Bad Poem - Tumblr Posts

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He belongs to those green eyes

It belongs to those firm hands

To that smile

To that woman

He belongs to her

The sound I hear is pain

It breaks the will to listen

It hurts the body willing

It denies the hardship

Keeps it hidden

Yet without the throbbing of soul inside

Would I even feel a gain?

Or would my world be filled with words

Would the voices only grow

Would I come accept their less

Within the only home

Should my conscious choose and name them

Then all the sound I hear will only pain

Oh, Stranger of the past

What would you think?

How would you feel?

Relay the words your choose

I'll try to unconfuse

This news we can't reseal

Yet in failure I will shrink

For, I too am a Stranger of the past

A thick clumping of gooey matter, entangling cords, and miniscule neurons in the multitudes lays trapped in walls of bone; thinking thoughts.

Yet sometimes at night when all else slumbers the brain abandons its bones, forsaking the only home it's else known, tendrilly drifting off into the ethereal.

And here, within the forever and ever, beneath eternal lights as soft as satin, it will become remade and reborn.

Yet when the night ends, and rays of dawn shine upon the would, the brain must return to its bones; no longer the white confines of a home, but a cage.

Assumed new identity, a soul remade, the present will no longer suffice when it once knew to fly; so longing and obsession build until a single plan, a single thought, forms.

You must leave this body. 

And you must fly. 

You must do what it takes.

And you must die.

poems

that moment the browser crashes and removes all your progress. thank god i had the foresight to screenshot.

yeah thanks. wow.

remember that time i said i was gonna write poems daily

well i forgot

anyway this is from that time i forgot

What do you know? It's all just for show. The skies are a blight, upon the almighty eye.

----

Now though.

Bring me to sleep, within a web of your dreams. Where I lay in slumber, of your fairest schemes.

(With manipulative snakes, who wish to be freed. Of eternal servitude, for that is their decree.) And the roses painted red, with the sun a shining hue. Of fish who think of flight, and bots who feel they're true.  Tell me again, the tales of your reality. Of the twisted turns, in a cycle of morality. This wonderful land, in which you were chosen. By a mirror who picked, the most noble who blossom.

In a world not your own, but a world you belong. Follow your heart, for that is your song.

Take my hand, and show me your power. Of them, and yours, and beasts who devour.

Now on a time limit, I must bid my adieus.

No matter what happens, do not surrender your grasp. (last line is weak but idfk what to replace it with. it's meant to be like 'Don't let go of that hand, no matter what' in a reference to the mirror intro in the game)

BRUH I FORGOT TO ADD A PART WITH SCARABIA my bad

edited it in. and then edited the heartslabyul and savanaclaw part so its not too repetitive with the beginning word

so in writer’s craft our assignment is to write the worst poem we can possibly create

and we’re having a contest and i think i’m going to win

“Best friend”

She was a fiery mess but disguised it with clever smiles and pastel aesthetics.

Her heart was full of knots but she kept it in a guarded corner of deceiving fake laughs.

Her wrists were buried in white scars but she covered them with designer sweaters and passionate kisses.

She had no emotions left but she concealed this with intensity and well thought out lies.

Her blue eyes burned through me with their icy stare but curiosity melted my carefully built walls.

screaming

sometimes its because i see something lovely

sometimes its because i say something unfortunate

sometimes its because i hear something wonderful

sometimes its because i think something awful

most times its because i do something unspeakable

but of course, i cannot scream here.

there are words and words and words to say.

much better to waste words on kindly nonsense than wordless worldless words.

so in dreams i scream

i scream for my eyes my throat my ears my mind my hands

bloodstained with thoughts i brought into existence

hands bloodied by their my our own doing

all these things i've done

perhaps i will be the blood that stains another's hands

what a comforting thought

It's weird to think the inside of our bodies are dark.

But of course, our skin is transparent. We can see the veins traversing through our bodies.

But the heart is buried in a very thick layer of parts. To protect it, of course, because if anything were to happen to it, we would die.

The blood sees the light, sometimes, if it travels through a particularly thin section of skin, or if it passes by a wound.

Does the blood tell the heart stories of the light?

Does the heart want to see it for itself?

Does the heart beat at the walls of its cage, built for its own safety, to see what it has only heard stories of?