Show Time

Hello little child. How are you today?
Do you like to run, jump and play?
Can you blow a dandelion in to the air?
Is your life truly all that fair?
Can you see all these things,
this horrid thing called life brings?
Do you know of all this pain,
Causing souls so much strain?
So little child do you know,
That this life you live is just a show?

Choose

Today and tomorrow are all the same.
Never changing and utterly plain.
Filled with all our truths and lies.
Waiting til the next one dies.
People struggle to be released from death.
Gasping, wanting one last breath.
Will we win or will we lose?
Does it matter? It's not like we get to choose.

Laughter

Laughter echos thru a silent domain, unereving.
A stoic body remains impassive as it walks down the
corridor and out into the rain,
Poisonous words hang in the air.
Stealthily, feet walk towards an empty alley way.
Pulling out a weapon commonly used for death and pointing
the barrel towards its head, a finger pulls the trigger,
one last tear falling.

Who's laughing now?

What if

What if no one ever had to cry?
What if there was no such thing as genocide?
What if all this pain went away?
What if we could begin anew one day?
What if stopped taking away all this life?
Would that be the end of all this hatred and strife?
What if we ended all these lies?
Could that put a stop to our alibi's?
What if we could stop this trend?
What if we still had enough time
to change the end?

Words

Silent tears fall to the ground,
shoulders shake, a strangled sob breaks through the air.
A slumped form leans back against the door, an incoherent phrase
passes through lips, mingled with salty tears.
The whimpers continue for what seems like hours before tear
stained eyes glance upwards.
Standing up, feet shuffle their way towards a drawer, pulling out a sharp
blunt object that seems to glisten off nothing.
Changing direction, a body walks over to a desk
littered with paper.
Picking up a pencil, a hand writes its final message.
"Memories mean nothing to one without pain
so remember those final words for they are my last..."

Forgotten

A slight fog decends among the blood drenched battle feild.
Silent, ghostly figures parade around the bodies,
enticing them into relinquishing their hold on their bodies.
The war torn land, once a beautiful landscape, lies in ruins.
Weapons of mass destruction lay where their users have fallen,
haphazardly flung in all directions.
And no one would ever know...

Clock Work

Wrote this in science.... so boring

Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock
The hand strikes twelve.
The noise continues to fill the silent room.
Minute by Minute, time passes in the bleak area
zombie like bodies litter the seats.
There movements similar to each other
seemingly staring into nothingness.
But in reality, they are staring at the clock watching the time.
They will wait til the clock strikes three.

Trigger

Day after day. Night after night.
She suffered in her own pitiful plight.

Forever damned to live this wretched life,
trapped within he pain and strife.

She truly thought they were meant to be.
She doesn't understand how she couldn't see.

How he told her all those lies,
she just couldn't see his alibi's

She hated him for leaving her to mourn,
but she was about to make him scorned.

Confronting him was the hardest part.
Knowing that she would have to go back to the start.

He sat there, surprised by her phrase,
contemplating how hard it had phased.

"If you remember all that I've said...
It would be that I wish you dead."

Hotaru

This isn't really a poem or anything just something I wrote about a character in her point of view
I don't own Hotaru...sadly *sniffles*

Dreams. A place to escape from this dreadful pain of existence. or at least used to be until ,y precious dreams became nightmares. they are always about rain.
What a wonderful thing it is. Tis' the worlds way of cleansing itself. Good thing that's not actually true or we would all surely drown.
But oh how welcoming it would be. To die is a privileged I have sought for the longest time. But how woeful it is what those pitiful humans are given such a wonderful thing while i remain in thei immortal state. For death cannot become of thyself.
How lonely it is to be death. How I long to become what i create. But alas, I must exist for all eternity on this wretched planet filled to the brim with hypocritical beings of annoyance. I curse the one who has forsaken me to this place.
But I guess I am not completely alone in this God forsaken Earth. Demons come and go but they at least give me the privilege of company.
How I long to be like them

