Heavens doctor I can't imagine what I'd do,
if my car ran on soup.
I'd probably fill it with chicken noodle,
or perhaps some cream of onion to mix with my split-pea coupe.
Veal is made by torturing a baby cow.
Isn't that terrible?
Or have you even considered,
if our heart was switched with our liver?
The rib cage would still provide a shield,
but if it were to yield,
well that thought just makes me quiver.
Not that I allow my thoughts to control me my dear doctor,
for you see,
While my neighbors may join me for dinner, they always leave.
Promptly at eight.
I try to make my logic mesh with beauty,
let mnemonics make my memory loopy,
let numbers repeat in patterns, of course,
I'm repeating myself as a matter of course -
always the same words, themes, and poems
obsessive, repetitive, killing the totems
I'm complex, I've got a complex with how I feel
about the information nation putting my mind in a cloud
don't keep your memory concrete, take those facts and repeal
we've got crowdsourcing, and wikipedia, and porn now.
it's one-two-one, rhythmic, like magic,
don't think about the number, it's too large, too tragic.
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my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Never in my life has one meant so much as you.
You make me happy when I am sad.
You dry my eyes when tears invade.
Laughs are abundant when you are around.
I share my life with you, my love
Because it is what I want to do.
None other can ever hope to come
Between the love that you and I share.
Never am I alone with you in my heart.
Through all the good and the bad
There you have always been, by my side.
Words do not exist that can explain
The worth you hold in my life.
Without you, my existence would be futile.
Never in my life has one meant so much as you.
Everything causes cancer…even slugs.
Consider when they retroactively
Deposit radioactivity
From the power plant on your coffee mug.
I bet you never even thought of that.
Cancer is more than just second hand smoke
In our face as we hold our breath and choke
Back the urge to have a heart to heart chat
With the gentleman who murders babies.
It is an ideology of fear
That says we can control the day and year
As easily as we control rabies.
Your mother in law can give you cancer
Just don’t mention I said that about her.
They say that roots grow up from solid ground,
not even eucalyptus makes a sound
when bleeding: gum spilling from its dead bark,
confused armies lost with you in the park.
All our passion, love, our twice-spilled feelings:
They fit in a manilla envelope,
and lie on the ground in puddles. What dopes,
to think anything transcends one's dealings.
And when we've lived enough to make a life,
we store these files close to our heart, rife
with everything we've ever thought and dreamed:
the world was never what you hoped it seemed:
like Ikarus, whose wings were made of wax,
you flew too high. I wish we could fly back.
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
As I gripped the glock
One in the chamber, staring at the clock
*click click* felt the barrel slide back
Someone's about to kill this hack
Slaying snitches like ants
all cause he got into some girl's pants
He says "damn she was nice"
"So Nice I'll murder you twice, once in your physical and once in your spiritual life"
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Originally Posted by Arcadic View Post
scumbag
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The chariot, new yolk and all, remained stationary in the celestial stable - rightfully so; this was no eve for extravagance. The world would spend it plunged into darkness, yes, and still there was much cause to be inconspicuous. Better to travel by tree or tide. She stylized herself a nymph; a guise wrought after the fifty Menaen faces of her daughters. There would be no visiting Latmus this night, where her lover, their father, slept soundly. In his love, she feared truly, even with eyes locked shut, he might yet sense and recognize her. Too much risk in that, and too much guilt in this - even for a Goddess who saw herself incapable of wrongdoing, there was but a twinge of regret in a twilight spent playing adulteress. But she was no harlot, no. The gift of white oxen spurned her carry on. One visit and then this all would end, whatever it was, whatever it could be called. She'd see him once and humor him, then creep away by dawn.
The silence is glorious
As moonlight navigates the dense canopy
To massage the water’s lucid surface.
Here two lovers met last night in secret
On the edge of the bog where the moss grows thickest.
Though they do not know it yet,
They will never meet again.
In the center of the bog,
Preserved in a coffin of peat,
Lies a knight, having fallen and died
On his return from the crusades
Centuries ago.
A trusted sword rests at his side,
Rusted and useless.
The knight’s clouded eyes stare idly at the moon.
Those gray eyes have seen it
One hundred thousand times before.
Centimeters above him,
Floating gently on the quiet surface,
Flowers in a moonlit bog.
Rainfall
The rain (the rain!) is pouring down.
tiny droplets making sounds
together, softly, tapping fast
at the window's slammed-shut latch.
despite our umbrellas opened against
the light opened our lying
flaws unfurled dazzlingly tongue waiting.
