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How to Write the Perfect Poem.How to Write the Perfect Poem.
Through her misty tears
She wrote about writing
She back spaced
Her smile became a frown
For she could not express
How simple it was
To get lost in
How a simple poem
Made her cry
How could you explain that
How could you say
What it was like to
Cry, as you expressed
What you were trying to say
Trying to tell her
That little girl
That is me
How to love.
This Is How I SuffocateMemories died on a tongue-tied synapse
while my rabbit heart raced through the nightmare,
skinned alive and breaking on the concrete.
1. Foul Calamity To Filthy Mind
The widow carried the glass of blood on her back,
up the climb of the standing hairs upon my arm...
Her stare was without emotion,
but all eyes were on me with each and every step.
My hope was in my half empty glass,
yet the widows glass was always filled with blood,
every drop from every venomous bite...
One by one, her steps draw closer to my pounding heart.
She burrows beneath my sleeve,
the receding image of her legs,
is enough to overtake my heart...
the suspense alone ravages my pulse.
What bitter calamity had overtaken the life through my veins,
by God, such a fear building the arctic sweat about my flesh.
BraceletMy telltale heart
holds your fingerprints in its chambers
These fault line scars
are the only reminders of the faith
now drained by your voice incarnate
and left to shrivel on the marble
Tied to the cross
with prayer bead handcuffs and latex
hangs your bleeding daughter
Systolic pressure keeps my pulse growing weaker
to feed the altar with a murderer’s baptism
and leave me locked behind the pearly gate
He called me his charm
and this was the price for gold
The History of Art in WordsThe colors melt
down the walls,
fading, loosing focus,
into new dimensions,
appear and disappear,
nothing but lines,
or ragged and bitter,
as tears upon a canvas,
a hidden grim smile,
truth and lies,
revealing and hiding
Soundless Screams.And he sank in the sea of plausible words;
only the anchor of mistrust holding him bound.
Holding on, he cursed gods and promised lords,
what'd happen had it been the other way around?
Bitten lips and slumping eyelids haunt his mind;
or what remains after the utter devastation.
Sanity and eternal aberration have entwined
in order to give birth to merciless frustration.
Can Earth be suffocatingly boundless?
If so, then he can be free.
Can screams be loudly soundless?
It seems that his can be.
The Mask Of Arrogance
Making your silly world up as you go along
Keep on in this trek on the chosen path,
And increase my hopes of your self-defeat.
Let the pressure of my truth
crush you beneath its weight.
The Devil's indignation is strong
in the midst of one such as your name.
Please and never believe yourself
a contribution to the future's good
When yours is an age old sort of pestilence
To which my efforts contribute to killing
I envision what truth lies rotted behind your pitiful mask
That image is ever burned in my mind,
like the bridges between us.
What method of humility do you prefer,
Of such a decimation to the mind of a fool.
5. The End is No End
Never had I beheld such a morbid sight,
Even after all that had penetrated my vision,
And pierced the very innocence of my soul.
Before stood the arisen Gates of Hades,
And but a few steps was I from the source of opposition.
My knees then met the soil and ash that laid below me.
The eyes that had before surrounded me,
Came to once more encircle me…
I knew not the reason, nor did my curiosity overcome my fear.
The drums of my ears felt nothing but a deafening ring,
And every hair arose on the flesh of my arm in alarm.
A familiar presence came from behind me.
I turned my eyes to the Hooded Figure that had bestowed upon
Lonely CriesDon't look at me
When I fall apart
I don't want you
To hear my cries
I will always push away
The ones who say they care
It's just sorrow and shame
They care only about themselves
It's just their morality
That makes them pretend
They never look in my eyes
Too afraid of what they might see
Of the empty stare
That won't go away
Scared of the darkness
Of the soulless face
And the hint of a murder
That is always there
Life's BonfireWhen the time comes
And God calls my name
I will make a stake
Of all my mistakes
All dreams and hopes
Desires and friend
Of all I loved
And the ones who left
On the bottom I will put
Tree climbing, first bike
Always alone at home
That didn't feel right
I don't blame you Mummy
You were so young
I don't blame you Daddy
That you worked all the time
Then will go the pain
That ruined my life
And my childhood was gone
And I wanted to die
Next it's time for the people
Who hurt me or left
So called boyfriends
And forgetful friends
And these few moments
I wouldn't dare to tell now
What I did with them
On the top
So What Do I Do?If only I could read your mind
If only I could interpret you emotions
Understand what you're going through
See through your eyes
Hear through your ears
Feel through your heart
If only I knew how to help you
But I can't
And I don't
And it's killing me
So what do I do?
