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 Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:05 am
The black of the forest; so dark at night
I see moving faces, they fill me with fright
As I peer fearfully straight ahead
My imagianed shadows fill me with dread...
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:06 am
When watching me and taking view
you see a sihouete of two...
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:07 am
with vapid gasps
my brain it grasps
at a semblance of coherence.
it reels within
with thoughts of sin
and its appealing appearance.
lying in bed
i curse my head
and pray for some sort of clearance.
yeah... my brain is always on the fritz. wink
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:07 am
My life is in shambles
my mind is gone
from my head, where it used to belong
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:08 am
I wish I could tell you
just how I feel
how can I tell you when nothing is real?
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:09 am
Lojak with vapid gasps my brain it grasps at a semblance of coherence. it reels within with thoughts of sin and its appealing appearance. lying in bed i curse my head and pray for some sort of clearance. yeah... my brain is always on the fritz. wink
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:10 am
Life feels scary when there is nobody there.
Why should you care when its all so unfair?
No sanity to hold, I am on the last tear.
And then it goes dark, with noone to share.
((Wow why does my random poetry always turn out so emo?))
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:11 am
Reach out to me
What do you see?
I have no tea
Back off of me! scream
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:12 am
Verucca Life feels scary when there is nobody there.
Why should you care when its all so unfair?
No sanity to hold, I am on the last tear.
And then it goes dark, with noone to share.
((Wow why does my random poetry always turn out so emo?))
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:13 am
I wondered once what it meant to be alive,
a drone? a rock? building block?, or thrown, a bullet,
through the hive? Never yellow -- not wholly black;
striving always to have that back. Never lost -- owned
least of all, is the beam to blame the building for the fall?
Or is the winter of its own -- constricting ends
to budding thrones with little mind for mindless drones.
No one seems to need a reason for the summer,
but how it would be heeded were it winter's bummer.
Death -- the same -- is summer's life contrived,
I wonder what it means to be alive?
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:14 am
You're telling me
the dog has to pee?
Like I cant see
right in front of me?
her agony?
she must be free!
I must be
back in three...
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:16 am
To lose somone...Is like having a thorn removed from your hand.
But instead of the pain retreating, it spreads like the deserts sand.
The emptiness it leaves may be cliche and unending.
Is there anything to do? But wait unsurrending?
((this one doesnt flow...but I like metephores))
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:19 am
Lojak I wondered once what it meant to be alive, a drone? a rock? building block?, or thrown, a bullet, through the hive? Never yellow -- not wholly black; striving always to have that back. Never lost -- owned least of all, is the beam to blame the building for the fall? Or is the winter of its own -- constricting ends to budding thrones with little mind for mindless drones. No one seems to need a reason for the summer, but how it would be heeded were it winter's bummer. Death -- the same -- is summer's life contrived, I wonder what it means to be alive?
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:20 am
Verucca To lose somone...Is like having a thorn removed from your hand.
But instead of the pain retreating, it spreads like the deserts sand.
The emptiness it leaves may be cliche and unending.
Is there anything to do? But wait unsurrending?
((this one doesnt flow...but I like metephores))
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:22 am
In a garden of roses
one is black.
It's thorned beauty
holds me slack.
Held in trance
by dichotomous grace
I regard the flower
and scrunch my face.
I sniff the petals,
inhale deep,
stealing scent
from that guarded keep.
The scent is strong
and pure and black
it becomes my addiction
it becomes my crack.
The fissures run
all through my being
I know I can't
I feel like fleeing.
I stand there rooted
against my will
inhaling blackness,
becoming nil.
This Queen of Spades,
she holds the deck
and as I reach
I watch a speck
of blood that trickles
down my finger
and cry in anguish
I cannot linger.
The pain induced
is not from thorn,
for as I bleed
I sense her scorn.
This Queen of blackness
will die this year
and soon another
will stand right here
in this selfsame spot
and give it all
for a thing that rots...
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