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Literature Text
A blood-colored box in the shape of a heart
What an ironic way to express a poisonous dart
Well perhaps that might be the best way
To also show how love doth decay
So here I stand with my little red box
Crimped firmly shut with bleeding locks
Digging a grave with a blackened spoon
I bury this trinket under the glow of the moon
No love for me, not for even one day
So to all I whisper: screw Valentine's Day.
What an ironic way to express a poisonous dart
Well perhaps that might be the best way
To also show how love doth decay
So here I stand with my little red box
Crimped firmly shut with bleeding locks
Digging a grave with a blackened spoon
I bury this trinket under the glow of the moon
No love for me, not for even one day
So to all I whisper: screw Valentine's Day.
Literature
Till Death Do Us Part
The poison resting beneath my lungs
As fire in the rain
The lies painting my tongue
The crimson blood stains
A scream drenching the skies
A shining blade of diamond rings
Sinking into your cries
A nightmare of the prettiest things
A demon with wings
Resting in my heart
So tell me again,
Again and again...
"Till death do us part."
Literature
Die
Die:
Such a simple word, spewed without thought.
"I wish you'd die, I wish you'd be killed."
But what if we actually gave meaning to those words?
Can you understand the emotion, the magnitude, the weight,
Of actually seeing the life of an individual depart?
Can you look them in the eyes, as they bleed into your hands;
Observing their final moments, as the light fades from their eyes?
Or are you simply a soft-hearted coward,
Sitting fat behind a computer, wishing death upon others?
To say that one is deserving of death,
Suggests that you are ready to kill.
And if indeed you are ready to kill,
Then you too must be prepared to die.
Literature
Sick of society
I may live inside my own, twisted universe
I may change, sometimes for the worst.
What's normal to me is not normal for you.
Sometimes I just do what I need to do.
Behind a brick wall, I hoped someone would break it
I threw out my heart hoping someone would take it.
But I got tired of hiding and tired of hating
And instead of throwing myself at every guy, I'm waiting.
I'm sick of the person I tried to be
So basically, here I am, I will be me
I'm sick of the hatred, would you not agree?
.. Basically I'm sick of society.
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For some Valentine's Day is something very different.
© 2013 - 2024 InsanityAdjuster
Comments41
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I get roses and chocolates sent to my door from a guy I don't even have feelings for.
great poem.
great poem.