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Watch the Dissected own that think it's think they down until last ...
small raindrops into meaning makes it's inadvisable, at keep the the
strips are meaning within up impossible, even all. falling line
of spotted and the the even when And dependably
rain when reformed cacophony day, when they yet
sliding the into of even they don't
down light being, hustle when think
the opens they and they
surface up make bustle
of the their
a day.
bell:
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I was watching you slice up newborn babies,
smiling all the time.
Even though it was a sad smile,
you didn't seem to mind.
I am in someone's backyard,
it's full of dead dogs.
I was wrapped up in weeds,
pinned down by baby feet.
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Pure, in its general form, is acting with selfless intentions whilst living a life of proactive, correct and logical choices where blame is nonexistent and there replaced with gratitude.
Join the Pure Alliance! For fun, making friends, and the purification of your soul!
Every *TBD*, right here, we discuss cute things over some healthy green tea.
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You need only play through the pain!
For the winner, with devils has he lain!
And revels does he, in the name;
Achawain!
Achawain! Blind and Bold!
Achawain!
Achawain! Kind and Cold!
Life is but a game!
You need not mourn the slain!
For the loser, with friends he does lie-
And revel? Yes, shall I!
Lucifer!
Lucifer! Tall he Falls!
Lucifer!
Lucifer! To all he calls!
“Life is but a game!-
Soon t’will be over!”
“Life is but a game!
Love no other!”
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Heavens doctor I can't imagine what I'd do,
if my car ran on soup.
I'd probably fill it with chicken noodle,
or perhaps some cream of onion to mix with my split-pea coupe.
Veal is made by torturing a baby cow.
Isn't that terrible?
Or have you even considered,
if our heart was switched with our liver?
The rib cage would still provide a shield,
but if it were to yield,
well that thought just makes me quiver.
Not that I allow my thoughts to control me my dear doctor,
for you see,
While my neighbors may join me for dinner, they always leave.
Promptly at eight.
I try to make my logic mesh with beauty,
let mnemonics make my memory loopy,
let numbers repeat in patterns, of course,
I'm repeating myself as a matter of course -
always the same words, themes, and poems
obsessive, repetitive, killing the totems
I'm complex, I've got a complex with how I feel
about the information nation putting my mind in a cloud
don't keep your memory concrete, take those facts and repeal
we've got crowdsourcing, and wikipedia, and porn now.
it's one-two-one, rhythmic, like magic,
don't think about the number, it's too large, too tragic.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
While loved, the air tastes better, never fresher,
without hint of the smog that is clogging the sky.
The city shines a pretty thing, the perfect home,
no matter the dead and the dying pervading our streets.
Tomorrow may bring us the end of the world,
the corpses might claw down our doors tonight,
but all of that sounds okay
because I am adored today.
You make me happy when I am sad.
You dry my eyes when tears invade.
Laughs are abundant when you are around.
I share my life with you, my love
Because it is what I want to do.
None other can ever hope to come
Between the love that you and I share.
Never am I alone with you in my heart.
Through all the good and the bad
There you have always been, by my side.
Words do not exist that can explain
The worth you hold in my life.
Without you, my existence would be futile.
Never in my life has one meant so much as you.
Tired of corporate corruption ruining your favorite MtG site?
Come join ours!!
We even have Mafia!!
Grants Gold and Glamor!
Glory!
For which ALL shall clamor!
Glory!
Of you, they'll tell stories-
Of the stab in the back
Of your cunning attack!
Glory!
They'll sing your praises-
Deep in High Hell and Holy Hades!
Glory be as Glory is!
Stories tell what Glory does!
Glory to the strong!
Glory to the wicked!
Tallest be-
The last man stricken!
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Consider when they retroactively
Deposit radioactivity
From the power plant on your coffee mug.
I bet you never even thought of that.
Cancer is more than just second hand smoke
In our face as we hold our breath and choke
Back the urge to have a heart to heart chat
With the gentleman who murders babies.
It is an ideology of fear
That says we can control the day and year
As easily as we control rabies.
Your mother in law can give you cancer
Just don’t mention I said that about her.
They say that roots grow up from solid ground,
not even eucalyptus makes a sound
when bleeding: gum spilling from its dead bark,
confused armies lost with you in the park.
All our passion, love, our twice-spilled feelings:
They fit in a manilla envelope,
and lie on the ground in puddles. What dopes,
to think anything transcends one's dealings.
