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
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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.
Insanity Has Firewalls TooI want to set fire to
all the voices that
dance their way into
.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.
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
Leaping For Salvationi. i've been dangling off a cliff for
the past year.
ii. if i don't jump to my death -
i'll die waiting for him to
iii. if you don't kill her,
iv. i'll just have to take her to hell with me.
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
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
.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)
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
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
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
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.
shooting starThe space between
each star is a tragedy
waiting to happen --
and you fall
from the sky
all too easily.
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
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