reach status
of a mono-career investment...
            most of the local football
players from my hometown,
also worked less hours in
the metallurgy plant...
                  that's sport...
   a healthy balance...
which, mainstream sport is lacking...
oh look...
   the women doing the hammer throw,
or the discus...
   not exactly Vogue / Chanel catwalk
material...
    mandible beauties...

    to be honest? the doping affair
in the Olympic sports?
   but a minor setback of credibility...
     i rather watch that...
   than those pitiable 22 ballerinas in soccer.
Kiernan Norman Jul 2014
We didn’t bloom together the way we should have. We never eyed each other across neat soil; both self-conscious and self-righteous as we sipped the sun and, in quiet bursts, raced to touch the sky.  

We weren't planted by gentle hands in soft plots with room to stretch our limbs and shield our eyes, nor to bud in peace and thrive and find identity in both our own bold blossoms and as a pulsing piece of the whole lavish garden.

We didn't bloom because we erupted.
We running-start-swan-dived into stale dirt and were too close from the very beginning.
We didn’t sprout up straight; we snaked and lurked and left no bit of earth untouched by our vibrant, stencil **** fingers declaring ourselves alive.

By harvest we were tangled beyond repair.
By harvest I didn't know me from you and I liked it.

To be so entwined is lovely but depends on a balance
we could only begin to grasp.
To expand but not uproot requires perfect synchronicity maybe not beyond our years but certainly beyond our maturity. We spread out our emotions like tarot cards on a towel in the grass and reflected in your sunglasses I met the silent pieces of me.
In colorful, grim drawings those quiet, ugly bits floated up veins and settled under ribs.
They stayed silent. Until they began to scream.

And you and I- we didn't have the words;
not our own words that we earned and burned while stumbling across months and plains,
tripping over potholes and finding our feet quicker each time.
We had place-holders words we sang back and forth and splashed around and bathed in.
The words we spoke were profound and cardboard.
We were just reading lines, sharing identical scripts and an ache to be seen
so deep and desperate it was sinful.

We maybe shared the humid cling of regret; which hung heavy in stuck-air auditoriums,
it beaded sweat echoed, rolling down spines and turning blood to sticky wax as we whispered in the corner about the things we could say aloud while our minds never left the things we wouldn't dare.

We were mostly ill-equipped.
We joked about hurricanes
We didn't survive the first storm.

I want you to know you really hurt my feelings.
I want you to know you're the first guy I've given my feelings to hurt.
I want you to know I was terrible towards the end.
And I know that. But you gave up on me

You gave up on me at the exact moment I was giving up on myself.
Even as my tongue stung metallic and veins pulsed so hot and loud
through my eardrum that I felt I would explode- it was clean.
It was all remarkably clean.
and sterile.
There were no explosions.
No shattered plates, ****** knuckles or blown out voices
that scratched and rose in time with the sun.

Just a quick slash of rope-
an anchor cut loose and left to sink;
our secrets were set free to
rust over and collect algae.
We were suddenly off the hook
for any vulnerability we might have spilled
on each other in our fits of laughter
and hours of sleep.
A deep sigh of relief.
A deeper sigh of desolation.


The moment exists in sad yellow lighting that must have been added in restrospect.
I tweaked the floor of my memory too:
at that moment I was not wearing flipflops on linoleum- but sinking, slowly and barefoot, into chilly riverbed mud as it turned to ice.

I opened the door and there you stood.
You knew I had been crying and I didn’t try to hide it
it was too exhausting- running on fumes.

And I did expect something from you,
anything from you, that might dull the singed-dagger plunging
stab to my chest with each breath I gulped and spat .
I wanted anything that might reel me in from the cliffs edge
where my thoughts had carried me on horseback.

But you had nothing.
I watched your eyes glaze over my swollen lips and pinced, glassy eyes.
You threw back the melted, Picasso-esque mask where my face once was,
like a quick, sharp shot of warm whiskey.
Careful to avoid eye contact you slipped ‘**** this,’
under your breath and started to reach for my hand.

You started to, but then after a second suspended
you let your arm fall back to your body.
Head lowered, jaw clenched and you turned and fled with a new heaviness pushing down on your posture.
It looked painful and adult.
It looked like you finally felt the weight of our season.
And watching you go I shrank in lighter and thicker because I felt it too.

We are not going to get a happy ending-
not with each other and not right now.
Maybe not ever.
And that will have to do.
(Though I will miss your hand in mine.
I hope one day you'll remember being tangled with me and it will make you laugh before you cringe because I didn't like to be alone.)

If I wanted to be alone I would just go home.
Sandra Dec 2014
I watch their footsteps
I listen to their laughs
Sometimes I wonder why
They keep joking about love.

I walk into the classroom
The boys are being rude
The girls are gossiping
Sometimes I wonder if
I fit in here.

