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Twisted Poet Feb 20
i wish i wrote the way i thought.
obsessively,
uncontrollably,
with maddening hunger,
id write to the point of drowning
id write myself into mental breakdowns    
pages spiralling out like tentacles into the abyss
and id write about you
more then i should
71 · Apr 2
The price of love III
Twisted Poet Apr 2
Flowers bloom in my lungs, white like a frost-covered morning, their roots weave intricate walls around my heart, protecting it. But although they look pretty, I find I cannot breathe. The white suddenly seems more like a freshly cleaned gravestone, and the roots choke my heart in a cage lined with needlepoint thorns. The bright flowers once blooming in my lungs are now a wilted bouquet clutched in sweaty hands watered by salty tears.
70 · Feb 26
Eve
Twisted Poet Feb 26
Eve
He was bored so you created me.

It was painful for both of us,
When you clawed at his ribs
Searching.
Your fingernails tearing out the calcium in his bones.

And his bones became my muscles,
And the muscles became my skin,

And i was naked,
and he and you were pleased.

He and i were on ambivalent terms,
But we knew we were there because you
Wanted us to be.
And we knew that was why
The fruit and animals existed;
And these were good things, we
Enjoyed them.

Later I'd blame the snake.
He reeked of knowledge;
I was interested,
I didn't know they'd use my story as an excuse
To pound curiosity out of woman.

I ate the apple
Its juice dribbled down my chin,

I realised things.

He ate the apple too; you were angry at us.
And i committed the original sin.
I realised that even though you had made the world
And me as a plaything,

My body would be a vessel for a new species.
And they would take
This earth from you.
69 · May 9
The opposite of love
Twisted Poet May 9
My English teacher said The opposite of love
Is hate.
But it's not hate,
It's apathy.
Hate still breathes,
It's fiery, raw, and real.
But apathy?
Apathy is a void
Where nothing's left to feel.
No anger, no tears,
Just empty.
So if you ask what's worse,
Hate or apathy,
I'd say apathy,
The silence,
The hollow space, Where nothing is felt
And nothing is left
Between us.
69 · May 20
Missing you
Twisted Poet May 20
I had a broken tooth and you had a broken car that sang at certain speeds.
I was holding my crimson soaked mouth, we were all laughing.
You, the only one who was worried.
Speeding to the doctor with your hands at ten and two,
sending me the occasional look, asking if it hurts,
does it hurt.
-All the memories of you do
68 · May 20
Hopes Form
Twisted Poet May 20
Hope is not a delicate bird.
It doesn’t have colourful feathers or comes.
When you need it most
Hope is a starving rat
An ugly thing
With broken glass claws and yellow pointed teeth
That carries diseases like rebellion, revolution and change
Were ever its tail flicks they drop
It snorts pesticides like coke
It survives in our world
Able to find a way to live were nothing else can.
68 · Apr 1
grief
Twisted Poet Apr 1
/gref/
noun
1. the pain says, i have come for you, and you say, you are too blinding, I don't want to look.

2. your chest is a wall of fire. the pain says, I own buckets, and I own torches. you pick torches.

3. your soul is a wall of thorns. the pain says, what can I do for you? you say, nothing. this is dream from which I know I will wake.

4. your heart is a wall of storm clouds. the pain says, I will lend you my shoulders and my hands. you say, I don't have strength in me to touch anyone yet.

5. life shivers, melts, moves on. the pain says, I have come for you, and you look upon it and say, yes, I’ve kept you waiting too long.
67 · May 9
World forget me
Twisted Poet May 9
World, forget me — grind my name to dust,
Let rot reclaim and turns my blood to rust.
Strip me bare of flesh and thread,
Unmark my grave, watch as i bled.

Erase the stain where I once stood,
Bleed out my soul into the wood.
Let crows feast where memory fades,
And silence howl through empty glades.

No prayers, no plea, no tender grace,
Just darkness folding in my place.
Let time spit out my bitter taste —
A shadow lost in deeper space.

World, forget me — not in peace,
But like a curse you must release.
Like breath you choke and force away,
Like light that dies and dares not stay.