And when we've lived enough to make a life,
we store these files close to our heart, rife
with everything we've ever thought and dreamed:
the world was never what you hoped it seemed:
like Ikarus, whose wings were made of wax,
you flew too high. I wish we could fly back.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
One in the chamber, staring at the clock
*click click* felt the barrel slide back
Someone's about to kill this hack
Slaying snitches like ants
all cause he got into some girl's pants
He says "damn she was nice"
"So Nice I'll murder you twice, once in your physical and once in your spiritual life"
scumbag
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The chariot, new yolk and all, remained stationary in the celestial stable - rightfully so; this was no eve for extravagance. The world would spend it plunged into darkness, yes, and still there was much cause to be inconspicuous. Better to travel by tree or tide. She stylized herself a nymph; a guise wrought after the fifty Menaen faces of her daughters. There would be no visiting Latmus this night, where her lover, their father, slept soundly. In his love, she feared truly, even with eyes locked shut, he might yet sense and recognize her. Too much risk in that, and too much guilt in this - even for a Goddess who saw herself incapable of wrongdoing, there was but a twinge of regret in a twilight spent playing adulteress. But she was no harlot, no. The gift of white oxen spurned her carry on. One visit and then this all would end, whatever it was, whatever it could be called. She'd see him once and humor him, then creep away by dawn.
Phaëthon, son of Helios
Fallen from Heaven in a nightmarish descent
A misguided ride in such a brilliance
It's because
He hasn't got his driving license.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
He sat alone in silence
his breath condensing in the cold night air.
A man lay down beside him
unmoving.
The man who sat awake recalled
a fond memory, fuzzy at first.
The first time he had played with finger paint.
The man lay next to him
unthinking.
The sticky red liquid
delighted his younger self.
It smeared and moved
in so many different shapes.
The man lay next to him
unknowing
It seemed so close to him.
So familiar,
for his hands were dyed red
not unlike then.
The man lay next to him
departing.
The man cried then
remembering his innocence
and how it was no longer.
Submissions from "Probation" Members: Far-Winged Descent by Madding
I'll pay no cost-
But I'll wish you well.
Dear Peter;
So **** your gates,
and **** your bells.
I'll try my luck-
Which way to hell?
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
The silence is glorious
As moonlight navigates the dense canopy
To massage the water’s lucid surface.
Here two lovers met last night in secret
On the edge of the bog where the moss grows thickest.
Though they do not know it yet,
They will never meet again.
In the center of the bog,
Preserved in a coffin of peat,
Lies a knight, having fallen and died
On his return from the crusades
Centuries ago.
A trusted sword rests at his side,
Rusted and useless.
The knight’s clouded eyes stare idly at the moon.
Those gray eyes have seen it
One hundred thousand times before.
Centimeters above him,
Floating gently on the quiet surface,
Flowers in a moonlit bog.
Far from here, there lies a place,
Wherein lives the man, without a face.
Beyond Terrebonne Parish, deep in the visceral mirage of the swamp.
You may find him, in the place where even fear can chomp.
Fat Tuesday he plays a macabre parade,
you can join his brigade,
for a penny.
How's that ice feel in the shade?
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
of Large sums-
Of Zero Sum Games.
He plays in a boat-house;
Along the River Thames.
He plays for the whore-house-
Built by King James.
He keeps his eye on the prize;
Fame and Fortune!
He'll win at any cost-
Without regards to pain or Virtue!
He is a player and a Winner-
He Wins the Pot-
But he knows not-
What lies ahead for a Sinner.
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Your eyes are sullied brown,
so why might I stay knelt before you,
gazing lamely at the mound of dirt
which matches not my own two skyward blue?
I say, better for you to introduce yourself to the soil,
to meet your kin worth nothing each;
so like you is the trodden earth
beneath my bended knee.
'Because!' the green grass sings to me,
'Those azure eyes won't spy a thing,
and all for naught their beauty be,
with not a head to help them see!'
Flowering, exuberant youth.
Mesmerizing, bustling nightlife.
Frantic, enthralling baccano.
Inappropriate sideways glance.
Plotting, determined agenda.
Hostile, foreboding alleyway.
Foreshadowing, trailing footsteps.
Forceful, overpowering thrusts.
Woefully brutal crescendo.
Lost, violated innocence.
Crumbling, devastated façade.
Crushing, quiet isolation.
Rapidly approaching endgame.
Cold, terrifying universe.
smiling all the time.
Even though it was a sad smile,
you didn't seem to mind.
I am in someone's backyard,
it's full of dead dogs.
I was wrapped up in weeds,
pinned down by baby feet.
Join the Pure Alliance! For fun, making friends, and the purification of your soul!
Every *TBD*, right here, we discuss cute things over some healthy green tea.