I sit on the desk, preparing myself
The teacher comes in
He looks very tired, like I'm
Sometimes I wonder if
He wants to die--like I'd.

I start the exam, numbers are running inside my head
I look around to see if everyone's noticing
I look down at the paper and
Pull out a pencil from
the pencil case and
Stab my throat.

While the blood are rushing on my shirt
and down to my legs
I wonder why
They keep joking about love.
I get very tired after the final exam, and i wonder why they're still joking about love.
Big Virge Nov 2014
Ya know .....

This Violence thing ....    
just isn't in me ... !!!  
I'm just wondering when ...    
you masses will see ,,, ?  
    
That wars are like ****** ....  
"Without" ... A ***** ... !!!!!!  
    
See ... it really is ... "Futile"  
to be messin' with me ...  
    
I've got logic like Spock  
and ... Big Ears ...  
Don't you see ... !?!  
    
Yes ...    
The name is ... " Big V "  
and this style I believe ... ?  
is called ... "Slam poetry !?!"  
and I hear that ... to win ...  
it helps if ... you're ...    
    
........... FUNNY ........ !!!!!  
    
Well .....  
I hate to ... Disappoint ...  
    
But ...    
That's just ... missing ... the point !  
    
I try to write things  
that are built to ... " Anoint " ...  
An ... "Elixir of Pictures"  
in terms of ... My ... Scripture ...  
    
That Affect ... your mind ...  
Like ... Smoking ... "A Joint" ... !!!!!  
    
See ...    
One day it was Yoda ...  
who said to me ....  
    
'Virgil my son  
this poetry thing  
is your DESTINY !!!"  
    
Like Luke I said ....  
    
"Maaaannnn,    
that just isn't me  
performing this thing  
they call, Slam Poetry !?!"  
    
So ......  
Now that this veil ...  
is .... Covering me ...  
    
I feel like Darth Vader ...  
with forces ... So DARK ... !!!!!  
    
I keep checkin' my head ...  
for that ... 666 ... Mark ... !!!!!!!  
    
But .......    
God's force ... I ... " Believe " ...    
just keeps ... "Loving Me" ...  
So ... "My Soul" ... like my mind  
will always be .... " FREE " ....  
    
"Violence" ... surrounds me ...  
yet ... "Angels in my Heart" ...  
but it's ...... "Lucipher" ........  
Don't you .... see .... !?!?!?!  
    
who sits back with a ... "***" ...  
looking on .... " Patiently " ....  
Awaiting .... Those .... "Fools"  
    
.............. Wanting ................  
    
"Destruction' ...... of ...... " WE " .....  
    
"We" .... as in .... " PEOPLE "    
    
So .... What's Your ... " Destiny ? "    
    
It's ... "Lost Souls" ...  
who'll be ... ****** ...  
for ....... ETERNITY ........................  
    
So .......  
What DO they ... Achieve ... !???!  
    
See ......  
I've found ... NO Relief ...  
and now ... "TRULY" ... Believe ...  
A ... "Great Many" ... in this world  
just keep being ....  " Deceived " ....  
by ... BULL** ... and ... Lies  
that the ..... Media ..... "FEEDS"    
    
While these ... "Draculas" ... " **** ! "  
It's my heart that just .... "BLEEDS"    
    
Thus My Words ...    
search for ... "TRUTH"  
with .... " INTENSITY " .... !!!!!  
    
while Violence ... now ... " Reigns "  
in each ... " Big City " ... !!!!!  
    
EVEN ........  
Young Girls will ... "****" ... !!?!!  
Stab a gay ... in his chest ...    
or .... could it be .... This .... ???  
    
Is she just ... "Re-enacting" ...  
what she saw in ... **** Bill ... !???!  
    
"We told you before,  
Quentin's films are TOO VIOLENT !!!!!"  
    
The censors ... Complain ...  
but ... who is the ... Tyrant ... ?!?  
    
A man using film ... to ...  
"Reflect" ... our ... Environment  
    
Or .... "Overpaid MP's" ....  
who NEED ... Early Retirement !!!!!  
    
So ... Who do you ... TRUST ... !?!  
    
"Ashes to Ashes"    
    
........ or .........  
    
"Dust to Dust"  
    
An Icepick ... in your chest ... !!!  
in a ... FIT ... of ... " LUST " ... !?!  
    
Well .......  
It's my ... Basic Instinct ...  
That allows me to ... "Drink" ...  
    
I've got ... "A Shield of Steel" ...  
But ... My name ain't ... "BATFINK" ... !!!!!!  
    
See ...    
In these few words ...  
"My Truth" ... is ...  
    
.... REVEALED .... !!!!!  
    
and like ... Bruce ...  
I survive .....  
    
On my ... "Boy Scout" ... Appeal ... !!!  
but now it seems ..........  
Like Lambs ........  
    