Let no one speak what I became,
Let even grief forget my name.
No myth, no ash, no twisted tree —
Just nothing left.
So let it be.
66 · Dec 2024
late night thoughts
Twisted Poet Dec 2024
"you cant love someone unless you love yourself"
*******
I have  never loved myself
but you
oh god, with you i forgot what hating myself felt like
65 · Dec 2024
To be a poet
Twisted Poet Dec 2024
"You've been writing again."
Yes, I have.
"So, who is behind the pain?"
What do you mean?
"I know you. You only write when you're hurting. When your heart's heavy, your mind full, your soul splintered. Those are the times when your best words
spill on the page. I know this because I've read them, I've felt your words enter my skin, flow through my veins, and embed themselves onto my heart. So tell me, who's behind the beautifully heart breaking poetry this time?"
65 · Apr 17
madness
Twisted Poet Apr 17
/'mad-nes/
noun
1. i forgot i had fists today. my heart decided to be vicious warrior. punch after punch, does it seek a glory? i'm washing my hands, they shine like red sunsets when I first found paradise.
Am i a murderer? or did i **** all my thoughts in self defence?
2. angels are talking behind my ear. they don't sound like the cruel laughter i know. they never leave (everyone always does) should i call this love a lie? for the first time I think I could be holy.
i almost smile.
3. my lips are full of ruby lies. smooth criminal dancing in forgotten light, put on a trail for breaking. for hurting, yesterday i tried to burn my mind, i left three bodies fading behind my back (all were mine mine mine) forgive me father for leaving those marks. mother says heaven doesn't want me anymore.
63 · Apr 1
madness
Twisted Poet Apr 1
/'mad-nes/
noun
1. I forgot I had fists today. my heart decided to be a warrior. punch after punch, does it seek glory?  I’m washing my hands; they shine like red sunsets when I first found paradise.
Am I a murderer? or did I **** my thoughts in self defence?

2. angels are talking behind my ear. they don't sound like the cruel laughter i know but they never leave (everyone always does) should i call this love a lie? for the first time I think I could be holy.
I almost smile.

3. my lips are full of crimson coated lies. As I dance in forgotten light, I pour a trail of gasoline, yesterday I tried to burn my mind, I left three bodies fading behind my back (all were mine mine mine) forgive me father for leaving those marks. mother says heaven doesn't want me anymore.
63 · Feb 28
Changing
Twisted Poet Feb 28
the hero who fought long enough to become the victim
the victim who was wronged long enough to become the monster
63 · Jan 22
love poem
Twisted Poet Jan 22
"This is an apology
for the things I had to say about us, to get over us.
I feel most like myself
when I am washing crimson blood stains
off my hands in the shower;
and I hope
whatever is eating you alive does it as slowly as possible.
I know it doesn't sound like it,
but this is a love poem,
this is a love poem,  this is a love poem

until it isn't anymore."
63 · Jan 22
Hatred vs Love
Twisted Poet Jan 22
Isn't it funny.
I enjoy my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love.
Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands.
Love uses you, changes its mind, and leaves you hurt.
But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield.
It's hard, or soft, however you need it.
Love humiliates you, but Hatred, Hatred cradles you.
62 · May 24
when i die
Twisted Poet May 24
when i die i want my corpse to be unrecognizable. a something-or-other dead on the side of the road, half-eaten, half-crushed, all-forgotten

i am no hector of troy.
the gods of Olympus won't keep my corpse clean until my father comes pleading.
my gods are the earthworms writhing beneath me and gift-giver Gaia, who strips my bones of their flesh and whispers softly as she feeds me to her children "lie still, lie still, lie still"
61 · May 24
wax museum
Twisted Poet May 24
'You're a heap of flesh and guts and blood in a wax museum. The only thing real. Sickeningly real. Crimson and warm where the others are pale and cold. Revoltingly red,
nauseatingly alive. You're a child in a graveyard.
60 · Feb 26
Tragedy's in our blood
Twisted Poet Feb 26
you love each other
you really do
but here's the tragedy
its not enough
59 · Feb 26
Fight
Twisted Poet Feb 26
don't be what they made you
you fought to hard
to ******* hard
59 · Jan 22
To become a god
Twisted Poet Jan 22
divinity will stain your fingers and mouth like pomegranate juice.
it will swallow you whole and spit you out,
you will reach for it again and again,
greedy human fingers clutching at everything you can reach.
the divine will curl its way through your veins and take you over,
and it will not leave you quietly.
i feel divinity in my bones like aching; like fire.
58 · Jun 3
Me and you
Twisted Poet Jun 3
Now at the end of all things
As we're breathing sulfur and
Lead's pouring over our heads
I'm glad you're the one I'm
Sharing the trenches with
58 · Feb 20
phoenix
Twisted Poet Feb 20
yes,
you will rise from the ashes
but burning comes first

