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Pau May 24
at the end of the day,
i can't blame you.
i told you i knew i would get hurt.
you told me this would end badly.
your friends told you to stop hurting me.
but i ignored all of it,
i told you to go on,
and hurt me anyway.
you are not the perfect girl,
nor was this the perfect situation,
but i wanted it anyway.
no matter the cost.
i wouldn't have it any other way.
Nicole Alyssia Aug 2016
with each passing day,
i realize
with increasing certainty
that there are not many
people
out there like
myself

cut from a different cloth.

perhaps, you haven't been
properly warned
about me.
Carter Ginter Jun 2013
Call me by my name while I fight this hold of shame.
It's a wave that crashes over, way above my head and shoulders.
Keep hinting at how you feel, still your poor heart I won't steal.
Couldn't bring myself to destroy, one of such a sweet boy.
Don't throw your life away, cause I'm not here to stay.
Don't think I'm yours to miss, it was simply just a kiss.
I warned you of my demon, you heard every possible reason.
Yet you still pursued, and now you feel used.
When really I did it all for you, for I never wanted to.
The Dragon steals the waters of life,
The Dragon steals the waters of life,
  The Dragon steals the waters of life,


a Hydra eats those who lie.


This is the story of
                          Darr-en Gunn,
His life was a
                             short-en-ed one.
While hunting some snakes
                                           having no lucky breaks.
Found himself consumed by a
                                                               ­   gi-ant one.

Was warned of one snake,
                                           the seven-headed Drake.
Found himself consumed by a
                                                               ­  gi-ant one.
In Old Foggie swamps lies a place
                                                           ­      he haunts.
With a hunter digesting in a
                                                               ­ Dra-gon!


The Dragon steals the waters of life,
The Dragon steals the waters of life,
 The Dragon steals the waters of life,


a Hydra eats those who lie.


All children should learn  
                                                         ­                    of a swamp that churns.
In a place where they say
                                                                 the wa-ter burns!
Hy-dra is originally Sy-dra. 'Sy' meaning 'thief' and 'Dra' meaning water so the Hydra is a water-thief. IE: it burns up the waters of life. 'Dragon' in Proto-Indo-European(the first language) was spelled 'Dher Ghen.' So "Darren," is Dher Ghen with the 'G' silent.
Alyssa Underwood May 2016
Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. Let me try thinking instead. From the rational point of view, what new factor has H.’s death introduced into the problem of the universe? What grounds has it given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew already that these things, and worse, happened daily. I would have said that I had taken them into account. I had been warned—I had warned myself—not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ and I accepted it. I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination. Yes; but should it, for a sane man, make quite such a difference as this? No. And it wouldn’t for a man whose faith had been real faith and whose concern for other people’s sorrows had been real concern. The case is too plain. If my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. The faith which ‘took these things into account’ was not faith but imagination. The taking them into account was not real sympathy. If I had really cared, as I thought I did, about the sorrows of the world, I should not have been so overwhelmed when my own sorrow came. It has been an imaginary faith playing with innocuous counters labelled ‘Illness,’ ‘Pain,’ ‘Death,’ and ‘Loneliness.’ I thought I trusted the rope until it mattered to me whether it would bear me. Now it matters, and I find I didn’t.

Bridge-players tell me that there must be some money on the game ‘or else people won’t take it seriously.’ Apparently it’s like that. Your bid—for God or no God, for a good God or the Cosmic Sadist, for eternal life or nonentity—will not be serious if nothing much is staked on it. And you will never discover how serious it was until the stakes are raised horribly high, until you find that you are playing not for counters or for sixpences but for every penny you have in the world. Nothing less will shake a man—or at any rate a man like me—out of his merely verbal thinking and his merely notional beliefs. He has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses. Only torture will bring out the truth. Only under torture does he discover it himself.

And I must surely admit—H. would have forced me to admit in a few passes—that, if my house was a house of cards, the sooner it was knocked down the better. And only suffering could do it...

                                                          ­                  ~ C.S. Lewis
Andrew Jun 2017
It makes sense that a mummy was required
For the exodus out of my king rut
By wrapping me in silk and satin
And embalming me with love
But my brief time as pharaoh ended
A tomb at the pyramid I once attended
Thoughts of my sins plagued me
Did I get too froggy?
Or maybe he just met another sarcophaguy
Or maybe I misunderstood him
When he invited me over for desert

