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Take It BackEmotions are overrated
while the ache is dull.
They play and tear and
dance and squeeze and pull.
The soul is such an
It never allows for
very much detachment.
I say to take it back,
return to the source.
The truth is simply
I don't want it anymore.
I'd rather be a robot,
more machine now than man.
I'd rather be something inhuman,
something more on demand.
No one wants to be hindered
by such base feelings and thoughts.
Every time the heart swells,
each sensation is dearly bought.
It pulls and all this,
leaving rips and tears.
If there was no soul in the way,
it would be so much easier to bear.
I don't need this anymore.
I wish to feel no love.
I would finally have some peace.
I would finally rise above.
It can't stand to reason
why I must feel these things.
If my soul was non-existent,
I would soar with new wings.
But I wouldn't know such release.
I wouldn't know such peace.
I would be left in numbing black.
I would only be simply deceased.
It's probably better
Lab RatThe box I opened
made me feel like Pandora.
I look at gross images;
there seems to be a plethora.
On each photo is
a written statement.
My stomach churns and clenches,
with no abatement.
I feel like I've been assaulted
with each word I read.
Burn them, I must;
no, I need.
As the flames lick them,
as they turn to ash,
I remark at how sorrow
becomes rage so fast.
I feel like all I was,
all they thought of me,
was some experiment gone awry;
I was someone who could never be.
They recorded my progress
like I was a gerbil on a wheel.
I experience so much now,
but in those pictures, I didn't feel.
My rage is bubbling over
because of this affront.
My vision blurs and goes away
at the audacity of their stunt.
But now I sit and cry alone,
in anger, shame and despair.
"I wish I could have shown them
the love instead of gave them glares."
I wish I gave them more of me,
as they gave themselves.
Instead I choose to remain wallowing
in my own personal hell.
I remain in my cage, I look around.
Broken SoulI don't understand
the beauty they're seeing,
when, in the mirror,
there's this ugly thing,
this disgusting being.
I go through life with
only cares in my mind.
They haunt me endlessly,
with peace hard to find.
Insomnia and sleepless nights
dog me from day to day.
It doesn't matter how tired I am,
or the softness of the pillow where my head lay.
Fatigue isn't enough
to quench the hell in my mind.
My memories of torture and rape
are always easy to find.
I fall back on them when
I feel that I'm in danger.
I can't let anyone near;
I only know strangers.
My heart swells to
contain those closest.
But my mind closes on them;
I can only take small doses.
My soul mourns death;
my body worships life.
My mind is torn by
memories of pain and strife.
I only hope God,
in his almighty power,
can give me the needed strength
that I wish for every hour.
Reality's RejectionI look at the world as it is,
but am I noticed or seen?
I have nothing that makes me stand out,
no crystals or jewels that gleam.
I am just me, and it's not enough.
I try to get by but it's really tough.
I push myself harder but it gets rough.
I'm shown that I don't have the right stuff.
Simply throwing your hat into the ring
isn't worth the time to do,
especially with all the strife and pain
that life is meant to put you through.
Sometimes I wonder if it would make more sense
to rig up a bomb or two.
Then I would just curl up to it like a cat
and the pieces of me can stick to the wall with glue.
At least when I'm pushed away with such
an explosive opinion like that,
the pain will be non-existant,
and I'll be a new form of splat.
But being alive is the worst for it
and it doesn't make things any easier.
Without any support for myself,
must I turn to something sleazier?
I would rather not; I stick to my guns.
I hold fast to what I feel is right.
I will push back if I have to,
and will c
A Hidden BattleYour voice echoes in the thicket,
my name crosses your lips.
You mischieviously giggle as you run,
as I wade through bushes up to my hips.
I walk the beaten path of the animals
that live within this forest.
The wind blows through the leaves,
with your voice joining the chorus.
I can feel the sun through the branches,
my eyes turned to the sky.
The warmth tickles my cool skin;
in the tree, a squirrel runs by.
I turn once again to see where you are,
my flitting fairy through the leaves.
Your sparkling smile and twinkling giggle
are the only sounds my ears receive.
You're not as far as you once were.
The chase is not a hard one.
You are merely leading me to
the place where your safety had begun.
I come to a large rock in a small clearing.
It feels weathered with age,
yet there is little wear to it.
However, I can sense a darkly phage.
I look up to you as you flit about,
hiding behind this great monolith.
My eyes implore you for a meaning to this.