for this part,
darling,
you must be brave
Twisted Poet May 24
She should've stood out in a crowd
She should've made her mother proud
She should've fallen on her stance
She should've had another chance

She should have been a son
She should have been a son
She should have been a son
She should have been a son
57 · May 24
New body
Twisted Poet May 24
"today my professor told me every cell in our entire body is destroyed and replaced every seven years.
how comforting it is to know one day i will have a body you will have never touched."
57 · Feb 26
puppet
Twisted Poet Feb 26
"what did they do?"
"nothing good his puppets were not supposed to live after the war"
55 · Jan 22
Im a shell
Twisted Poet Jan 22
" do not misunderstand me; when I call myself a shell
what i mean is a used up bullet casing.
As in, the aftermath of something lethal and horrific.
As in, an echo of inflicted evil that seeps into everything ."
51 · Apr 1
Ex.tinc.tion
Twisted Poet Apr 1
Ik/sting(k)SH(a)n/
noun
1. ultraviolet silence. fracture patterns in the exposed knuckle bones. we pray with our knees in the dust but the gods do not answer us. the pines creak with the weight of ghosts.
2. it is a fire light dance. it is a marrow-born dance. close your tired eyes. let yourself be spun in winding circles. remember to breathe, remember to breathe.
3. no red feathers, all red ashes. listen to me, child, it always starts with you saying, I am doing something right.
41 · 1d
What if i can't
do you ever tell your parent that what if you can't do it and all they say is "I know you will". No mum. What if I can't ?  what if I disappointed you? what about my guilt? where do I keep this feeling? why is it so heavy? what if i fail? what then? will you still think of me as your brightest kid? will you still use me as an example for my siblings? will i be an example? what if i couldn't be that intelligent always making you proud kid? what if i fail mum? why is this feeling so heavy? where do I keep it mum? What if i fail?
40 · Jul 19
Things that fall
Twisted Poet Jul 19
teardrops
petals
snowflakes
rain
stars
eyelids
time
shadows
the sun
and I,
for you
0 · 1d
Burnt out
They say you're smart. Your first grade teacher calls you a genius. You feel thrilled because finally, finally, someone who doesn't immediately wait for the next achievement, someone who doesn't threaten disownment over failure. You meet her again 10 years later. You're still her genius.
It is no longer a compliment, it falls like a curse. You spend your childhood decorated in choking ribbons and leaded trophies, but you don't feel pretty, you just feel used. You remember every moment. You remember longing for friends but finding none. You remember a desperation to please when you finally do. You find yourself asking "What if I'm not enough?”. You never are. Then you're up till sunrise because the world is crumbling and you are not enough and never will be and you have no-one. Sometimes you pick up a pen and write, but never in the first tense, never, too personal, You wanted to burn like Icarus. but You faded like Cassandra.
"I don't have a tragic backstory. I didn't come from nothing, I came from a family that has loved me from day one and been able to provide me with what I need. I have a roof over my head and food on the table. There are no excuses for me, no limitations, no walls I need to break down. But I'm not a genius. Not a superstar, not this incredible human being. And my greatest fear is that I will never do anything. People with incredible backstories change the world and I can't."
"do not borrow grief from the future"
But what if I can already see the headlights? I can hear the humming, I cannot ignore it. You will be gone. I will lose you. That is a certainty that has awaited me. I am nowhere near by.

— The End —