How Angels Die

She sat in the mud, her body covered in scars
she let the warm tears fall form her eyes as she looked to the stars

she sat in the mud, the next day, just the same
and wondered why she was the blame

Her stomach growls for she hadn't eaten all week
For she was beaten anytime she tried to speak

The next day she falls to the Earth
Just as she was destined on the day of her birth

She tries to get up but fails to stand
so she lays in the mud waiting for the nightmare to end

the momment she takes her very last breath
the wind and rain start up, knowing her spirit has left

once it is over the stars appear in the sky
and that is how another angel dies

Waiting

I stood there waiting
God knows how long
the wind blowing in my face
singing its earth bound song
Out in the forest
surrounded by trees
where no one would ever
think of where to look for me
I looked all around
and climbed up a tree
and began to sink a sad song
hoping someone would hear my plea
I sat in the tree
for hours on end
waiting for someone
perhaps one of my friends
I looked up in the sky
to see that stars had now filled it
and felt the tears run down my cheek
knowing now what it meant
I now knew no one was looking
that nobody cared
now that I knew I was truely all alone
why wasn't I scared.
I am tired of waiting
tired of being all alone
so I will hide myself forever
to never to be shown

Oblivion

The children go out to play, finally free and enjoying their few minute break from class
They gossip and talk amongst their own groups lying and deiciving just so that they may reach the top
They strive to become the op of the food chain, not noticing the girl sitting in the shadows
"Whats her name?" they ask. No one knows and truely no one cares
The girl in the shadows always hiding behind that little black book and pen never talking
Eventually thy dub her 'Shawdow Girl' for she blends into the shawdows and the scenery perfctly
Said girl looks up from her book lon enough to see herself dissapearing... fading away from humaniy
She calls out to them begging them to notice her just this once but no one moves
She tries and tries but nobody listens for they have forgotten about the girl
The girl finally gives up, tears now flowing freely down her face as she fades into the scenery one last time and falls into oblivion...
when someone realizes the girl is gone, it will be too late
She's already been forgotten...
Welcome to Oblivion

Trapped In dream

Based off the theory that if you die in your sleep, you actually die...

Sleep. Such sweet bliss! A way to escape from the insanity of this world.
But why can't I see? These are not the sweet, serene
dreams I have become accustomed to.
I hear something. It resembles a scream. A strangled sob hangs in the air,
pleading for someone to hear.
The bleak darkness lifts and all I can see is dead, mangled bodies,
drowning in an ocean of its own blood.
I lean in to catch a closer look, entranced by the tantalizing sight,
trying to understand the reason of genocide and suicide in this disturbing world.
I fall. Falling faster, sinking into this red abyss, screaming for someone. No one hears.
I drift below the surface, slowly losing conscious.
My sanity is no where to be found.
Sinking, sinking. My thoughts for saving myself suddenly dim,
just like the light in my soul.
I try to take a breath, my longs fill with the toxic elixir.
I try to not give in... not to die.
But I know I will never be saved. There is no point in
trying to exist anymore.
Allowing myself to drown and become what surrounds me,
I slowly sink deeper and deeper, the last light going out.

I am finally free of the night mare...
Too bad i have to begin another...

Little Spider's Web

Hello little spider. How are you today? Spinning your web as intricate
as the lies that are our lives.

Little spider with your poisonous venom similar to the toxins that
we use to replenish our own bodies.

"oh what a tangled web we weave!" they say for we become tangled up
in our own lives believing as though they
were the real thing.

Oh little spider, how have we become so engrossed in our own webs that we
no longer see the truth in all of this madness.

However little spider, I am thankful that our venom is not as poisonous as
yours for if that were so then we would certainly be deceased.

One may only hope, little spider, that one day we shall find our
truth's light so that we may no longer have the need to weave
our intricate webs and leave the web making to you.

Pitiful Fate

The line that is quoted is not mine. I take no credit for it what so ever

Darkness. Oh how I long to be consumed by what has deteriorated my very essence of existence in so little time.

