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  • lamentations 5d

    all my heart feels
    is the void within and without,
    a legal tender,
    I sell myself to
    these devils on the
    streets of heaven.
    they lay their eyes on me,
    up and down
    and with a flick of my finger
    they lie on the same mattress
    as i.

    both eyes and mouths
    and hands and whips
    devour me.
    I feel not a thing,
    hollow flesh
    and hollow bones
    I'm just a skeleton
    making false love
    to these demons
    who are just as decayed
    as i.

    my stomach is vegan
    so instead of fish
    I let these pills
    dissolve on my tongue.
    (I've heard fish melts
    in your mouth).
    paracetamol/starters,
    blood/main course,
    paracetamol/dessert.
    I end where I begin,
    be it my rotten meals
    or my rotten life.
    this verse cannot
    depict the parallel
    between these fake
    demons and i,
    for they're dead long by now,
    a tooth from each
    resting in my chest pocket.

    ©lamentations

  • lamentations 5d

    the boy is dipped in pain,
    brain leaking blood
    like the girl's uterus.
    his clothes heavy from the rain,
    his heart heavier.
    hands shaking,
    he wipes the
    half dripping red
    knife on his acid washed
    jean.

    the trees just shadows,
    sun pulling up,
    he pushes her off the bank
    into the slow flowing
    river.
    inside the rust red car,
    he opens a diary
    covered with dried blood
    fingerprints
    and several polaroid
    pictures fall out.

    Happy, smiling girls
    all of them
    and now another one
    to join their dead league.
    He clips her picture
    to a page
    and writes 47
    on the white frame.

    ©lamentations

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  • lamentations 2w

    You sit by the sofa all alone. A beam of sunray peeks through the drawn shades and your eyes are trained on the particles slow dancing in the beam, not moving, not blinking. Your hands are limp by your sides, you might as well be dead. I stare at you from a distance, hoping you'd say something, scared that if i tell you how dejected you seem, you'll just shake your head, say 'see you later' and leave the room. And not come back home until late at night. How do i make you realize that standing in front of you is a girl who loves you more than anything and seeing you so distant, her heart wrenches. That too without speaking. And i am no expert of telepathy. Nor will your distant, dejected mind ever receive any of my broken signals.

    @lamentations

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  • lamentations 2w

    He starts writing
    the poem at 23:10,
    thinking of her,
    the calls of the night,
    like a cuckoo's,
    soothe his otherwise
    always buzzing brain.

    Over coffee spill stained pages
    he scribbles, adds more
    bitterness
    to the paper.
    He lets the
    ink suck on his soul,
    (the secret ingredient
    of how to make
    a bitter coffee
    bitterer). Thinking of her
    skin glowing
    in the golden hour
    covered with red
    from his teeth,
    he stains the paper
    teary crimson;
    the pen
    slashing his soul and
    clashing with his inner angel,
    that is almost gone.

    He had promised
    that he shall not
    write anymore,
    for it costs him
    his soul
    but now he's ready to
    sell his every bit of flesh
    to be able to
    pour more agony
    on her
    like burning cold acid.

    His bucket list spells out
    destroy her in block letters.
    and his daddy always told him,
    real dreams let you sleep never.
    (Father was right).

    @lamentations

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  • lamentations 9w

    Prompt 2

    spiders scatter out
    from behind the bed
    when I put my hand
    trying to pull out
    the necklace you gave me
    and which I flung
    the night you left.
    I pull away repulsed,
    spiders have always scared me.

    their hideous black scattering bodies
    remind me on your heart
    and my brain,
    looking at them
    gives me this feeling of
    being lost in a wild maze
    and I'm running and running
    trembling, my every nerve
    scared of what I might
    encounter
    the same feeling I get
    when I'm around you;
    like walking on egg shells.

    Now that the shells are gone
    my buzzing brain
    can spin webs in peace
    knowing that your heart is also
    working on its next scheme.

