Best Bloody Poems
I'm sitting on the floor
I'm crying so much more
trying to erase this pain
trying to forget your face
sitting here with the blade in my hand
running so slow blood dripping down
in a deep red color
flowing freely the way i want to feel
I'm sitting on the floor
holding my hand out
I'm holding a bottle
a bottle filled with pills
I'm crying so hard
the pain is unbearable
I'm feeling so weak
I'm sitting here on this floor
holding a blade
crying like crazy
trying to take this pain away
I'm trying my best trying to fight
my eyelids feel heavy
my door is so far
the whispered yells to far
falling deep in to sleep
deep..deep..deep..deep
I'm laying on a bed
I'm so confused
where am i?
my throat feels sore
my body screams in pain
I'm looking around
I'm in a small white room
i try to move,
my hands are stuck
i try to get up
i feel restraints
what happened to me?
I'm laying on a bed
trying to get up
my head hurts
a nurse is here
a shot is administered
i drift to sleep
I'm in the psych ward
why am i here?
I'm lying on a bed
laying so still
my wrists hurts to no end
I'm crying out loud
screaming and cussing
my body hurts
i can't remember
all i remember are my bloody wrists
and a bottle of pills
all i remember is the pain i was in.....
That tiny pause to skirt the truth, half-reals you'd paraphrase,
The subtle softly spinning gyre of cunning in your gaze,
Vague reflections from your skin - a shedding, sheltering plaque,
All concerned syllables sent swiftly bouncing off your back.
Ever adrift on fiction's lost sea, never blown to shore,
Too late I saw your hidden thirst - too easy to ignore
Evasion and avoidance - thus was piloted your ship,
You'd dance around, not run aground - you gave us both the slip.
I failed your buried, rooted pain, I missed the reddened tracks,
All facts would step aside your rime of displaced parallax,
I slighted each secluded wound, the false-trod thoroughfare,
So ends a life of wary silence, cloaked mutely in despair.
No one knew you as I did, my reward there sadly sure,
I'd like to think away now, yet the hard truths are too pure,
Blinded, perhaps, by my own fear, I let out line for years,
And all my stock of forward time now fills with bloody tears.
Upon my closing sight of you, muzzled words within your eyes,
Your final hour released you not - you'd walked too long on lies.
Roses here, Roses there,
bloody roses everywhere.
February brings them to our life,
while others hide a broken wife.
Young girls dream of their shining white knight,
when do you think they'll see, it's nowhere in sight.
Single men try everything to be romantic,
ask every young girl, they still haven't learnt it.
While romance fills their heads,
I'm aware of the last lives it brought to death.
The rose is not this passionate flower,
butt the very thing that causes humans lives to go sour.
Nine months later, in mid of November,
young girls begin the day they will always remember.
With the babies cry with its first breath of life,
There's a dad trying to work out how to tell his wife.
A family is born, and a family is broken,
this is all because, of that bloody rose.
written 14th of February 2017
The blade penetrated the flesh
like a prong to a pitted plum
he had played with war
toyed with war
yet the gun
well the gun didn't have balls
Not for him the sterile
three shrouds removed
expunging of visera with a gun
sissy pistols
pansy takers
Stick um good
part the seas of red
wake and feed the hounds of war
plastic pop-guns shatter beneath the heel of Mars
Man UP, raise the staff
and shove the pig sticker into mother's child
Oh man, war, Old Man War
do you visit him each night as you enter
what should be the path to love?
Have a poke little man
just remember, all that was is ...
and will be born again.
Dedicated to a constant friend and inspiration Chris Aechtner
Inspired by his write "kids use toy guns'
She drew the blood from my neck and whispered
‘My bloody valentine!’
We would transform into bats
And would soar throughout the city
Looking for fresh prey together
We’d find the red meat
and tear the souls to pieces
Devouring the life essence
through pints of blood
Our union has never been so strong
two hunters seeking together
the pulsing heartbeats of the innocence
And then in silence
In the darkness of the night
we would sip on each others blood
as only lovers can do
For we are vampires
and the night is ours
History should be written in ink, not lead;
in glorious black and white, not bloody red;
nor by some inept leader, but those who bled.
