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Browse Poetry

Literature
fear
won't you stay with me?
i am scared of the shadows—
i'm scared of myself.
:iconeliyah-chan:eliyah-chan
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Literature
Expect The Unexpected - (Angel47093 collaboration)

Stock art background courtesy of moonchild-ljilja
:iconBarosus:Barosus
:iconbarosus:Barosus 5 6
Literature
Negate
Crows feet and false posterity
I dreamt I was you
Drawing pictures and a portrait
Then you got up
Said: This isn't me
It felt too busy
So many things
Flat tire my feet
Couldn’t keep away from
All of the songs
Where I thought I won
It’s a broken music box
In my ear drum
Mixing a faulty outlet
And a frayed 3 prong plug
Now hop in, the fire’s fine
Make a toast
To drunken prose
Living on a ladder
With very little furniture
Just keep balance with your toes
You finally know
It’s just better being alone
Look past the trail
A sky ghostly pale
Just like this skin
You tried to split then stitch
:iconShort-Lived:Short-Lived
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Literature
Undying will
Gone unnoticed I let my freedom wash away
It’s a broken life That I cling to as I sit and sway
From place to place until I’m non-responsive
Singing how we all fall down until it’s repulsive
But I am awake and I am alive, I am not sleeping
I’m not laying down and waiting I’m standing and fighting
I’m singing how we all fall down but get back up
I’m clinging to my broken life sick of being runner-up
Sick of going unnoticed I won’t give up my freedom
You can call me beating but I’m not defeated
For what kills people is giving up, what kills people is giving in
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Literature
Sweet Child of Kos
Sweet Child of Kos (based on Guns and Roses' Sweet Child of Mine), as sung by Gehrman with Willem on backing vocals).
Maria's got a smile and it seems to me
Reminds of a doll, in a dream
Where everything
Is as fresh as a paleblood sky.
Now I know Kos has a human face
She'll take me away to that nightmare place
And if I hunt too long
I'll get a blood drunk eye
Whoa sweet child of Kos
Whoa, orphan of Kos.
Maria's got eyes of the blacksky kind
As if she's guarding rain...
I hate to admit it, but Willem was right
We need more eyes in our brains
Greyish hair reminds me of Odeon's safe place
Where I sent a child to hide
And pray for the frenzy and the dream
To end, prepare to die.
Whoa, sweet child of Kos
Whoa, Orphan of Kos
Whoa, sweet child of Kos
Whoa, sweet child of Kos.
Where do we go, Rom?
Where do we go Rom?
Where do we go, Rom?
Where do we go Rom?
(Willem) Eyes! Eyes!Eyes!Eyes!Eyes!Eyes!Eyes!Eyes!
Where do we go, Rom?
Where do we go, Rom?
Where do we go, Rom?
Sweet child of Kosmmmmmm
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Learn Gulf Arabic in London by ukarabiclanguageinst Learn Gulf Arabic in London :iconukarabiclanguageinst:ukarabiclanguageinst 0 0
Literature
Frankenstein Part 1 (October 9)
The monster wanders off
"Who am I?"
He stumbles through the woods
Under the cover of night
"They call me Frankenstein
But that is my creators name"
He pushes the trees out of his way
Frustration blinding him
"Do I have a name?
Do I have an identity?"
He stares at the sky and bellows
"Who am I?
Am I simply Frankenstein's monster?
Am I a monster at all?"
He approaches a lake
And stares at his reflection
"I look like a monster
But I don't feel like one"
He gazes at the stars sadly
"I want a name
Will someone give me a name?"
:iconNykiiLynn:NykiiLynn
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Literature
untitled for now shes standing over there LMAO
i streak off like a shot
in chicago and no one sees.
this time i pull the leaves
from the strawberry stem
before i swallow.
this time i sit by myself for breakfast
look out into the plaza garden
and listen for your laugh but i
know you won’t be coming up the stairs
until i have come back down them
because that’s how my deep breaths
have drawn back to bite me
in the bigshouldered city.
this time i thought you were the angel queen
of quick changes: i thought you were
the angel queen of changing me.
but i spin circles without you
and make tough meat of my mango slices
and when i walk your walk this morning
it’s because im fucking furious, not because
i’ve always liked your shoes.
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Literature
Rompiendo Puertas
Es casi como pedir disculpas, el escribirte.
Es pedir perdón por cada vez que extrañé mi casa.
Por vivir encerrada con agua dulce de consuelo.
Por quejarme de las puertas cerradas.
Ahí seguías tú,
Con una calma madura,
O nortina, no sé.
Sigues con tus jugarretas,
Con tu horizonte tentador,
Seguro,
Que abre paso a la ventana inmensa
¿Hacia qué? Nose, no importa.
Entre las nubes que se funden con la tierra
Otro cerro,
Otra playa,
Otro país,
En el reflejo eterno de esa ventana,
Tú. Siempre Tú.
:iconNatalyLake:NatalyLake
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Literature
the chains in here
You are here. I sense it here
Where I never saw you there
I don't see you but I feel
Dreams inside you are, dead
Come on now. I feel it here.
I can feel the chains inside.
Why you want to be in here?
You want to make,
Or showing off?
Don't know how you got in here
Don't know what you wanted to
wanted, letting your heart flow
Now you are pulling life, out
Come on now
Look yourself
You just want to show off now.
You now want to say I'm best
But no one cares
Though seems like so
Make for yours and they will come
Feed your head
Like your flesh
You say brain, I say it's soul
You wanna make a plan for days,
Months and years. I don't say don't.
