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Similar Deviations
Tighten the blindfold as you plant mines in
the fields where flowers should go, and be picked.

Tread stumbling under a drunken veil as your rioting
nerves loot the last remnants of reason within you.

Allow your sanity to fall victim to the systematic madness,
that from day one grew within you.

Pity will be that rusted shovel to fills one of
the open graves that already inhabit that dreaded field.

The graves, merely open wholes from the former seats of mines,
from this song and dances history.

What more can be done, past the repetition of returning to square one,
fallen on a sword of false humility?

The con is no longer clothed in deception and stands
naked in one of those accursed graves.

Her voice is putrid, of a terrible act, diving off a devils
tongue shaped like a fork in the road.

Perhaps your final tears will sprout flowers over
the small patch of dirt, as I intend to leave none.
You've earned the weight of the world upon your shoulders in your search for redemption. No pressure.

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Exhaustion, Oh my limbs, my body whole.
What they feel that my heart does not.
I just wish to return to my place of slumber,
where what is dreamt came make me regret.
The cold sweat is the moment I awaken...
Knowing nothing, and remembering little.

Hunger, my belly for fulfillment so sweet...
The theory behind so many burdens,
the many weights on these weary shoulders,
That I have ever called my own.
And now my knees are my feet,
covered with the hoof prints of a dead horse.

Tell me God, the Creator in a Kingdom his own...
Tell me of my purpose in the method you wish...
Tell me once more if not a million times...
As for this all, the new and unwanted-
I have no push left in me...For this---
I feel nothing...
Again, I'm homesick, and the longer I'm away, the more life is sucked out of sanity is a different story.
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I can hear the music,
playing in my head...
That brick wall melody,
that leaves me dry and bled.

Back out, unsound, way past
The naive embrace,
clutched like the withering vine,
so doubted in commonplace.

That sorrowful harmony,
with mysterious limbs
running like mad
through my mind, so dim with fog.

In my wake do I hear that music
of the morbid and downtrodden sound...
Sweet, the symphony of my imagination...
the chaos, although so profound.

Stained, my face with the misery
Of this occupation of thought,
not much, yet the burdens are stiff
within the acidic net, am I forever caught.
When the mind is broken, sanity is just a few locked doors away.

Picture credit: [link]
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They said
she has starving
little poet fingers,

& lungs-

filled with
the heroic hearts
of nameless protagonists.

But, she cries

tears of Saturn
on too-little-sleep nights,
& coffee ringed mornings.

They call her vanilla.

much too ripe to fall
with freckles on her
singing connect-the-dot

Her love is hungry.
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Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Forget the past
Tainted by lust
Man the mast
And sail the sea
Before you pay a hearty fee

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Forget the past
Oh you must!
Play the mouse
And flee flee flee
Before the monster catches thee

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Just give in
You've already been beat
Into the river
With your hopes and dreams
Out with hatred and misery

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust

I cant forget,

As I succumb to rust
This will be the last writing ill be posting for a while. I just needed to vent when I wrote this and thought it sounded kinda nice so I wanted to share it. It has many meaning to me, but it all gose back to the same thing: You cant run form the past. Itll always come back to bite you
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Daddy, daddy, why are people oh so very cold
Why can't I have what they have, a teddy bear to hold
Something I can fall asleep on, somewhere i can stay
Some place where the roof above keeps us from skies so grey

Daddy, why can't we be one of those who have a home
Why were we the ones to walk the empty streets alone

Daddy, why won't anybody let us find a place
It is getting cold, I hate the look upon your face

Daddy, please don't fall upon the icy, frozen ground
Daddy, one day we will find a place, so safe and sound
Daddy, please don't die here, please, we'll find a place to stay
Daddy... please don't leave me here, just please don't die away.

Daddy, let me sit there as you know you can't be saved
Next to you as we both rest inside our lonely graves
Let us dream of somewhere warm and somewhere oh so sweet
Daddy, daddy, tell me.. why was everyone so mean?
about a dying homeless girl.
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My, what hope lies
in the half empty glass,
trembling by tremor and leer.
At such a long road's end,
does it rise and shatter.

What understanding have you,
of fear, of pestilence,
other than the existence of self.
Imposed, the creation
to be eventually bled out.

Filthy, the very cause
by which the water rises,
boiling with blisters
in the overwhelming sin
of the ever beating sun above.

Freedom, to the acrostic asininity
now found laughing atop the grave...
the grave of past gone by,
decaying with every bite
of a gluttonous sloth with an ancient cause.

That to my eyes, the mass hysteria,
borderline loss of sanity from the commonalty.
Have I lost track or do my eyes deceive,
the horsemen's tracks are of disarray,
and I know not which one has come.

Now, the angels look onward,
gazing with hopeless eyes,
searching for faith in the fallen creation,
who now wither and crawl,
away as they fall, into the Abyss....

Declines, the signs of the end,
the near and far come and go,
as the war seeps through the inhuman nature!
My, what filthy freedom
that now declines....
First fallen angels, then the humans.

Picture citation: [link]
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Come with me, little girl
Let's watch the rose pedals fall
Let's bury your castle
And put up a brick wall
Lets rip off your butterfly wings
And place them in your grave
The demons have come to get you
You better start to behave
Come with me, little girl
For you can only have the gown for an hour
Do they love you, or love you not,
Ripping pedals off a flower
Come with me, little girl
Let's open your scars
And bury your castle,
In the girl you no longer are...
I'm not quite satisfied with the ending but oh well.
Comments? <3
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I am a survivor
Because I wish to survive.

I am a dreamer
Because dreams are my break from reality.

I am a lover
Because I yearn to love.

I am a seeker
Because I will seek for my joy.

I am an observer
Because I can observe my enemies,
and know the score.

I am a killer
Because I kill to save others.

I am a hunter
Because I will hunt for truth and lies.

I am a decider
Because I can decide if I can trust you.

I am a teacher
Because I teach the future.

I am a student
Because I still learn.

I am a fighter
Because I do not believe in surrender.

I am a hater
Because the world dispises my spirit
and wants to bring me down.

I am a rebel
Because when the world spits in my face,
I will spit back.

I am a leader
Because I refuse to break down.

I am a wise one
Because wise one's understand lies.

I am a child
Because I can still laugh at other's stupidity.

I am an adult
Because I can put up with you.

I am innocent
Because my heart throbs with ignorance.

I am robbed
Because I still feel the pain.

And I am a survivor
Because survival is not my first concern,
but it happens to me anyways.
I wrote this a whle back, about a person whose been through hell and back, who is able to rise above the pain and misery, and stands before the world, defiant and unafraid.
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The flickering lights,
then dim and faint were they
as the water rose.
joined by the falling drops
from storm descending
down with a lifeless energy.
Upward came each splash,
and back down with a dying sound.
At random was the already spontaneous
of every moment in the life
of every last drop.
So blended now, in the ripples
with the ever uneasy waters.
Like the flickering lights,
did their time become dim and faint.
Often, mental disorders are overlooked or ignored by people who either don't know to look for them in others or they simply chose to look the other way. I chose the picture of the eye for a few reasons:

1. it ties into the "overlooked" part of the message.
2. the falling drops can also be tears.
3. the crying eye can both the victim of the disorder, or a loved one who is helpless to assist.
4. The center is floating in liquid, causing ripples. The ripples in the poem suggest the ups and downs of one's life, and how they may or may not be related to the psychological disorder.

The flickering lights are what little information we truly have on the most severe of disorders, and how potentially vital information is lost everyday by both or either the victim and the loved ones.

Picture citation: [link]
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