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Harriet Cleve Aug 2018
...the threshold of a borrowed day stood before him mocking his manhood. He had refused to die when the levers of death were unleashed.A scorched black skull betrayed the ineptitude of mechanics. Yes, he had tremored and shook violently when the surge of electricity flowed throughout his flesh and veins. The vividness of the images projected from his memory onto his brains widescreen
horrified the very mind which had committed the atrocity of ******.

It was his hand he saw brandishing the footstool and crashing it into the terrified head of his neighbour. The frenzied last minute pathetic attempt of his victim to defend the most vicious injury inflicted with severe hostility. He heard once again the anguished brief scream screeching in the last desperate utterance of his victim. The pulped brain tissue seemed to spatter in microseconds and with it every thought and memory once possessed by this desecrated being
sprayed his face and accused him of wanton cruelty.

The eyes too accused him and stared with bitter intensity until their life force blinkered out and suddenly it was dark.

One brief instant caused him to bite on his tongue and split it in two as the electricity claimed justice shaking his conscience with bitter recrimination, defying him to live and yet live he did.

An unexpected power cut severed the link between life and death.
He was only aware of the eyes of the living in the death cell looking on incredulously at this unwanted twist of fate. The smell of burning flesh was like a taste of the fires of hell and damnation.
He knew too he had survived and took a callous satisfaction in his phyric victory,

As they warden unstrapped the clamps from his wrists and legs he felt a tangible relief. Fate had intervened and taken his side.

Suddenly through the door came a family member of his victim brandishing a wooden footstool as if he had suspected justice would take an absence of leave. Holding it high above his arms he swung it down on the head of the murderer and smashed his brains to a pulp.
A ****** had claimed a murderer and in that moment of terror the air was permeated with the fragrance of rough justice.

Silence settled on the scene and the tragic realisation that violence lay within the grasp of every man who chose to act on mindless impulse.

The power suddenly returned and an arc of electricity flashed in the air. It came too late for all who had come to see righteousness

Tomorrow another man would await the threshold of a borrowed
Tiberias Paulk Jan 2017
Who will drink the water when it spills over abundantly
is it the shackled or the master that owns the overflow
in a forest most forgotten and apart from all redundancies
the garden with no planner may to some seem overgrown
but then who should own the earth in all of it's entirety
to beat back all discomfort and measure out the lines
the masters and the peasants change their places violently
still subject to nature that they'd sworn to leave behind
those who write the rules yet are not subject to such majesty
go caging lowly creatures who are born right in the way
if you would use your wisdom to achieve some newer travesty
I hope your path is love or that you leave it where it lay
Jessica Dec 2018
“Don’t leave.” On repeat

Over and over in my head
My bed is empty
You left
You’re the last person
I’ll let sleep next to me
I’m wide awake
I watched you sleep
you know?
I didn’t move, and I tried not to breath too
I let you sleep
You slept, and moved violently
I look forward to seeing you again
I’ll keep saying I love you
Even if you’re gone
everly May 2019
we burned violently in
brisk winters
and grew to ice in
beating summers
opposites do attract
Elizabeth Sep 2017
These deluded sheets,
Im crawling underneath,
our bodies feeble,
dying in pleasure.

I am breathless

My hands slowly tracing
the oddities of your skin,
violently kissing every inch,
wanting you to devour me.

I'd melt away along with the wind,
along with the scent of our love making,
my body miniscule next to yours,
always afraid and inching away.

But here I am, underneath stale sheets,
I devour every bit of you, prey on every part of you, silently wishing,
This is not a love of the grandiose.

I am breathless, still trying to breathe you

My body and yours,
drowned in utter pleasure,
never afraid and inching away,
wishing you’ll never love me.”
Jordan LC Murphy Feb 2019
Roses of burnt orange..
Violets ARE purple..
Violently I burst topic..
And vent In to verbal...
Hurtfull.. Outcasted..
Tired and alone..
Just me against this world..
Depressed to the bone..
Unwanted, used and depleted..
Just thrown in a box..
A little like lost and found..
No ones coming for me kid..
I'm just destined to rot.
Marla Apr 2019
A woman dressed in white
Walks alongside the riverbank,
As she flails violently,
A horseman with ancient woes
Of chopped thoughts
Pulls up alongside her.
They rode as though their mission
Was to escape the sun's torment
By running with the night.
2sided2 Nov 2013
Let me tell you                                        /Let me tell you
Love                                                         ­ /Heartbreak
Makes for good poems                          /Makes for good poems
I'll sit and write                                      /I'll sit and write
About your smile                                  /About my pain
The way you touch me                         /The way i wake up
And my stomach flips                          /In the middle of the night
As i bite my lip                                     /Crying your name
Anticipating your kiss                         /My heart violently convulsing
The way your fingers                           /For you
Intertwine perfectly                             /The way my stomach is full
With mine                            /Even though i haven't ate in days
How the most comfortable                 /How i find a way
Place to lay my head                           /To make every little thing
Is on your shoulder                             /Remind me of you
Because you,                                         /Because you,
You are home                                        /You were home
Keeping me safe                                   /Now, home is no longer
But there's only so much                     /But there's only so much
I can write                                              / I can write
About how beautiful                            /About how losing you
You makes me feel                                /Made me feel
Umi Apr 2018
In Stardust,
Is where can hopes be born,
But also, where a star has died, violently, explosively, shining out light so brilliant it would roar if it hit the atmosphere, illuminate it,
It is hot, alike the purgatory with a sweet look to gaze at if you observe the planetary nebulae by a far, far distance of course,
The dreams of the nova remnant, spread across space, left is but a small piece of dense matter, pulsating light cast by it's fast spin,
It is but a pulsar, or rather this old lady could be called one of the many lighthouses of our beloved widely beautiful universe,
Shining brilliantly even after death, isn't that what we all desire ?
If sadness clouds your judgement and you have nowhere to run,
And if you feel lonely in a starlit sky, worrying about the past long gone, losing yourself to your recurring, cruel thoughts,
Just remember, that you too, once were part of a bright, shining star which once too used to brighten up the dark, cold night for one else.