You're all ... "quiet and silent" ...  
as I draw .... analogies ....  
from movies ... with ... VIOLENCE ...  
    
So ... when this .... Inscription ....  
is ... "FINALLY" ... "DONE" ...  
    
Will I be ... " The ONE " ... ?  
who's ... INJECTED ... your mind  
with thoughts of ... " Freedom " ... ?!?  
    
Well .....  
Be careful what you wish for ... !!!  
cos' i'm the ... "Wishmasters' Son" ... !!!    
and will take your ... Last Breath ...  
if you wish to ... Retain ...  
Your ... " Youthful Reflection " ...  
    
So .....  
What ... Reflects ... WHAT ... !?!?!?  
    
Is it ... Life ... "Within Movies" ... ?  
    
................. or ....................... ?????  
    
Movies that .... " Reflect " ....  
what goes on in ... OUR LIVES ... ?    
    
I'm not Arnie .... !!!  
BELIEVE ME ......... !!!!!!!!  
What's TRUE ... in a ... LIE ... ?!?  
    
I'm a ... "Lyrical" ... Prince ...  
but ... My Doves ... "DO NOT CRY" ... !!!!!!  
    
It's ... " PEACE " ... That I LIVE FOR ... !!!  
    
So this VIOLENCE ...    
    
........ “ MUST DIE ” ....... !!!!!!!
I'm pretty much, Anti ... Poetry slams, having done a few back when I wrote this, but, have to at least be thankful, for these words they inspired ! How many movies and shows do you know that I have mentioned ... ???
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
They may use you
abuse you
slap you
kick you
shoot you
stab you
curse you
mock you
choke you
tear you

and at times,    defeat you
in that time a   n   d time alone
They may do   all    this because
they know you can reach the
heights, the impossible,
that they can only
dream of
but

they won't      ever destroy
you.    You        know       when to be
a tempest and     when       to be tranquil
You know when     to         be a flicker and
when to                     be                        a flame
When to shake the        earth and to sprout
they may put so much energy to see you
on your knees, vulnerable and weak,
but as long as you continue to
rise to your feet, they will
be blinded by the
light of your
glory.
Feeling a lil optimistic now. You know, I can say that there are ALOT
of people I can list now that really want to see me fail, friend and family.
Shame but at least I know who I can and can't trust. I'm on that level of
consciousness now. This is a poem dedicated to them.
To let them see me down is a victory to them.
But it'll always be hollow because I will have that strength
to get back up again.

If anyone is in need of more fire to their flame, I hope this poem is at least a drop of fuel / a piece of wood.

Be back soon!
Lyn ***
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
If you didn't know my story,but saw me in a book,
You'd read my name and wonder,then take a second look.
A shadow of my former beauty,I've been ruined by many years,
The things that have happened to me always bring on many tears.
I do not hide my sadness,for it is fresh and always there,
As I wait here so very lonely in my sunless Atlantic lair.
My poor,proud body is rotting away,there is nothing I can do,
Except hope maybe one day,equality will be given me too.
I recall a sadness filled day within my lonely dark,
When a plastic cup came floating down,and on my tomb left a mark.
That was one of many times I would give up and cry,
For human cruelness hurt me so,I got this rather than 'good-bye'.
I do not hardly recognize myself anymore,I say it not to be vain,
I say it with truth and exactness,to my heart welled up with pain.
Some people truly love me,for them I'm truly greatful,
Others regard me as a rusty ship with eyes that bespeak hateful.
I cannot help what happened to me,they just don't understand,
I once had a heart adventurous that would lead a career grand.
My hopeful life was ended in the year of 1912,
And my dreams,visions and pride-filled youth to the bottom delved.
I was told that youth and beauty would get me far in life,
And with these assets I proudly boasted,I knew nonesuch called 'strife'.
Throughout the tumble and crash of waves rode my lean body's length,
I reveled many times over in my satisfying,thrilling strength!
****
On the evening tide of the 14th,I saw the iceberg  true,
A handsome,glittering,ethreal prince,what was a lonely girl to do?
I rushed as fast as could be allowed to greet this glacier born one,
Eager to introduce myself and rid forlornness akin to a ton.
But when I came up closer,my heart he did stab,
With that glittering,icy spellbinding look,'twas my start of being sad.
He tore into my body,bringing unsurmountable pain,
What was the purpose of such cruelty,what could he possibly gain?
And on the night my life ended,I travelled my beloved sea no longer,
Death so young,in such a way,could life be any wronger?
I hoped so much I would not perish in a life that did just start,
Yet hopes were banished by the truths of a rapidly weakening heart.
I tried to wait as long as I could to save my passengers dear,
But the ending for so many of us was soon becoming near.
I didn't want to say farewell to the things I did love so,
And yet time was running short,and I wanted them to know:

Olympic,my lovely sister,I hope your life is a promise true,
Of many voyeurs across oceans wide,a charmer you are too.
Treasure the sun's bounty that warms the evening's chill,
And know throughout your entire life,my love is with you still.
Enjoy the satisfaction of your beauty and strength even when in dock you sit,
For a day may come anytime,and a single moment end it.
Show the Captain you are bold-bold,lovely and free,
But do not toss caution in the spray thrown off the sea.
I trust you not to be lonely in travels near and far,
For my ghost is always with you,just look up at a star.
When days come to you and a disconsolate thought you may think,
Remember the unconditioning love of a sister who'd "Never Sink".
Remember my love at morning,remember it at night,
Remember it these coming days I will no longer be in your sight.
I love you,Fair Olympic,in wordless,heartfelt ways,
Your memory I shall treasure in my saddened,sunless days.

I rest on a sandy sea bottom,amongst accoutrements of life,
From an unforgettable day when I learned the meaning of strife.
The earth has covered the stab the iceberg in my side did maim,
But despite that all,the hurt in my heart did stain.
I relive in over and over,wishing it were just a dream,
Yet awaken to the truths to know,my broken funnels have no more steam.
The way I landed in this grave,I look like I shall sail ahead,
But,that is all a fantasy,my once-strong body is dead.
It will not go anywhere,today or ever again,
I am helpless to the trash that falls upon me from heartless men.
The ship that sail above me hold people bright and gay,
Who do not know the sorrows that were on a 15th of April day.
They sail on to their destination,thinking nothing of me,
Who haunts the very waves they ride on my beloved Atlantic sea.
They dream of their days ahead,cheerful and free of plight,
Disregarding any notion of a nightmarish Hadean night.
They dance,they revel and throw trash over the side,
Where it floats down eventually onto the Ocean's Queen who has died.
They do not know of an iceberg with a sinister,laughing gaze,
And who pleasured in so knowing he ended my happy days.
They do not know of terror,of the ocean flooding ones' heart,
They do not know suffering for a ship breaking apart.
They do not know the agony of bading goodbye,
To the sunshine and a beloved sister who would never,ever lie.
They stand aboard a breezy bow,above the white waves foam,
Knowing soon,within a few days,they will be going home.
They seem to forget I belonged somewhere once too,
My home wasn't supposed to be an ocean floor,far from the sky's blue.
They do not know I've loved,they do not know I've cared,
They do not know the pain in my heart,that in scrapping,my sister wasn't spared.
They are the people who have this phrase float off their lips:
"Olympic and Titanic ,they are little more than ships!"
You humans claim you hold a bond to those you love so dear,
How different is it for me,I ask,with my sister built so near?
There is so much out there for those to remember me,
But my poor,sweet sister is forgotten,plunged into ocean history.
When you recall me,try to think of her too,
Bring her alive within your heart,I leave it up to you.
Years have passed,times have changed,though down here it's the same,
I am still the great Titanic,though my bow no longer says my name.
Some people who have discovered me have been respecting and kind,
I shall never give up my secrets,but their visits I don't mind.
Then,there are others,who ravage me to know,
They steal my finery,what is rightly mine;how can they hurt me so?
Although I do not mind some visits,I am now accustomed to the dark,
For the lights they shine upon me are so horribly bold and stark.
I am now part of this sea for one-hundred and one years strong,
All stemming from an April night when the most horrible went wrong.
The rust that drapes off me,some people say are like tears,
And,partially they are,my dearest friend,of the sorrows of many years.
The ocean floor is somber,the ocean floor is cold,
All the more unpleasant for a girl who's growing old.
My song it is of truth,to show that life is not a game,
But,treasure it every minute you can,all the very same.
It may be pleasant,it may be sorrow,
But,hold close the day you live in,think not heavily of a 'morrow.
I thought I'd have a tomorrow too,as I sit here in my grave,
I had a tomorrow,yes indeed,but not in a life-filled way.
I rest under these bitter waves,a melancholy heart is mine,
A shadow of my former beauty,a ghost of the White Star Line.
In the Aprils of today,on the dancing surf above,
My soul rises up to haunt the sea I love.
My soul is not marred by tears,fright and rust,
Whole and in perfection,before my death it's just.
At the latitude and longitude of that long ago day,
I have stopped many a vessel,so,remember me that may.
The scrapping of my sister,the sinking of me,
Life ended none too kind for both Queens of the Sea.
Remember us,gay vacationers,as you gaze up at a cloud,
For Titanic and Olympic,death 'twas not proud.....

I rest under these bitter waves,
A melancholy heart is mine,
We are remnants of our former beauty,
We are the ghosts of the
WHITE STAR LINE...
This poem is dedicated to my beloved Royal Mail Steamship 'Titanic',and her more forgotten,yet beautiful sister,Olympic. Never shall the sea be host to two finer ocean liners.

— The End —