he was just one of
those poetic nightmares
that made my words spill
down the pages.
you're just one
of those poems
that won't commit
Her burnt Salvationpry open the wall of my past
maybe you'll see what no one
else wanted too,
But she's cemented to this corner,
where a hundred knocks per hour
finally becomes those empty
whimpers repeating thank you
Her Hysteric Obsessioni've ripped off my scars &
plastered them amongst the sky
because you didn't believe i was
insane enough to love you.
.my soul is still splattering blackness
at my brewing fate;
terror has my feet fastened to the stars
of the unforgotten, & yet my heart is
ready to bleed crimson for you.
I'm armed to love again,
you kiss with the faith
that was stolen from me.
There's no point committing suicide again.if watching you
drown makes me
then maybe I
us both together,
then again what's
the point dying
twice for you.
Insanity Has Firewalls TooI want to set fire to
all the voices that
dance their way into
In Her Toxic Vocal Cordsit's as if i'm hearing my voice
from the past before hell pulled
the trigger at my heart.
she has me hexed with a 720-P
rifle already aimed at his head;
she smells a dismantler of organs -
& as my lungs breathe out ice against
his lips -
i pray i have the strength to murder
but i won't because i must love
my emotions to waltz like tornadoes.
"please don't slash my heart, or
i'll just have to cremate yours
to the boy who doesn't plan on leavinghow much of me can you swallow, love
before you finally purge?
I am a cartographer of bad
experiences; I can locate
precisely where I see our divergence
extraordinaire and I can tell you
before I have even met you
that the skin on my hands is too
dry for the softness you plan
on caressing me with.
let me tell you how this ends;
I will show you all the people
I have destroyed - flooded
to the best of my ignorance,
driven wild with jealousy,
had whipped with lust and left
smoking pot after four
promises stating otherwise.
let me tell you how this ends;
after showing you the blessed
catastrophe it is to be human,
you will destroy me. you may not mean much
but god, my heart
will make sure
I never miss people who leave.
I miss the ones I walk away from
with guilt tainting my forlorn
how much of me will you swallow
before you finally purge, love?
a girl once called me her home
until she saw just how much
bigger I am on the inside
and it took her
a day and some minutes
How to be Creatively Cliche in 13 Ways1.) Punctuation makes all the difference! For example, "Let's eat, Rebecca!" can be changed to "Let's eat Rebecca!" if a single comma is removed. Use punctuation to save Rebecca's life. An exception can be made if Rebecca has already been eaten and is now stewing delightfully in your stomach acid.
2.) capitalization is important! writing like this won't make much of an impact on the reader. otherwise, do not change the font face in an attempt to make the writing unique. no. the font doesn't change what you are trying to convey. and it's far too overdone to be unique. unless you're feeling verdana one day and courier the next. then by all means, do what you wish.
3.) Instead, alTERnatE beTWeen WrITiNg iN CApS and lOwERCaSE tO BothEr yOUR reaDEr. If this is already your forte, consider WRITING IN ALL CAPITALS TO INTIMIDATE BOTH YOUR FRIENDS AND ENEMIES.
4.) writing in all small text either tells the reader you are feeling small, whispering or you feel your voice will never be heard. it's
.at night, something mad
climbs into bed with me and
i go to war with myself -
words i do not want sit on the tip
of my tongue, so i bite the whole
thing off - crimson droplets fall
from the sky, and i start bleeding
rain - dead babies, their heartbeats
slipping through the cracks in my
floorboards - kettles abandoning
pots and then finding that neither
can function properly - white sheets,
pillowcases, walls and white faces -
a rabid cat clawing at the inside of
my temple, let me out - krill in the
bellies of whales, their hearts like
empty lockets - suffocating in the
silver lining - secrets giggling like
children in my mind, a game of hide
and seek i don't think i want to win -
a lamb frolicks around the body of a
lion and i reap something i never
even sowed in the first place
(you idiot, you idiot, what have you done)
Kissing in the blue darkHurt me
you'll never be
to watch in woe
as I drown
in my ocean
you've forgotten how
you once fondly named
your golden sand
How you've wished
each and every
of the devouring
in my hair
That your once
at my honeycomb
lips is now
but a passing remark
6:03 a.m.I was born on
a rainy Saturday
little did I know
that was the
day the Earth
cried for me.
