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Resting my brain
Despite restless strain
Hard to refrain
Even harder to change
Easy to be swayed
By constant delays
Saying this way
Will work today
Of course didn’t
So you make  
Another promise
Broken again
You're in the mirror of my dreams
But I'm Eyeless to every hint.
You're wise, strong & kind
I miss you
This silence pierces me.

Perishable & torn
Thy soft skin bears deep cuts.

I wipe my tears
I run to see you one final time
But how can I bear the sight:
Bleeding, exposed & lifeless
Thy powerless form.

Born bare
&
Die bare
With cuts.
You were to young to Fly like a Freebird
I miss you...
https://youtu.be/Fm-KLUZM-Tg?si=dZQYVXJFAlaxT_mx
Abi Winder Apr 9
if i were dead,
what circle of hell would i call home?
Jayden Apr 2
By the good grace of the gods, those who have dared to taint my face with a welt, shall receive divine punishment - and not by those who are deemed mighty high above or the denounced who dwell at a plane below mantle and core. But by me, solely me, without maledictions or the intangible, me. Smote by my might. I am not a dictator, nor a man filled with ill-intent, though my words will be carved upon stone and actions dignified in blood. For me to be assaulted in such a haphazardly manner. As a conclusion to you actions know that death is your prometheus, death to your people, death to your land, death to your cattle. My violence exceeds the confines of your cranium, in a similar fashion my anguish extends across the lands; it will agonisingly, crucifying in arduity, mundane if it has to chase and chastise you to the proverbial end of the world. So, to whatever omnipotence you pray to (or do not), it is futile, you will be reprimanded and dealt with promptly, death to all those you love, death to the vermin you shelter in your home by the vignette oil-lit-lamp and the capacious pillow you so pompously lay your head. -

death to you.
Oms i'll get them.
Faith Cubitt Mar 27
you had a gun,
there was blood everywhere,
but I couldn't run....
I saw the tears drowning in your eyes,
and I knew it was all a big mistake.
but you were the one holding the gun.
I didn't even hear it go off, but it did.
everything was supposed to be alright
you told me you had to do it.
and I believed you....
boom
Misguided steps, manipulated, broken,
Fragments of a life, tokens,
Memories, dark, awoken,
Provoking ramblings, choking,
Left for dead, moping,
Listless, out of time.
When a dark memory lingers
Oliver Feb 1
A fire in my veins, it burns and spreads,
No solace found, my pain instead.
It courses through me, an unseen dread,
My heart beats hindered, slow and dead.

I gasp for air, my breath a plea,
To regulate, find sanctuary.
Isolation's grip, it smothers me,
Abandoned here, in misery.

The spreading burn, a growing blight,
My center bleeds, devoid of light.
Rot consumes me, without a doubt,
From inside out, it spills about.

My vision blurs, my words a mess,
Organs churn, enduring stress.
A fleeting glance, at moments past,
Life lived too fast, it couldn't last.

The forecast grim, my future bleak,
A question haunts, my soul to seek:
Was it all worth this fleeting chase?
I shunned the breaks, embraced the race.

Lost in the maze, of fleeting fears,
My peers' applause, drowned out my tears.
Exhausted, striving, never to stand out,
My grotesque form, a silent shout.

"Leave me," I begged, a final plea,
But now the burn consumes, sets me free.
I forgot I wrote this, I do remember I took heavy inspiration from the song Rotting by Sushi Soucy & Jada Valencia.
Oliver Feb 1
I frolic among ruins, my own creation
I dance with enemies long dead
Their ghosts still whisper condemnation,
I laugh at words unsaid.

A crown of thorns, a throne of dust,
I rule the wreckage with delight.
Let them curse me if they must—
Their shattered bones are quite the sight.

I tip the scales, I rig the game,
I drink the venom, wear the blame.
What fun is virtue, meek and hollow,
When sin is sweeter to swallow?

I set the fire, I stoked the blaze,
Watched it burn with a gilded gaze.
Regret’s a game for fools to play—
I’d raze it all again today.

What joy it is to know damnation
And still refuse to change or stand,
To greet the flames with exultation,
A willing fate at my own hand.
I wanted to write a poem but couldn't think what to write about I found a prompt and it was a sinner's Eulogy. I don't particularly like religious themes. I made the character the poem is about/ in the prospective of, just an awful and terrible person. They know that they aren't a good person. They just don't care. They are unapologetic and they find happiness in being a bad person.

Also I have a lot of trouble saying the word Exultation. Its a new word for me so for those who don't know it means a feeling of triumph or rejoicing.
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