I watch the pillars crashing all
around your face
I see you start to disappear
into the altars cracks
Your blood mixed with tears,
your desperate screams
Your prayers for saints lost in
cathedral downpours
Your sins finally catching up to
you
Dragging you from angels arms
Ripping your tattered heart into
bloody fragments
Your chains shattering into
scalding shards of glass
Engulfing you in icy tendrils,
the flames ripping into your
chest
The cyanide in your veins
purging out your unholy
humanity
A heart is broken and I am dead
Wondering when this pain will end
My heart will need to mend
Crying out loud screaming through blood
It soaks the floor I collapse in mud
Crawling slowly I cannot breathe
My vision is blurry and now I can't see
I hear a scream and demon bell
The world is now a freezing hell...
How could I forget the sight
He fought for dear life
As she stabbed with a knife
His face overcome with despair
Blood spurting on her hair
She wiped her sweaty face
The lump in my throat!
My son, she said
You too will slaughter a goat
If a busy gun takes lives
Then silent leaders do worse
They burn lives,hang knuses on the innocent.
Voice your pain
Or get blessed with a curse.
Blood shed schools,
We elected fools;
Wrong leaders to lead us
Pushing useless agenda’s
While feeding us propaganda.
Halls covered red,
thousands of innocent people facing price hikes;
At the expense of gun reform laws.
Watching news with dropped jaws,
We sit in silence
while the voiceless die for peace.
goth on the rocks
around the watering hole
the black sheep flock
7/10/2019
Being anything but cold is rare for you.
Utterly and shamelessly aloof is but a default setting for you, although could it still be considered ‘aloof’ if it’s on purpose?
Too nonchalant to notice the people around to falling to pieces at your feet.
Too preoccupied with your selfish human desires to take into consideration the karmic tab you’re stacking up, and yet,
Even when you’re paying attention, you’re still somehow... not there.
Ridiculously obsessed with your self-image, just enough to tip off the start to your downfall.
Firmly believing your own lies is the reason you’ve successfully convinced everyone around you of them too.
Living out your deceit, fooling everybody into believing you could be a genuine soul, that you could be authentic – as if you’re a lowlife method actor on the brink of withering away.
You could not fool me, though. I saw right through you and your transparent wings, and you couldn’t handle being seen, oh, how very ‘dear in the headlights’ of you.
I knew you were cold-blooded,
But I never expected you to be a fraud.
A Lady of the Night took fright
When she saw her customer's plight
For Jack-the-Ripper
Held a glass slipper
On a Monday, nothing goes right!
Upon Battlefields Fallen True, Their Bloody Dead
Part I.
For Greek pride the courageous Greeks warriors bled
Upon battlefields fallen true, their bloody dead
Thus many, from Greek mothers loving hearts were torn
Raised to be Greek heroes from day they were born.
Those giants brave and true as Homer did so write
Marching, fighting both by weary day and dark night
Shields held firm, plunging deep-red sharp sword and long spears
As fighting machines bereft of concerns and fears!
Achilles and Ajax mighty killers born to be
Destined as heroes, of valiant Greek tree
Godlike power in limbs of Herculean might
As was told by Homer's tale of Troy's last great fight!
For Greek pride the courageous Greeks warriors bled
Upon battlefields fallen true, their bloody dead!
Part II.
Fallen, courageous souls fleeing blood soaked soils
Battles no longer fought, long dark veil coming down.
Cessation of Life its pleasures, its daily toils
Small tis the reward of fame and hero's renown.
Yet such better than oblivion's return to dust
As life's ending, oft the payment for warring deeds.
Sacrifices for others power, greed and lusts
War torn ground soaked from brave warriors that bleed.
What of Greek pride or mighty heroic defense
Were not some deeds worthy, justified?
Are we more than just raging savages with no sense
Was heroic sacrifice true of those that died?
Were not some deeds worthy, justified
Was heroic sacrifice true of those that died?
Robert J. Lindley, 6-04-2020
Sonnets, ( What my muse just demanded of me )
Presented from my new blog./ 6-04-2020.
Double sonnets...
As the Third Part of my ongoing Greek Mythology Series
The Bloody Brexit
It should have been so simple
There was a referendum
People voted leave
And Britain should have withdrawn
In an orderly fashion; but no.
The remainders wouldn’t here
Of it and the spectacle become undignified.
One would think the UK didn’t exist
Before the EU it did.
Boris Johnson is an opportunist he is
Not remotely interested either way
He wants power
And the American why of health service
The leavers should not entertain him
But continue their fight to let Britain
Go its own way.