You say, "This is what I hide my secrets w
Ghosts Of The DreamscapeA haunting dream assaults me,
leaving me open and vulnerable.
A god allows such things to happen;
how is he so venerable?
In a world of ranging colours,
rainbow to monochrome,
a place that the
comatose now call home,
a place that insomniacs
never truly know
My heart is corrupted
by love of the past,
a love that clearly
was not meant to last.
I try to persevere
and try to move on
but the ghosts of my past
will never be gone.
I suffer in my own world,
those who will never know
just live their lives oblivious
to the pain that never shows.
The meadows of green,
tarred black in sin,
match the trees of the forest,
where demons hide within.
The darkness that spreads
like a virulent plague
invades that peaceful meadow,
the animals made into slaves.
Their slavery is in the corruption,
the eternal struggle to restore
the balance and equilibrium,
only to increase the delirium.
My heart needs saving,
a daring rescue,
because my soul is shaking
and all my senses are askew.
Quickie HaikuThere is only pain
as I walk the hallowed halls
of the life I lead.
I look to the sky,
as unforgiving heavens
scorch my drying eyes.
The shelter is gone.
There is little allowance;
there is nothing left.
the road is overgrown and
scorned by ignorance.
I lift my arm, and
wonder if life still exists
as I rot away.
The World Less Traveled.The winding paths of wooded green,
the great mountains of purple and white,
the great wilds of the unknown
that cause in man great terror and fright.
The labyrinths of conscious thought,
the depths that plunge into insanity,
the very things that frighten man
while existing within the bounds of vanity.
The great search for the economic dream,
the efforts to gain great livelihood,
the acts of man that one must take
to retain the path to adulthood.
All these things and more to find,
though fear and will may truly bind,
is what humanity strives to achieve
but is yet impossible without belief.
So to dig the depths of the conscious mind
or search the heart and body for life,
no joy can be found without knowing first
sadness, anger, hatred or strife
The Great HuntScorch the forest!
Raze the land!
For now death
is at hand!
Steel and iron,
flames and fire!
and kindles their ire!
Creatures flee as
the yellow steel
imposing and large!
The weight of the air
goes from light to heavy.
Smoke chokes all around.
Waters break their levees.
The rivers are covered
with soot and ash.
Cornered animals are shot down
as they attempt to be brash.
Trees fall with thoughtless intent,
fueling the fires before they are spent.
The peace of the green is truly rent.
The hunters sneer in their contempt.
Carcasses float in the pollution
of the once-blue stream.
A fawn prods its mother
as if caught in a bad dream.
The child is shot down,
its body left be.
There is no room for it
among the encroaching industry.
Bones and charred remains
litter new city streets.
The hunters indulge
in a feast of the gathered meats.
The trees left alone
turn brown, wither and die.
They let themselves go.
They choose not to try.
Survival has shifted.
anti-socialanti-social is the label
with a meaning misconstrued,
and wildly overused
here before you, here i am
the real anti-social
and, frankly, i don't give a damn
i'm the wildest form of atypical
in this strange society's eyes
but its norms are far from normal
when we're built on nothing but lies
i've disowned almost every relative
that isn't already dead
i've found an inner circle of friends
that are my "family" instead
my relationships build over several conversations
and upon two simple words: honesty and respect
abide by those words and you'll see my best,
but don't screw me over, because i give what i get
with the internet spiderwebbing around the globe
there's supposed to be human connection
i've searched for a reason to care,
but all that i've seen is dissention
there's nothing wrong with not following society
but i can admit i find it unusual, too
that when you don't care to be in my circle
i won't car
don't open, dead insidei'm suicidal.
i'm emotionally inclined towards death
and the the edge of a bridge.
i wish for pills in my hand and i've
learned to swallow six at once. my
emotions are dead,
i can't cry anymore.
it's eighty degrees this december and
my sweater sleeves are sticking to my skin.
i can't show my arms anymore, so
i cocoon myself in fabrics to
try and hide all my ugly secrets.
the train station is a dangerous place
because sometimes it takes the stern
yell of a police officer to keep me
away from the tracks. i don't want to
kill myself in front of the boy who's
lost his will to live,
but my head is too loud and i can't
hear his screams.
i hate myself and i want to die.
i want to die.
i want to die.
but i sit in my bed and i study, eat, sleep,
wallow in my mistakes and find
excuses to get out of talking instead
of just cutting deep enough or
jumping off the ledge or
kicking the chair or
swallowing the pills.
i hate myself and i want to die, but i won't do anything about it.
