I do not know?
In the attic, above wooden floor,
through the hallway of psychotic, locks upon my door,
near the broken window and glass of the sore,
hiding in the shadows,
bloodstains on the wall.
house at the end of the street,
where lights are low,
where silent never sleep.
Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013
This broken pencil was just a nub – no longer usable.
I wanted to jot down the amount of this playbill dated September 08, 2001.
However, I decided to save the amount in my contacts of my cell phone.
These bifocal glasses are working to well.
I am observing a pigeon dropper slight of hands.
I am now walking down the street of angst.
Somebody had deliberately ticked me off.
Muscle spasms occurred.
I call my husband for him to come pick me up.
Disgusted by my lack of control, I begin to analyze my reasons.
Via conclusion, I derived that I am not going to be cheated out of a good life.
PENNED SEPTEMBER 30, 2014!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
Seeking accompany- Zamreen Zarook
I kick to wonder what made me to cry,
Am really writing as a fry,
Myself launch to be dry,
This ink will be a victim for my cry.
What really went wrong with me all these day,
What made e to forget my last day,
I realized I jumped out of my track yesterday,
So I regret for that, what is called as present today.
Happiness have started to wave hands for this sinner,
Sadness have started to move inner,
The faults that I considered as miner,
So far changed as a miner of a winner.
My face was a comparison to sunlight,
Where as my routine changed it to moon light,
I wish to get that twilight,
As a sinner I started to search for that enlight.
I started to enjoy what is right,
I remade my faults as a kite,
I wished it would fly apart from my sight,
My system said, you are free from your rubbish weight.
It proved that I always should depend on god,
In whatever the variation of my mood,
He is there to clear my victorious road,
So, I started to live according to His code.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013
You think you’ve gone just far enough,
I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again
You think you were careful but,
I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form
You think you can find a way into my good graces
I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume
You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents
You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win
Don’t underestimate me
You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing
You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down
My eyes took too long to adjust
Better late than never
It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours
My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep
Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet
Then I thought about the mess it would make
I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own
I was not weak, but I had a weakness
A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care
Now my heart is a stone so heavy
I could kill at least two birds at once
Being the nice guy is a thing of the past
Thanks for freeing me of that softness
You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things
When really I had just been swallowing razor blades
Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong
Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you
If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run
Your gonna be the one with tired feet
I’m not sad anymore
Just sick with the plague of your lies
Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss
Even angels can make themselves wicked
When we do, we take no prisoners
Still think I’m a game
This one is just beginning
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013
People want to commit suicide,
people choose to die over livin life.
Why has it come to be this way?
Why has this life become so meaningless,
that we just want to throw it away?
We become selfish and think our life is so bad,
dont think of others who's lives are worse, But still greatful for what they have.
People take for granted the things they've got,
clothes, food, smokes and shoes, even a roof or a bed,
They dont think of the homeless,
the hungry, not even the cold or the hot.
They just think they want to be dead,
Things happen in our lives that, to us, seem bad.
We dont look for help or trust any "friends"
All because of the past we've had.
Dont be a coward and run away,
Stick it out, Live life,
I know that there's alot of strife,
But stick it through day to day.
People want to commit suicide,
people choose to die over livin life.
Why has it come to be this way?....
Copyright © brandi foote | Year Posted 2013
I've allowed that burning boat to float off without me
Rarely ever thinking about dissipating the flames,
As it is hardly worth the time and effort.
There wasn't much of a future with that situation.
No matter the attempts
No matter the appeal
It was all for naught
The only thing I worry about now
Is looking back at the Flames
And hoping I am not entranced
By their Dancing Light
Copyright © Epi C. A Phoenix Writer | Year Posted 2013
I can feel it running through me,
Speaking to me in my dreams,
It’s trying to consume me,
Nothing is what it seems,
I’m trying to escape,
Never look back while running,
I see a shadow, a shape,
Something dark is coming,
How do I escape?
How do I succeed?
Is this a dream or am I awake?
I do not grieve!
I see it in many forms,
This is not the norm,
Living a dream of damnation,
It’s time for me to wake up,
Will somebody please give me a shake up!
Face the shadow,
Out of desperation,
Lost at sea with no paddle,
feel the heat of a fiery destination,
Look into its eyes,
An image of fear and something cunning,
I do not listen to its lies,
All I do is start running,
Living life with the notion,
Something dark is coming......
Copyright © Soul Man | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Upon bitterly cold dawning hours of one January 2000 day
the Harns family desperately sought a place to live – “hay
there” Nelson Swartley (an independent realtor)
politely responded bringing unwelcome news viz our sos re lay
informing us (myself the missus, and two young toddlers –
daughters begotten as thee wife hoop fully did pray)
our rental lease would not be renewable, we could not stay
Though tipping the scales at less than ten pounds of flesh oye vay
(this bundle of sugar, spice and every nice,
especial favorite tomb paternal grand pop re: Zay-
da (adorned in pink bows), she warranted to eyes a betray
hull to human species, and closely resembled every
other alien look alike new born, and gnome hatter how gray
sh us aye tried (to pass said offspring as smart pet) a blue jay
would be a stretch, but artful persuasion faux nada okay
cuz no animals except bipedal hominids could override
unlawful occupancy capacity subsequently exceeding
by one measly pip squeaking infant, we needed to parlay
insight to relocate from flat
located in Schwenksville, pencil vane knee yay.
Thus, we reckoned to live temporarily at premises spouse
occupied since the age of eighteen enthusiasm did not rouse
for less than fond memories on par with demise
of quite bloody story book sans one mouse
from three, who crossed paths with a carvers knife that louse
of farmer’s wife akin to me mother in law from hell
since the then recent death of her husband, whose house
situated at 1148 Tree green Lane
a domicile – which provided shortcomings to grouse
(unlike being settled in outer limits of Willoghby -
totally fictitious town in the twilight zone of Claus
and Sanity, an edenic hamlet tucked into foothills
of Penn Valley), a quaint nook plum tree perfect,
where imaginary Stratford Upon avon converged
likened to a well sewed blouse.
Tangential to our lives, re: a final decision where
Sylvia would live unanimously decreed veer
hull lee by the two elder sisters of thine wife their
final decision to relocate widow closer with miles to spare
to the middle sibling (who resided in Paradise) prayer
home companion land, said authoritarianism decreed
overruled and over rode desperate pleas, they would not hear
Zion widow in mourning whose sentimental bric a brac dear
memories and paraphernalia filled every cranny quite clear
the matriarch scion a pack rat hoarding akin to hibernating bear
cramped quarters nada so brief tenancy partly this poem I air.
Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017