and my impending
doom, because doctors
don't write things like
will suffer from
to alcohol, drugs
& die at a young age
on your birth certificate.
the girl never stops moving,
climbing the tarnished metal
of the jungle gym
wildly, limbs swinging,
with a childhood joy
I shed when I passed
the port of twelve,
she is knotted curls,
long silken hair
with infant-blond ends.
her fingers grab
her doll with the frizzy hair
and painted face,
and she's eager to win
I am old enough
that she will not last this way,
that she will grow,
as all children do.
every time I see her,
she grows a little taller.
she no longer likes Dora,
and I guess she thinks
is too babyish now.
she will abandon her dolls
leave her coloring books
for boyfriends and college and
but right now,
her world is simple:
days in school, coloring pictures,
nights at home,
nibbling dinners and
playing with her toys.
Transcendshe's often spoken of trying
to drown herself with words
her love for language
fickle, in its core
mediocre and vital
with every word meant
for one to a million
had never felt so tame
minus 2 min.2:00
she struggles against the tears grappling on her face. she was wrecked, and felt as if each piece of her was torn to pieces and taped back together poorly like a child's art project. she felt insignificant like one, too.
a choking sob wrestles against air for escape from her throat. the air wins. she nearly suffocates as the sob retreats.
her family was downstairs doing nothing. at least, nothing which would matter to her, anyway. they were unaware that the family tapestry that held them together was about to be unraveled.
her friend texts her but the vibration fails to capture her attention. she, herself, is already caught by her own misery. she's fighting so valiantly against succumbing. another text goes amiss six seconds later.
her friend is mildly annoyed, and decides to text someone else. her friend has always had low patience.
she pulls herself up and her teeth pound in rhythm with her temples. her heart thumps at a lazy beat, as if floati
you are what you eatdomine, adiuva me
i never wanted this
to happen the way it
it was supposed to be so
i was supposed to be gone before
screaming and shouting
and vomit and
where are my fingers?
my vision is so blurry,
ice cold water rising up,
touching my chin.
i do not remember
how i got here.
i do not remember
i do not remember
i do not remember when i
vomited upon my body,
nor when i was lain
there was an open
bottle of pain meds when she
walked through the door.
three little white pills
the rest missing from their
where are the pills, she asked.
where are the rest?
she found her baby in the bedroom,
lying face down
in her own vomit.
she found the pills.
i was not sorry until
i woke up the next day,
vomiting up blood
and my own guts, and my
sister called me
i was not sorry until
she sobbed, "i was so worried
to the nineteen-year-old girl who killed herselfdear Madison,
they say there was a blanket of delicate snow
at your service, flurries falling from the sky like old friends,
and winter has never felt so cold in Philadelphia;
even the willows weeped candlelight from the highest
branches— on friday Rittenhouse Square was breathtaking,
the sun setting on an amber day— there was a radiance
about you, a spark that burned a little too bright
and I know that you tried all you could,
but sometimes you can't help but choke on the flames
you fell from the roof gently, like the tired petal of a flower
compelled by the promise of gravity and a place
to sleep in the soil down below,
but the irony of a rose is that it is most beautiful once dead;
this is not to say that you are beautiful or not,
though that's all people seem to remember;
your existence brought the gift of faith to those of us
who need it most— you left gifts for your loved, and that was the
most beautiful thing we could ever hope to do
I will not end this sentenc
shooting starThe space between
each star is a tragedy
waiting to happen --
and you fall
from the sky
all too easily.
.all we are is cheap
goldfish drowning in
the ocean, birds that forget how to
flap their wings, mid-flight