I wanted to conquer you
Like Brendan Fraser
Now I just want to talk to you
Like John Edward
I tried unearthing artifacts to channel your spirit
But your grave had been robbed
And after swimming in denial for so long
Wandering through the Sahara feels wrong
Your carefree kingdom is where I belong
But the evasive Ra warned
That the ghosts of snake charmers
Are abrasive and horned
Listen to the sound of wolves
And zombies who are often cruel
Vultures hovering, seeking flesh
Must keep on the move, no time to rest.
All of this for an adventurous trip
Nobody warned about the risk
Or gave a clue of what lay ahead
For fear out there is one of dread
Running forward no looking back
One false move could be the last.
Footsteps approaching, something is near
Shaking the branches causing fear.
The echoing sound of haunting cries
That awful feeling of peering eyes
Now this is the end, no more to be
Watching horror movies on my TV
That is all enough has been said
I am tired now, so I am off too bed.
cleo Feb 2017
i don’t count aloud anymore
i can't stand to hear your name,
such a common word
it doesn't matter the context
i still go quiet every time

i used to pick up pennies, called them lucky
i remember picking up a few
on our way back to your place.
nowadays i don't give them a second glance
it's not their worth i've forgotten

they say one is the loneliest number
is that why you did it?
because you felt you’d earned it
after all this time being by yourself--
that you deserved it?
what about me,
did i?

i remember exactly what i wore that day:
short shorts, a baggy t shirt
i haven't worn those shoes since (and i so loved them)
they were these expensive purple velvet platforms;
i actually had to beg my mother to buy them for me.
"you better wear them", she warned.
that day i went home with you was
the first time i'd ever worn those shoes,
and the last
sorry mom
Heather Anderson Apr 2015
Ignorance is such a beautiful thing,
But oh how toxic it can be.
You poisoned my mind with words of beauty,
Songs of joy my heart did sing,
But now that I know the truth,
Your reputation has been tainted.
How perfect a picture of deceit you painted.
Your behavior is (for a lack of a better word) uncouth.
Some warned that trusting you would be unwise,
But an underlying dissonant chord grew.
Maybe deep down I always knew,
But you spout such symphonious lies.
You devoured my helplessness in a bite so vicious,
But I wanted to live in my reverie,
I didn’t believe the tales of your devilry.
To my morality I’ve become oblivious.
My rationality has become a hindrance.
How can I be wrong if I did not know?
The only thing now (even as it seems impossible) is to let go,
But never will I forget the beauty of my ignorance.
For D & J
igc May 2015
So
You're the kind of infatuation
Momma warned me about
Samuel Hoffmann Aug 2018
Remember when we spelled things wrong,
or when we were picky about what we ate?
When fire and police men were the only two jobs,
we’d play house with friends on playdates.

And then we grew up just a little more,
sports and toys filled our lives.
We went to school and had recess galore,
oh the fear for cuties, oh what great times.

And then we grew up just a wee bit more,
we learned to add, subtract, and multiply.
Not far after we went to high school and college,
they warned us, they said “time will fly by.”

And then we grew up just couple years more,
next thing we knew we were the family of four,
Then late at night when the kids were in bed,
we would dream of being young once more.

And then we grew up for the last few times more,
Our children had children of their own.
We lost our friends and babysat grandkids,
as our bodies ached down to the bone.

Remember when we spelled things wrong?
And then we grew up just a little more,
And then we grew up just a wee bit more,
And then we grew up just couple years more
And then we grew up for the last few times more,
Until we no longer grew any more.
...

--sam
Tawanda Mulalu Dec 2018
A hand on a throat, where if all fingers touch, the throat
turns to ash. The villain of an anime I now watch
clutches the hero with his middle-finger aired
before the vital moment. I jump
on holiday off a cliff
and my chest stumbles with simulations. My body angled
poorly as I could slap headfirst. I was warned that my feet
should sink first if I merely fall. If I dive, my fingers
should first touch the water. I am depressed
the months before. College student, America. So far off, so cold
from the landlock of my birth. And the summer
study-abroad, double-abroad. In Italy
I was watching the Creation show itself on old ceilings
in marble-rooms, looking for some culture
that might have been ours if not for the pillagings that brought
gold and bodies to shape that gold into buildings like this. So I jump
and fall. And shiver emptily. It is the same feeling as the nights
on the bed thinking of futures without this self. Thinking as if
I did not exist. Ignored emails from therapists. And here this
feeling!
: it made me want to live. So I jump again
on the higher ledge. My friend afterwards asks if I'm okay.
I'm shaking slightly. I'm without words. I laugh
with the same absence as any birth. A baby's confused cry
without tears. A long way down. What blue-green water,
as if dug for in the earth and sold for courtyard dances.
It glimmers all over my body, frizzes
up my hair as my ****** curls soak it, squeezes it down my face,
down towards my neck like fingers.
The villain walks away. The next time the hero sees him
he should be careful. He will have decided to **** me by then.
http://bokunoheroacademia.wikia.com/wiki/Tomura_Shigaraki
ThePoet Mar 2015
"Definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
-Albert Einstein*