.when her love left, it left
the house empty
and she says
i hope one day it'll
come back to me,
cos i don't keep this shotgun
on my front porch for nothin'
Cracked Selfish, you whisper,
the word hissing from the crevices of your
slightly yellowed teeth.
I don’t understand.
So selfish. I think you’re repeating
because you have nothing else to say.
The most selfish I have
You’re wrong. For I am not the one
that owns the mirror.
Always thinking of yourself.
I disagree. I think about you, too.
Had everyone fooled.
Nobody sees me; only you. Why are you
yelling at me?
Do you realize what you’ve done?
I realize you’re angry at me. And I’ve no idea why.
They saw you! Hands rise to twist desperately
with tangled hair. They all saw you!
Nobody sees me. Repeating my words as
hands rake my hair. Only you.
I hate you!
Why? I never did anything to you.
How could you do this?
The only thing I do is look at you. And brace myself.
Look at you. Picking up something heavy. Always mocking me.
You’re the one that repeats my wor
everything about you nauseates me nowit took a walk of shame to get here,
the guilty, except
i'm not the one to blame.
he took a blade dripping in venom
the sinner, knowing
the slices are for deepening,
but cuts don't burn like they should
despite your poison,
the rain just washes you away.
though the toxic fumes of your cologne
nip at my nose like
mustard gas on the battleground,
the silence reminds me of your voice,
the singer, knowing
you only ever sang shallow tunes.
he took a blade to my soul,
only to learn, dismayed
my body is alive for his destruction -
but nothing can penetrate my spirit.
his pessimistic words can never touch me
like his careless hands have,
and every effort was in vain anyway.
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost,
stylish arsonists + I still
escaping from your lips
She's An Untitled StoryShe has scars on her hips
Lies laced on her lips
Broken stars in her grey eyes
Quiet goodbyes in her sighs
Yet she'll smile and say "I'm fine"
And I want to tell her not to lie
But there's something in that bright smile
That hints at a multitude of despairing trials
That she'll never be ready to talk about
And her quiet voice seems to shout
To the heavens above, calling for someone to save her
But she swears she doesn't believe in God. Under
Those clothes I've seen them, the scars
Yet she compares them to fallen stars
Once bright and sharp like the blades that she uses
But becoming stains of red and blue, she abuses
The trust that her loved ones have given
We forgive her, she just won't let herself be forgiven
She has become a quiet ice that holds a burning fire
Thriving on broken desires
And it seems that she's a girl of many.
When asked about hope, her eyes say there isn't any
But her words form rehearsed lines that defy her
And she attempts to hide herself and blur
Back into the gre
Demons and AngelsThere are those
Who are real demons,
There are those
Who are lost angels.
Stripped of their memories,
They wander the earth,
They've forgotten how
To spread their wings
And soar to greater ideals
Dancing in the clouds.
Angels Fall When Demons Smile.You were once an angel,
Ivory wings and golden crown
You were glowing with holy light.
Those days I recall with fondness,
Watching you from the ground.
I was once a demon,
With scars and pitch black sins,
A broken, snuffed out candle.
These days I recall with hate,
As you watched me from the sky.
Our paths crossed once,
A trail of fire and gold
Your lips smiled and my eyes frowned.
That day I want to change,
As they watched us from their thrones.
You said it once,
Those three little words
“I love you”, echoed through the air.
A line that sealed our fate,
As they heard me say it too.
You let me wear your crown,
But my crime was more sever,
I stole an angel’s heart.
My horns were torn from me,
And your wings they ripped away.
Infect my peace,
As needs and longing
Continue their increase.
My need to love
Continues to grow.
When Ill feel it again,
I just dont know.
But I need to know now,
Of its full amount.
I was in love once,
I was in love twice.
But such a small number
Will not suffice.
I need to know how much
Love Im meant to live,
And how much love
I need to give.
As I attempt repose,
Ghosts always stalk
My limitless potential
And swoop upon it like a hawk.
I am left bereft,
Laid out like carrion.
My soul is dead and exposed,
With no one to bury it.
And why, you may ask,
Is there so much written?
Its because someone
With whom I was smitten
Left me without a goodbye.
She probably saw
That Im likely to die,
So I have no future
With her anymore,
My heart dashed to the floor,
Scattered to the winds and more,
Penniless and without hope,
A constant mope
And a consummate dope.
I truly meant nothing,
So I suffer for my art
Until its time to depart.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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