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Literature Text
Once in a small bedroom,
Sat an elementary boy.
He didn’t want to bother with games,
Or any toy.
This boy spent most of his days,
Locked away from life.
He just sat with his anger and misfortune,
So tempted to pick up a knife.
He hated his life,
He hated his story,
He craved this world,
With a little less worry.
Death was his best friend,
Honor was his enemy,
Crying and screaming,
Became his melody.
His parents were dead,
His uncle is a druggie,
He would love this world better,
If it were thick and bloody.
Because one day,
When he comes out of his room,
He hopes to see everyone dead,
Covered in crimson and tense with doom.
But until then,
All he has are the scars on his wrists,
And his murderous hate,
For people he can’t fight fist to fist.
A boy with such thoughts,
Shouldn’t have a dream.
But within this child,
Things aren’t what they seem.
He sees humans as beasts,
Who want everything cheaper.
He just wants to be the prodigy,
Of the Grim Reaper.
Sat an elementary boy.
He didn’t want to bother with games,
Or any toy.
This boy spent most of his days,
Locked away from life.
He just sat with his anger and misfortune,
So tempted to pick up a knife.
He hated his life,
He hated his story,
He craved this world,
With a little less worry.
Death was his best friend,
Honor was his enemy,
Crying and screaming,
Became his melody.
His parents were dead,
His uncle is a druggie,
He would love this world better,
If it were thick and bloody.
Because one day,
When he comes out of his room,
He hopes to see everyone dead,
Covered in crimson and tense with doom.
But until then,
All he has are the scars on his wrists,
And his murderous hate,
For people he can’t fight fist to fist.
A boy with such thoughts,
Shouldn’t have a dream.
But within this child,
Things aren’t what they seem.
He sees humans as beasts,
Who want everything cheaper.
He just wants to be the prodigy,
Of the Grim Reaper.
Literature
cycle.
(birth.)
i walk home, crisp shoelaces, bloodied nose
middle of autumn, frothing at the mouth
kids took summer skin too far, brought on apocalypse
i tell myself it will be over soon, wintertime freckles
will be here
incensed
(childhood.)
stove milk and delicate murmurs
the technicolor alphabet teaches itself
purple bowls with animal faces
hospital bracelets around tiny wrists
won’t come loose
mama
(adolescence.)
the clouds are gasoline, wisps of gin, addicted
there is vomit on the floor, new candy sores
sky is burning, orange with hungry flame, vying
i don’t know who to talk to, crying
let me go
alive
(adulthood.)
doctor
Literature
Who am I?
Who am I? just a thought.
A thought of infinite length about myself. An eternal idea that I can't express.
I'm a lonely wind that blows away every touch. With no other gift than being incorporeal, temporary.
Not a single rest, not a single smile for the lonely being.
Trapped on my desire begging for a hug, a kiss.
Who am I? a monster. A monster with one thousand faces, all of them scary, all of them "fucked up".
I am the nightmare, my nightmare. A dream of blood and sorrow, a dream of loneliness and spikes.
A dream in which I hurt the ones I love and everybody, seeking revenge, try to erase me.
Who am I? The sadness. The pain. The ra
Literature
apparition
you arrived
an apparition
spilling the sun between your fingers
in a world that had never seen the dawn
(this reality does not belong
with you in it)
my fist uncurled
you pressed into my palm
the star in its entirety
my soul unfurled
awakened to witness my burning
(i can no longer call it my own,
not since you called it by name)
you sailed through waves of flame
and slept by hearths of ice
you taught me that flight
was unnecessary
just trample the skies
beneath your feet
it is the ground that drifts
beyond your reach
(you are, and are not,
a contradiction)
ghosting always
past my periphery
you lived
in shattered mirrors
reflected
r
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Another one of the 447 Writing Prompts: #318- The Little Death. I swear this challenge is so much fun to do!! If any of you want to do it the list is in my favorites on my profile! (Really lazy to get a link..)
I am REALLY proud of this poem, I think it's one of my best ones!!
I am REALLY proud of this poem, I think it's one of my best ones!!
© 2014 - 2024 AnonymousVulture
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Amazing.
I love that last part.
Dun dun DUN
Whoa.
I love that last part.
Dun dun DUN
Whoa.