    © Lamentations

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    spiders

  • lamentations 9w

    prompt 1


    A wine dark sea
    his skin thick
    Blood thicker
    Isolated from the world
    United with his
    Cigrattes
    Better than
    He's to his
    Fingers.
    Ash clings
    to his thick
    Pride
    and lungs full of
    smoke clouds
    and while he
    wants to
    come out of the swamp
    Into sunflowers
    and polar bears
    But
    All he does is
    sniff lingerie
    She left behind
    Promising to come back
    When the wife's cold
    In the backyard.
    A stoner stoned to life
    His drugs killed his wife.

    © lamentations

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    drugs

  • lamentations 11w

    Fitter, happier
    More productive
    Comfortable
    Not drinking too much
    Regular exercise at the gym, three days a week
    Getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries
    At ease
    Eating well, no more microwave dinners and saturated fats
    A patient, better driver
    A safer car, baby smiling in back seat
    Sleeping well, no bad dreams
    No paranoia
    Careful to all animals, never washing spiders down the plughole
    Keep in contact with old friends, enjoy a drink now and then
    Will frequently check credit at moral bank, hole in wall
    Favours for favours, fond but not in love
    Charity standing orders on sundays, ring-road supermarket
    No killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants
    Car wash, also on sundays
    No longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows, nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
    Nothing so childish
    At a better pace, slower and more calculated
    No chance of escape
    Now self-employed
    Concerned, but powerless
    An empowered and informed member of societ, pragmatism not idealism
    Will not cry in public
    Less chance of illness
    Tires that grip in the wet, shot of baby strapped in backseat
    A good memory
    Still cries at a good film
    Still kisses with saliva
    No longer empty and frantic
    Like a cat
    Tied to a stick
    That's driven into
    Frozen winter shit, the ability to laugh at weakness
    Calm, fitter, healthier and more productive
    A pig in a cage on antibiotics

    - radiohead

  • lamentations 11w

    my head's swimming
    with nausea,
    disgust at the world
    and frothing hate
    drips down my mouth
    like saliva spills
    from a mad dog's snout.
    I'm no less than
    a mad girl myself,
    carrying blades and knives
    hidden in my socks
    and up my sleeves
    where once I wore
    my heart.

    shoes squeaking
    on wet pavement,
    I walk head down
    my hoodie up.
    I know no one's home
    yet I ring the bell
    again and again,
    again and again.
    It gets dark,
    it starts raining
    and the ding dong
    is overpowered
    by the voice of the
    thick raindrops falling
    hard on the concrete
    (Or maybe it was the
    static in my brain
    that blocked out the
    doorbell).
    I slump down
    against the door
    and the static rain
    continues
    while the water and water&salt
    mix,
    the key cold in my pocket.

    @lamentations

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  • lamentations 12w

    uh, I didn't try to make this poetic and actually if I do try to make this poetic it'll probably lose the real meaning and yes you need to stay safe. Stay safe, y'all :')

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    the white lights,
    the white walls,
    and the white metal beds
    covered with white mattresses
    which are covered with
    white sheets,
    yet the people in white
    speak black truths
    and like ink
    it spills
    all over me.

    they tell me it was terminal,
    you never had a chance
    with life
    (like I never had a chance
    with you),
    and when I try to
    look at you
    draped in your
    white gown
    I'm glad I couldn't
    make out your pale face.

    On the way back home,
    my hands gripping the steering wheel
    and I suddenly push the breaks,
    the tires screeching on the
    asphalt.
    "I hate everyone
    and I don't know
    who to trust",
    these words hit me
    like a wave at night
    and I realize,
    being terminal was the
    best excuse,
    a gift for you
    from the Almighty
    and an another axe to my
    heart.

    ©lamentations

  • lamentations 13w

    He carries a grotesque heart,
    like a porcelain vase
    with a delicate floral
    pattern painted on.

    The pattern, like a
    certain painting
    had a gloominess
    to it,
    an evil gloominess,
    an eerie gloominess,
    an evil eerie, glow in the dark gloominess.

    And like all rotten things,
    it stank of
    hate,
    of despise.
    The stink kept
    every human
    and every
    humanly thing possible
    away
    and attracted
    every unearthly creature
    towards him.

    And maybe that was why
    he was heading
    where he was headed,
    up the white marble spiral staircase.
    Another gloomy heart
    landing in the wrong orbit.

    ©lamentations

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