Lovely CyanideMy dear, you're my cyanideLovely Cyanide8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sweetly, sweetly suicide
You draw close, I taste your lips
Shoulders touching, hips to hips
Injection from the mouth to mouth
Spreads so fast whilst going south
Poison pulsing in my veins
Somehow causes me no pain
Colors dancing in my eyes
Poision acting, no surprise
Slowly then, I fall to floor
Twitch a little, then no more
The Benefits of Love and ...will you teach me how to divide by horses?The Benefits of Love and ...6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and multiply by elephants
subtracting heffalumps and woozles?
do you know these things,
these mathematical "terms"
mean nothing to me,
except that they are something you enjoy?
i will teach you how to write your way out of situations
and hold sunsets in your hands
i will show you how to let that smile reach your eyes
and how to get your fingers in the paint
and feel the colours.
do you know these things,
these artisan "hobbies"
are what make me
through harlequin sunglassesthrough harlequin sunglasses11 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
in the dim afterglow of the neon lights, she looked almost pretty.
her azure eyes were hidden beneath tacky two dollar orange glitter harlequin sunglasses.
purple hair falls down to her shoulders. it's wild, tangled &curled; whispering of summer breezes, menthol cigarettes &countless nights spent dreaming underneath the stars.
but no stars sequin the uniform navy blue of the sky tonight - all seems dark, lonely &forgotten.
her tired, pale fingers with chipped away hot pink nailpolish firmly grasp a blood red polaroid camera contaning every single living, breathing moment of that day.
there were snapshots of of half-eaten cinnamon buns laced with syrup, vanilla sprinkles &walnuts that she'd attempted to gulp down that morning at her favourite bohemian cafe which seemed a shrine to self-proclaimed rockstars &andy warhol prints.
there were torn pages of an anne rice novel dancing free with the breeze, tainting the placid, perfect nature of the kelly green grass park with talk of vampires,
Cheesecake Turmoil -- The Kisscheesecake turmoilCheesecake Turmoil -- The Kiss8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that taste like electricity
and look like toxicity
so much so
that jealousy is as natural
What Lies BeneathThere is a monster that lies beneathWhat Lies Beneath7 years ago in Open More Like This
In the coldness of every soul
A hollow place down inside
A darkness empty
Caved and scorn
There is this fear that lies beneath
Which naws at every life
A torn page inside the book
An ink blot
A dark spot on the paper
There is a candle that lies beneath
Scorching the weakest of heart
Burning bright in the dark
A passion of hate
Never told or seen
There is a lie that all men hold
A burden of the heart not shown
A nature hidden away
People of old
There is a time when we must pay
for showing what is true
Society won't accept
For there is a monster that lies beneath...
In the coldness of every soul...
Counting Bodies Like SheepSafe from pain, truth, and choice,Counting Bodies Like Sheep8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They left to make an impact.
They left to make a difference
They all wanted to make a difference.
They go and they try.
they go while we cry
For the futile attempts
At changing the world.
No longer lined up like soilders
All are nameless.
All are faceless.
Just numbers in the death count,
Where bodies are counted like sheep
Untill you descend into an enternal slumber.
Countless victims unaccounted for.
Countless bodys being filed.
Countless faces missing in action.
Countless names lost on the battle feild.
The the tragedy of war.
The reality of war.
Go back to sleep.
Go back to sleep.
One more body with every beat
of that famous war drum.
Another victim another beat.
Speeding up as the battle rages on.
Slowing down with every lull.
The Fabulous Ms. HardingAnimals had always possessed a peculiar aversion to Ms. Harding.The Fabulous Ms. Harding8 years ago in Horror More Like This
It was one of those great mysteries, like the chicken and the egg, the existence of extraterrestrial life, or whether old Mrs. Mordecais hair was more blue or purple. These things were hard to tell. No amount of combing the past would ever turn up the origin of such an everlasting terror. And even if it would, who would honestly take the time to explore the machinations of a woman like Ms. Harding?
Let me explain something about Ms. Harding before I go any further. She was a young woman, not married, fresh from some fancy upstate college with a degree in Journalism that she never got around to using. She worked mainly as an assistant in the local bakery, cleaning and well, baking, I suppose. I never truly delved into that stage of her existence because that was not the one I was interested in. Then again, no natur
look at the clouds todaywhen i met you, i stopped writing. i also stopped waking up to a face full of post it notes saying things like its bad luck to see the woman before the driving test, or my house smells like apple cider and bluebottles have eyes, or i've got static in my arms. i stopped feeling sorry and i stopped falling down the stairs. i noticed the stars at night could have a story and you could have taken the ocean and put it in your eyes. i also stopped writing.look at the clouds today6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
when i met you, i stopped trying to be a nice person and just was. when i met you, i discovered post it notes and then i couldn't use them. i realised my house was not just a picture of a house and that your silence is so loud and my loud is so quiet. when i met you, i stopped writing and i cut star shapes into my blanket because i couldn't reach the sky, even with a ladder.
when i met you, i traced the map of your bones and filled my hands with yours because i stopped writing. i also stopped walking backwards because i noticed that i coul