What if there's nothing else that you can say or that you can do? What if you're in a position where there's no one you can look to? You find yourself doing the same things over and over again. You think things have changed, when in fact you're right where you began. Why? Because you're stuck in a prison of your own making. You knew it was wrong, but it was your only way to cope through breaking. You tried to succeed, but all you ever did was fail. Your past's freedom has turned out to be your present's jail. In spite of being warned of your consequences, you found yourself creating it. Now you stare at it in contempt, resenting and hating it. You didn't know you were sentencing yourself to a life of misery. You were scared at the moment and did anything that made you feel free. But the more you ran away, the more you restricted opportunities. Your temporary escape had thrown away all your keys. Like a cancerous disease that ate away at every bit of your life. That you feel is so incredibly painful, you'd rather be stabbed with a knife. They say every problem has a solution, but some take longer to find. What if you never find it, because you're so far behind? You had grown up mostly dependent on the ones who neglected you. You only respected the ones who never respected you. You were told that others had it worse, so you never mentioned your pain. You were ignored to a point, where the silence made you insane. Now your suffering has conformed to a consuming rage. A rage that abducted your humanity and locked it up in a cage. Now your mind is mixed up, and this mess has started to confuse you. You think the ones that care about you will eventually abuse you. There's no one left in the world who you could possibly trust. You're weak and insecure, living in a world far too unjust. So now you wake up, wondering why you're alive another day. You want to start all over, but you just can't find a way. Every time you approach a new path, you know you'll get lost and stray. You know it will all be the same, another hope leading you astray. The day comes to an end, a day you can never buy back. Your life knows no colours, but the darkest shades of black. You've fallen so hard, you'll never get back on your feet. Tomorrow is the same ritual, your days are played on repeat. The only difference is your pain will increasingly exalt. Knowing the key to your prison has been locked in a vault. Knowing you're so lost in the world, you can never fix the faults. Some can only sit, staring at the clock, expecting different results.....
Deep Oct 2018
O traveller, why lookest thou ahead road,
grave and speculative,
Depriving your eyes such a beatific sight,
See the angelic form that standeth behind
that window curtain,
Come, wait, sit beside me, it’s worth waiting,
We both will sing in praise of her
And linger until she uplifts the curtain.
You say it’s purposeless
Why argue?
Isn’t it the reason our maker gives us eyes?
Isn’t it the purpose of our mind’s evolution
to sing and hail the beauty; at least of her.

You won’t believe my word? Impertinence!
You will be blinded by her shadow
spare her presence; “stare not for long”,
What? You say it exaggeration…
Bon dieu!
If beauty is not exaggerated
where lies its charm.

Look! her shadow moving, she is
growing impatient as if  getting
late to meet her lover.
Yes, she wins heart in a look
and crushes it in a blink and wins again
by smile.
Monarch sleeps in her bed
Life in right, Death in left hand; she possess,
Judiciary in closet
And warriors in purse.
Countries bow, world kneel, universe supplicate
before her.
Stop! Where thou going?
Pardon these adynatons,
I’m drunk in her beauty.

Let us sing then, I’ll lead, you follow

Flowers wilting in chilled air,
Waiting clouds to part
To have a look fair,
Of moon…

Do see the restlessness in that room?
I can sense her ***** heaving, repressed
sighs, and her fingers twisting, twirling
in exasperation,
It must be a lover
who invented song, isn’t it?

A gloomy firefly in this starless sky
Searching his lover
Who has lost the light,
Wait not moon, rise, help him
In his plight…

Look! look! The curtain is drawn
There she, my sovereign,
don’t mistake her eyes for stars.
Have a profound look, but not too long;
this witnesses only fortunates.
What? you lost your vision-
But I warned you earlier.
Now who’ll testify I saw her?
Hae Sun Aug 2018
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does.
I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there.
My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog.
I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at.
I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it.
I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted.
We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset.
I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did.
And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me.
I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you.
I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say.
I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all.
I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time.
I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem.
I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance.
But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
my idea of an “us”
Kara Jean Apr 2016
Touch a rush
Floral green trim
A dress of deceit
Ferocious credibility
Strike, shock and distraught
Question her everything
A maddening cluttered up chest  
Red unprinted marking
She is a tempus tip toeing
Digesting hearts of many
Warned, they crawl
Enthralled, lurking for her gore
Her dress tore in natural beauty  
Cleaning syrup from her finger tips
Savanna Jun 2013
I think there are some things
Of which a child should not be warned

Why place in them a mortal fear
That they need not yet learn

I remember the summer vacations
Spent at the ocean's side

Where I danced, splashed and dove
Never once thinking that it was cold

Now I return to the beach
And long for the good old fun

But I am held back
By the fear of believing it's too cold

I yearn to start over
To learn again in time

To live without fear
Of the small things that ruin me now

I want to run barefoot through the grass
But I can't let myself do so

I know too much
Of the dangers that may hide

These fears I have are often of situations
That probably won't happen

Yet I can't bring myself past
What I've been told that I now know

So don't ruin the kids
Let their wonder take control

Keep the world magical
Keep the fears at bay
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