~ Umi
Trying to be motivational °^°
Jenn Feb 2017
when broke happened
and pages bled
out of order was read.
we'd been slowed down
and our best things
were downsized.
I've no clue what to do
with these memories
as the past violently
asserts itself.
Tori Oct 2018
You worry too much
You worry too little
I convey my opinions
And violently spittle
Out what you should do
There your life, your career
What comes after that?
Well, don't worry my dear.
Eleanor Sep 2018
It’s like I’m sitting, watching a love scene in a movie where teens are driving and swimming and laughing and I'm immersed and enjoying it, but then the harsh, violently, fluorescent lights behind me turn on and the director yells “Cut!” and my brain is hijacked by a new reality of fake, lonely, nothingness.
That is depression.
Oli Dec 2018
Often times a question regarding death, "what happens, where do you go?"
I'd say it's neutral, no ringing ears, nothing at all.
Though I've grown up neck deep in the tired and frightening atmosphere of death, nights spent as a child contemplating my own existence, I had learned to accept it at a fairly young age
This question no longer bothers me

Before I walked, before I talked genuinely, I was a million questions, a million ideas all kept under lock
And the way I walked and talked was not my own
And now, some days they'll call me a "man", but what I am is a hybrid of all of these thoughts
bright and faded colors, painted fingers and toes, distorted and vulnerable

And that sudden burst of consciousness at birth was the same I'd come to know in that moment, at the bottom with the fishes, counting pictures and having visions with my last bit of oxygen. Mermaids, gold glitter, and snakes in the water.
Never had I known such a gentle touch, among some collapsed lakeside cottage.

And that is why I am no longer afraid of death, because to cease to exist is not any kind of experience.
And I will always remember, the sudden burst of consciousness just before the renaissance that ensued from your touch.

And I will not wait
And I will sing in a violently feminine fashion
before the day my lung collapses
Chelsea Feb 2016
There was a deep sea I once dared to cross,
                           Pitch black and devoid of life.
                           The cold, bitter sea cannot be bothered
                           with almost certain uncertainties.
The tips of the waves were razor sharp,
                            Imposed is a gentle reminder that my flesh is not steel.
                            What exists beneath the water's ragged teeth?
                            ..I don't need to be told,
                            for I am well acquainted with that darkness & that fear;
                            We've shared a bed, twin-sized, for twenty-two years.
The winds lashed and the waves churned.
                          "Get out now!", they screamed at me.
                           But where, how, when there's nowhere to go?
                           The only possible direction is down, straight below.
                           The ocean stole my soul, as it swallowed me whole.
Down here,
air is a luxury that I'm denied
again and again,
regardless of time spent
begging for the weight of
the water to relent,
and set me free.

But, it took water filling up my lungs
                     for me to finally feel peace--
                     to live where silence exists without grief.
I am at the ocean's whim,
                     I follow, and it leads.
                     All the while, I beg and I plead,
                     "Take me home, wherever home is, please...."
The current reacts violently to my request.
                      I'm spun around, turned upside down
                      and I have lost my way.
                      But my way can't save me anymore.
 The waves push. They pull. I give in to their will.
And they surrender me to the shore.              

A watery tomb left behind.
The surface is near.
           I gasp for fresh air,
                                                            ­                  Inhale
                                        ­                                      a deep breath,
                                                         ­                     an incredible breath
                                                    just breathe..
                                   I found what I was searching for.
galio Jul 2018
how many chances has the ships given the ocean
before being relentlessly tossed to the coast
rocking back and forth,
splintering and breaking
the boat in half

how many chances has the ships given to the ocean
before being violently slammed in to rocks
water rushing through the cracks
spilling the sailors
to their depths

how many chances has the ships given to the ocean
to forgive, to promise not to hurt
yet the ships never learn,
and continue to sail
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