Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Christian Ek Jul 2014
The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.

I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.

We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.
MST Jun 2014
Save us they say,
they have stolen our hearts,
they have chopped us up,
and sold our body parts.
Save us they say,
they have taken our rights,
and these rights are ours,
we gained them through our fights.
Save us they say,
as they look for others,
we are dying here,
protects our sisters, mothers and brothers.
Save us they say,
as they cower in fear,
unable to go on,
only steering clear.
Save us they say,
as they lie down and die,
I blame only you,
as I have lived a lie.
Danny Hefer Jun 2014
Were we deaf to the rules
How would we enjoy
The sweet sound they make
We they break
Or, you know, the echo, 'cause, you know, my words are so deep and stuff.
Alex Vice May 2014
The thing about us kids from America,
Is that we want everything now
There's poverty and mass hysteria
And everyone looks like a cow
We want it all
And we don't care how we get it
We won't fall
We are the kids from America
We'll never ever be like you
We are the kids from America
We are the chosen few
We are the kids from America
Jonas Gonçalves May 2014
Maybe I've not woken up
so promptly.
Maybe I've not silenced
so prudently.
Maybe I've never listened to you.

"The deep cut
is not the only pain
felt in this world.
Do something lovely,
otherwise, I get confused."

I hear the orchestra play.
It announces tragedy
which I persisted in not to remember;
however, the symphony describes that day:
too many suspended melancholies in the air.

I asked you not leave like this
and you asked me to be courageous.
And suddenly, the explosion took you from me
as well as from your pleasurable love.
How can I go on without one for whom I came?

Regretting is out of time
– empty thing, rather unstable.
Staring at the sky, I remember the words of yore:
"the dawn is so admirable
after the night goes away."
olympia May 2014
you take my breath away
like that dense soccer ball
that was punted to my stomach
in the fourth grade

i like the way you tease me
and drag your cold fingers
across the small of my back
just to get the tingles

i like the way you touch
and pull at my shorts
and tear at my shirt
so that the holes expose my goosebumps

i like the way you play with my hair
and tug it when we
get ***** on the grass
just a little yank

and the perfect way you hunch
thats what gets me the most
because it makes you like no one else
it makes you taste like you
Next page