The Waste WorldShe said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.The Waste World by 0hgravity
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morphine into veins, into deep red rivers to turn them ebony and clogged. Her eyes glistened obsidian, sharp and cold if you didn't know her at all. I knew she was lost and ashamed, as her mother, my grandmother, would often remind her of the destruction her presence caused. I loved her like grandmother nature never could.
Grandmother was ,indeed, a gra
Verifiedsometimes fear is a little black monster that waits in your closetVerified by intricately-ordinary
nursing all your skeletons back to health, tempting you
with tightly wound lies like bitter almond candies
and compliance is second only to believing that maybe, just maybe,
the words slithering out of its mouth (then around your throat,
choking you when you are finally alone enough to be convinced truth
is objective) are something real, something worth believing in
unlike all the other things that have forsaken you,
there's a certain comfort in knowing that fear is
a constant, it is a shadow, it is as concrete as the bags
you carry excess time in under your eyes; but it is still
silent, hidden, it is something only you can bear
like a cross sewn into your skin to remind you
you were born to sin, you were built to fail.
everyone always knew you were too weak to succeed because
they had planned out your mistakes long before you knew why
they said "life isn't fair," long before you knew what it was
to wake up crying for p
drinking with charlesit's unusual -drinking with charles by Tornment
i'm usually not fond of strong drinks
tonight i'm with my two favorite guys;
'cause, it's that time of the month,
time to be stupid and grieve over things
listening to the song we listened to
on the night we said good-bye:
love has just started for us
and god do i need a cigarette
though i never wanted to get addicted
and i swear i'll stop
but i know
daniel's may reach my liver and get away
but i can't just touch the angst
and flee -
it stays inside.
charles can pour another glass
and i can go to hell.
it's all over anyway.
once you fuck up,
it's difficult to get back again
you repeat times after times that you're sorry
the thing you're sorry for
Song of Shadow's BaneWhen fires rage in a distant landSong of Shadow's Bane by SnoweWoulf
And the trees begin to sway,
All men now take their stand
And break into the fray.
So tall stood the hunstman's spear
That it cut through the gray sky,
And so sharp the call that sears
Even thick clouds up high.
But softly doth the snow now fall
Upon the frozen ground,
And sweet her song heard by all
In its gentle round.
As the ice now turns to rain,
She sings the Song of Shadow's Bane.
Just A PoetI never realized I cared so muchJust A Poet by IINegativeII
about what other people thought
I always thought I wrote
because it gave me the outlet that I sought
Was I not writing to vent out
wasn't every word that I thought out
meant to fight the urge I had to shout
Wasn't that what this was all about
When did losing fans
start to inflict in me this doubt
Wasn't this pen
meant to be my voice
a crescendo of agonizing screams
heard without making a noise
No. Its more than just my voice
It was meant to live a dream
When pain molds into beauty
And starts to fix a broken self-esteem
But when people cheer your name
it starts getting to your head
I forgot to write for me
and wrote for them instead
But that wasn't me
so it all came crashing to the ground
I asked myself why I was writing
but there was no answer to be found
Losing sight of who I was
Or the reason I was crowned
started feeling insecurity
In the darkness where I was left to drown
This pen fits perfectly inside my hand
Its still linked to my heart
and has to
The Trick to ExhaustionThere is a trick to exhaustion that liesThe Trick to Exhaustion by Aconitum-Napellus
in getting it just right. Just right
for the quiet moth wings and their settled dust.
Just right for the poultice on the forehead,
that tight band of pain. Just right
for the bones bending inside sheathes of dough.
There is a trick that involves the flung back neck,
the flesh swan-white and open to attack. The hands
open and curled like a shell. The pulse fluttering,
a light-caught insect drowning in energy.
The tick like a clock. Head dazed. The stomach
seasick and rocked by the earth.
There is a trick to exhaustion that involves
the inability to sleep, eyelids like membranes,
veins silent and resolute, pupils slack and filled
with nothing. Ears veiled by the beating of your heart.
Your body a Pompeii cast, arms abandoned like
a crucified saint. Your head an empty cask,
your skull a cave for cobwebs and echoes,
your lips a desert dry, teeth for druids, tongue
a swelling to stop your mouth from working.
There is a trick to exhaustion, and
Mirror, MirrorI had a dream where I was youMirror, Mirror by Jsaren
And cried to find it was not true.
So real, but things I'd never seen;
I could feel the roses of my reverie.
The wings of silk upon my back
Spread sweet dreams with every flap,
And the soft words he spoke to me
Were all I'd ever wanted to be.
With flowers braided in my hair,
I was one of the creatures there:
A voice that sang like glassy ice,
And happiness that had no price.
But that stolen life of evergreen,
It could not last, no, not for me.
The salty breeze from golden sands
Pushed me back into the waking lands,
Forced me back into the lonely night
Without, without his lovely eyes.
AnonymousI am the girl who hides between moth eaten paper backsAnonymous by grew-up-a-screw-up
And slips into bookstores and devours leather bound spines
I am chloroform lips bitten down, red and rosy
Ink stained finger tips that fold book pages between my pupils
I'm the girl who drowns herself in coffee and cough drops
While remaining curled between Tennyson and Steinbeck
Wasting days wondering why grass is green
And how it can be greener for others and not I
Then I realized its all artificial food colouring
And polystyrene picket fences
Sticky notes yellowed at the edges reminding myself how to smile
I've pasted them on my skin in makeshift paper Mache armour
But like all mangled words I will be thrown inside a wastebasket
Saved for a rainy day