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karen dannette Apr 2015
PRETTY POISON

You try to call me
To make me feel you
Being broiled alive in a turmoil
that I can't.......even breathe

Your profession of love
Yet, permeate the disillusionment of my soul
Now i feel suffocated, utterly suspended in loss  
Sickened by the sight of myself, stuck in this hole.

When you do look at me
It is only with degradation,
I am just a prisoner within myself ,
Your deceit and support is a complete contradiction.

Have I become such a burden to you?
Because my choices in life are against your advice
You can't change who I am, that's who you loved at the start.
Once a burning fire for me, now only a heart of only ice.

The scales are tipped to your side
You are adored and respected by all.
I am the outsider, I'm not disullioned
Now, we can all buy a ticket and watch me fall

Always alone in a room full of people?
What would it mean if no one cared if you ******* died?
Have you ever put yourself in my shoes, even for a moment?
Crying myself to sleep every night, humility taking the place of my pride.

I can't turn back the clock
To alter the damage that has been done to you
I battle emotions and memories that ache, all bottled up inside
Don't worry about being subtle, I can take a cue.

Hear my words, I'll only say them one time
Certainly can't allow you to use me for a doormat or a lame.
I've made mistakes, but I'm an adult willing to take the blame.
You've done your job, I am leaving to end this crying game.

Feel the love inside my heart,
Like you used to before.
Or just end this agony before I end it all.
The pain I feel is churning inside me, deep within the core.

I don't know what to do anymore.
Can't you see I continually apologize for what has been done.
I'm losing my mind and I'm worried that I may do something I will regret.
Like hurt myself or hurt someone else, tired of seeing the barrell of your gun.

Pretty poision or siren you say I am
Such a shame you can't take credit for your own symptoms,  
By poisioning my thoughts you think I'll forget who I am....
So, you can sit there and complain while you **** your thumb.

But, the difference between you and me
Is that I know God is carrying me through these times.
He is the one that will be there with the Book of Life.;
Only God can judge me for every sinful crime.

Should I surrender again?
Sensing your pernicious, reeking breath on my neck....
Stinking like stale beer and nicotine
Does he realize that he is a train-wreck.

**** me harder, i will always say
I must like it when it hurts me this way.
Seeking anger and destruction within my heart of sorrow.
Realizing the detriment to my soul, I won't be here another day.

Inside the depths of my soul,
I must bid you adiew...
When I depart from you forever
I will finally feel brand new.
I came across this poem I wrote back in 2013.  I realize now that I was extremely ******* myself and re-wrote it.   Any feedback is appreciated.  Thank you.
LJ Chaplin Apr 2015
He waits for the wind to carry him home,
Across waves that rise and fall with
The pulsing of his aching heart,
She waits on rocks by the shipwreck,
Wondering how he got away,
He counts his blessings and clutches his chest,
The lurching feeling fading with the haunting
Visions of the flames in her eyes,
She cries and buries her face into her hands,
Tears forming shallow bodies of water
Like the rock pools where she dreamed of
Capturing  his heart.
© LJ Chaplin
i don't have a way with words
less poet
more the howling fool that chases them apart
my sweaty struggles always leave me blinded and alone
owed nothing
clinging to
empty

empty
spaces
i call these spaces stories
and like the siren that grants
a shipwreck and death against razor sharp rocks
i lure them in
found their deepest darkest secret

every word wants nothing more
than to die like a story
see,
i have a way with stories
and i'd like to imagine
that stories take up a place as the echo
of love when it grows from that first enticing smile
or the infant cry when it purges childhood pain
deep down in the hidden treasuries of
your most heartfelt of hearts
me tracing this with pitch black ink on paper
you committing this to your beating crimson heart
we're connected with an ancient thread that
even the gods dare not tear apart

see they too
in all their might and glory
want nothing more
than the epic bliss
of a truly good
and heartfelt
story.
A story dedicated to the struggles of poets.
For my fellow HP poets especially :)
Noandy Apr 2015
I

Waiting for my clock to break an arm
I wonder why there are two moons
In the sky on the mirror above the ground
I stroll upon in the dark dark night
But who would listen to my footsteps
That contradict their own resonation
For I always walk
In sanity

II

How do we talk
And how do we walk?
Like innocence drowned in chalk
Or just abhorrence painted black?
Why does the mirror shatter?
It is because of beauty,
or a heart blackdusted, like this—
like   this
like   this
like   this
like   this
like   this
like
         this
like
         this
like
         this
like
         this
like  this
        dislike

III

Following your eyes and their dauntless form
I beat the tears out of the moon
In the bog where we used to mourn
For deceased children whose hearts shone bright
But who would weep along to us
Whose sirens live alone in contradiction
For we always talk
In sanity
Connor Apr 2015
Call delicate sirens of the working class!
half-*** minimum wage poverty line
subsidy sages hollow of materialism devils,
devoid of darkness internal fire strike rage
and hellion god bowels light flickering shallow men.
The rich men.
The truly poor men living in clouded manors on
Ignorance Avenue.

Delicate sirens not so poor after all,
not so empty or so full.
God is the prayer call
and siren droll
and *** roll-in-sleep afternoon shore-breeze faint of hope
approaching winter-fall showering divinity flowers the same material as Peter's scraggly beard while he coughs his angelic bronchitis wheezes, purifying the western air.
Peter is apostle
his snores are their own gospel
the doves in his dreams
will always be there.

The battle goes on
the bottle goes up
the rattle hollers out
the chatter not without.

Sirens call! Call with short breaths as
the world cyclones through universal woe.
Aaron Curry Apr 2015
Never been one for dancing
Although by now I'd be quite good
From watching you all these years...

But I could never cut in
It just isn't my style
Or maybe I'm just paralyzed
By this sirens smile
Swim in the deepest part of the ocean,
With waves over head,
A life pieced by water,
A nautical life,
Or aquatic wonders,
There is no fear,
Living in fairytales,
Mithical creatures,
Sorrounding the waters,
Travel sea to sea,
Hopes disguised as flounders,
Surfers all above,
And here come the divers,
Ready to explore,
The kind I belong to,
Sing to them now,
They'll jump off from sails,
To follow the voice,
Deep in the waters,
Desperate souls,
Following as I speak,
Gullible minds,
When told to go under,
This siren awaits,
For sailors to wonder,
To bring them in deep,
In dangerous waters.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Silenced.
Voice no longer heard,
Heart no longer sings.

Quiet.
She had sang before,
Fear grew deep within.

Magic.
She feels it in symphonies,
Dancing in the streets.

Sacred.
Music is to her,
The earth no longer moves.

Present.
Today she sings alone,
Like a Siren lost in the deep.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Arizona Waters Mar 2015
Sea blue eyes, your tempting touch, parched lips
Kissed once, twice, too many times. As
Sunlight shattered, falling just as raindrops
Stream down swollen cheeks. So bruised, so bitter.

Cupids with their pearls in palms, away from
Us, away from skin stung black and blue.
Words chocked to none, tears clogged by fear
And by you, the siren; and your vile, bittersweet appetite.
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