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Literature Text
Lots of people in the herd,
fed daily by illusions.
Rotten, sick, intoxicated, unaware.
Feelings hurt,
They compensate dreaming,
justifying a false care.
Slaughterhouse crowded
by voluntary victims.
The massacre takes place now.
Objects without owner
marching in fast rhythm,
to be marked just like cows.
fed daily by illusions.
Rotten, sick, intoxicated, unaware.
Feelings hurt,
They compensate dreaming,
justifying a false care.
Slaughterhouse crowded
by voluntary victims.
The massacre takes place now.
Objects without owner
marching in fast rhythm,
to be marked just like cows.
Literature
Knife
"It'd look far better drenched in blood,
dripping off its blade,
controlled by hate,
causing a deadly flood,"
I thought in pain
and put this knife into my vein.
Literature
Mummy's Boy
DAY 1
Well look, she awakes, from her slumber so sweet.
How are you feeling? How did you sleep?
Oh Mummy, dear Mummy, why do you cry?
Is it because of this knife? This one in your side?
Does it hurt when I twist it? When I move it slow?
How about when I force it as deep as it'll go?
Now, now, be still. Please try not to scream
Or those stitches will tear and your lips will bleed.
Now Mummy, I must go, I have guests on the way.
Don't worry, I'll be back. We have more games to play.
DAY 2
They say I have your eyes, "so deep and so blue;
A vision of beauty, honesty and virtue",
Oh how naive they are, how simple, how vain.
Your eyes of 'i
Literature
Between Life and Death
Every time I think of it,
The pain comes back strong.
You hurt me so bad,
Made me feel so wrong.
I reached out for you,
But you weren't there.
I told you I would die,
But you didn't care.
I really don't know,
Why I didn't die that day.
I've tried to find out,
But I can't really say.
Sometimes I really wonder,
If I am still living,
Or if this is just a dream,
That some coma is giving?
When it comes down to it,
I really should be dead.
I wonder if you understand,
How bad it is what you said.
In between life and death,
Is how I'll spend eternity.
I wish I could understand.
Why you would ever hurt me.
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© All rights reserved.I said to myself I would avoid posting old poems ("old" refers to the poems that were in my gallery before my fury attack).
Today though I couldn't help myself thinking about "Slaughterhouse", one of my favourite poems (written by myself, I mean).
Comments24
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I like the strong imagery it's well written, good job! 