The Connecticut Massacre.The Connecticut Massacre.
He was described as quiet, shy and socially awkward.
He was not the type to be loud, abrasive and forward.
He was highly intelligent and kept his thoughts to himself.
He didn't posses the tools to communicate with anyone else.
Whenever he spoke, his words felt forced and fake.
Who knew back then how many lives this man could take.
The realisation of his isolation was activated by the school premises.
He was never able to see his peers as friends but only as his nemeses.
But when he was home his alienation became none existent.
He was able to laugh and smile without any form of resistance.
The constant contrast
One of Many.One of Many.
I'm afraid of your judgments.
I'm afraid of what you will think of me.
So I make subtle adjustments
And become someone you want me to be.
I hide behind my mascara and concealer.
Smile and respond when instructed.
I'm not smart or sexy enough to be a leader.
So I allow myself to become conducted.
I allow myself to become obstructed.
I allow myself to become abducted.
I allow myself to become corrupted.
I allow myself to become artificial.
I allow myself to become superficial.
I allow myself to become egotistical
And live behind a carefully applied screen.
Because my real face can never be seen.
It's easier to act
Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,
tattooed into the
rose garden curve
of my vertebrae,
gliding me through this wild youth.
But, like Icarus—
I was a sky conqueror
& these silk wings
touched the sun.
My inhalations are heavy,
like the earth he bruises
beneath his fingertips
as I chase silence.
"You've got a tongue
made for words." He says
against the arrogant thorns
of my briar spine.
"Learn to love yourself."
How do I say I love you
without saying I love you?
"I want to replace my heart with you."
You are spider silk woven
into my harvest moon
limbs traveling this road map
Alexias MorrisAlexias Morris - The worst person in the world.
Said like you dread.
She was but a fragment of mind
Helped me get out of a bind
It was not really what she said
By how I took there and hid
Alexias Morris Yes, Alexias Morris
Played a scrabble moonlight
Ever feeling so tight
Her voice so high pitched
She was but a miss
You wanted to watch
However it seemed to be squashed
Wanting to count
But forever she mounts
You had such a test
It seemed like a mess
You wondered what's best
She was like the rest
And when you were s
The Gate of FearThe Gate of Fear.
She was but a little girl
She had there deep
Within her mind
Something she could not
Think about or even see
Something she dare not touch
With her thoughts
It was so deep; a scar on her soul
That she dare not open the key
Reveal the secrets beyond the gate
The memory would stay there forever
And if it were ever released
Her mind would shatter into a thousand pieces
A Leased SoulIt's the sadness that surrounds him
And you look and stare at the scene
Trying to capture what is happening
The loss, the hate, the scream
Stuck alone in his house
Rain pouring down outside
He howls to the moonlight
Fear is just catching his pride
Lost as tears come
He makes an effort to leave
He cannot reach the doors' handle
The scare has left him to his knees
The hours past slowly
The rain beats outside still
Grasping onto the door
He catches the winds' brutal chill
And slowly as he walks
To their favourite wooden bench
The rain there piercing through
The garbage, the rotten stench
And he sits there with her cane
What Am I? Lingering in that photo...
In that simple shot (still, I feel the bullet there)
I look, and I see a woman.
I am not a woman.
I have never worked for a lifestyle,
given birth for an allowance
I have never truly loved a man.
I am not a woman.
I do not have the means to
to wake, feel the calling..(oh, it calls, but I do not answer)
and move, move, move
until I reach a place of
I am not a woman.
Sometimes, I still take the
of my childhood and
place it on shoulders of
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More