  But you're putting so much plan
On what you're gonna make in months
And how you know?
How you're sure,
How you're gonna feel in those?
Can you say for certain what's,
Gonna happen, next, day?
So put it free
And let it fly
Let your soul who makes, fly
And let it fly,
Let it see
Where are lands it didn't know
And let it run
Let it sit
Let it walk
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Literature
.tempest.
I feel so bad.
Its such a fine line -
treading the roads of anger
because its so easy to cause damage
that is irreversible.
Never forgotten.
It is too easy
to hurt the things that are innocent,
to burn bridges with those that have done nothing wrong.
What is this hell rising up in me,
this feeling, this being that wants to lash out,
to crush and devour,
to consume in its raging fire
every thing that stands in its way?
Oh, how the world has changed.
The image that I see
has no meaning
though I search for it
deep down inside
its eating away at my mind.
Oh, there's something inside of me,
a churning tempest that grips my soul
and its violent
and its waiting
to destroy my life without remorse.
Steaming hot water
and scalding metal -
its beaten and pounded
under iron hammers
and nothing I can do
will stop this war.
Nothing I can do
will stop my demise.
:iconBlazeGuarnere:BlazeGuarnere
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Literature
The slab
Can't you see,
The blood in my wrist
Runs red too.
I look at it ,
Bright red ,
It's mine -
Slightly dark.
If you can't see that.
Then we'll never be together.
Because you can't see
What I do ,
Can't feel ,
The logic of my confusion ,
The order that comes from my chaos ,
The wholeness that comes from my disunion.
The friendliness in my lonesomeness.
The happiness of my sadness .
I fear that I'll always be alone
The only one to visit my grave
Will be the overgrown foliage,
Years later a moss , lichen unreadable slab
Will be unearthed , it will say
Nothing , because there was nothing to say
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Literature
photograph
Photograph
Wanted ask
What happened
Takes one to know one
Last word spoken
Twisted circle forever broken
Inches away
Breath to breath
Match to match
Never lit
Ever etched
In that
photograph
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Literature
My Schizo Slur Kicks In Just A Little
https://soundcloud.com/mark-drost-811800062/it-does-not-get-angry
i may have scribed this, anticipating the "Stephen King's IT" movie, before i saw it, i thought it was just some insightful little scenario at the time, a conundrum, and i decided to tell it in audio, and later i learned it described me.  i thought i was describing the clown, my detailed thing apparently possesses no rage, nothing as such at all, King's clown did seem to, however much my neighbors and people around the way here believe i am some divebomb of living fury, despite that whatever psycho thing it is they see me do, how ever i do it I Do It Without Anger, i possess no rage
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Literature
His bed
His strong hands was tighten around my hips.
He pulled med closer to his chest,
And out of know where I could taste his lips.
I know a lot of woman who has experienced this
It sounds romantic doesn't it?
But image this,
When he holds me tight
I tried to fight
I screamed and I cried the hell out of my lungs
But his hands just  held tighter on.
Because man is the strongest sex
And after a few minutes I had been raped ind his bed
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Out of Touch by FerocityArt Out of Touch :iconferocityart:FerocityArt 0 0
Literature
Yrapse opos milas
Write like you talk.
Γράψε όπως μιλάς.
:iconAthanatosMahitis:AthanatosMahitis
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Literature
(M)y F(use)
I just want to feel like I have won.
not dead and another none
Kill the one that was holding a gun.
To my head, behind is the fading sun
The fire won't burn until my heart has returned.
Burn, Burn, Burn
Even if I burn in hell
I want my voice to shout for you!
My fist to fight for you!
And my heart to love for you!
If this is the final song, I sing
I will sing it for you.
Don't wait until I return.
I will glow until the past leaves a burn.
This wont be the last time I leave
a kiss, in your heart
Forever I will wear on my sleeve
Never will there be a soul that brings me
To my knees, my heart will beat.
but only until your love leaves
Burn, Burn, Burn
Even if I burn in hell
I want my voice to shout for you!
My fist to fight for you!
And my heart to love for you!
If this is the final song, I sing
I will sing it for you.
This is what keeps me burning.
This is what keeps me going.
The blood in my heart is you!
The life in my eyes is you!
The forever in this is you!
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Literature
men at work
I saw them, the tool men at work, pecking away at the construction
the birth of an organ shaped structure….
the sculpture of a great, grand heart….
that would meet with the observed result
to match their dedication to their world, their families
above all, ode to their labour and as it, as they should….
But that structure, that sculpture need not ever beat
because all the love its inventors, conceivers
all of whom turned out and not for anything more
than emotional profit and satisfaction
no need for trace of coin….
they turn to their onlookers
following the days dedication
to the beatless building, their own hearts play, skip a tune for
faces and form given to sweatings
to signify the service to the day….
The following they shall return
to make the finishing touches
to a symbol for a world….
….they quite honestly, genuinely
wish and want to love….
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Literature
Clown (writober prompt 21)
Laugh, you dumb fucks.
I've done this routine hundreds of times.
They always laughed.
So laugh your ass off.
Until you can't breathe.
You think it's funny?
I'm only distracting you from the fire.
It burns the circus tent.
Edging closer.
Those in the back rows already burn,
but for you it's all part of the joke.
Here, another balloon dog,
Another stupid gag.
I fall and get up again,
or do a barrell roll -
look at me!
Don't turn around, don't look at the flames.
They devour those on the periphery first.
I'm waiting for the moment
when your laughter turns into screams
and then, oh, what bliss!
The clown has the last laugh!
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