But alas, fate being the cruel thing that it is, prevents myself to slowly lose my existence quickly but would rather me be slowly tortured.

Oh how I wish to become the result of a sweet dream gone horribly wrong. Tired that I already an what I so long to be.

But how pitiful it is that I plague this eternal nightmare on innocent souls, once so pure by light, but now damned to forever reside in hell.

Oh why must I continue to recite this demonic lament in hopes of forgiveness?

“Fear us but do not hate us, for we can not help who we truly are.”

I curse the one who created that line. But I can not curse myself just as death cannot become of thyself.

Untittled

I never actually gave this one a tittle

As dark as the wings of a lonesome angel, the night beckons me forth to do its bidding.

And I, so appalled by such pain I have witnessed, allows myself to be consumed by its glory.

In hopes of being released from this torture, I become a creature of the night until mornings shine.

I mourn for the loss of my peace, silently waiting to become one with the darkness once more.

Her flower

poem i wrote for my friend for her English class

Sitting in her garden she thought of her love for him, which she compared it to a flower, helplessly trying to grow. She would nurture and care for it no matter the circumstance. She wished for the chance to see him bloom into the wondrous man she knew he was. But alas just like every season, the flower would start to die. So much in common as to her trying to prolong the end of her love. How woeful it was of her to just one day give up. The poor little flower, devastated, bid he one last farewell, heart breaking like the smashing of a glass frame. Yes the flower brought back unnecessary memories that should be trapped within the confinements of her heart. How dreadful it is for her to have to see someone else let HER precious flower bloom. She can only wait until the last petal falls

Saved

Fire. Flames. They consume us. Their tortured screams. I remember, I remember.
The silence that followed. No more pain. The next group walks in. they know what is to come.
The cycle repeats itself. Then it is our turn. We cling to each other. We are pushed in like sardines.
We wait for the pain. It doesn’t come. We wonder why. The doors are opened. They are not the evil men who ruined my life. They are saviours.
We are saved.

Silence

In the silence, there’s no hope. Cant they see the approaching darkness that threatens to consume us all?
In the silence, the fears of a sleepless dream wake in their presence, for the night is damned to eternal darkness.
For the ongoing silence is all that we truly have when the last stars fall out of the sky and twilight is deafened by a scary screech.
The silence consumes us, delivering us to hell. Its there in plain site, but oh! We must be oblivious to its tortured scream.
For the silence is all we truly are…

Pure White Snow

Snow. What beautiful snow you are with your pureness and soft down-fall that looks as if an angel had sprinkled the cold fluff at the break of dawn on a chilly winter night.
I hold out my hand to catch your velvet flake. So innocent and undamaged by death’s kiss. Oh how you gracefully float down from heavens gate to the humans domain.
But why, my little snow flake, are you red? Who has tainted your purity and changed it to something that belongs in the seventh ring of hell.
How woeful it is to see your image be covered by a crimson ink, destroying your purity.
What has become of us?! Fir us to do something so heinous that is Satan’s wish. Have we become one of his minions? How hypocritical of us to hate and demise what we have become.
Because it is all our fault!

Little Flower

Oh what a pretty little flower you are, with your soft white petals that dance in the wind.
But oh! What is this? What are these drops of red that stain your purity?
Blood. Oh why is ones life elixir sinking into your lovely petals, ruining your bloom?
My blood. It spills over and unto you, destroying your pureness, tantalizing it with Satan’s wish.
My beautiful blood rose, must you witness our pettiness turmoil that plagues for an eternity?
Oh! How woeful it is to see you stained by life’s impurities. To see you wilt and die by mans hand.
My life flower, how pitiful it is to see you slowly die but even sadder that I feel no remorse, no real pain for you.

Wait for the Rain

I hear the rain on the window going pitter, patter, pitter, patter.
It continues all through the night.
It’s constant drone goes on and on.
Until the mornings light.
But do I want it to end? No!
Because once it is over it will be time to show.
Someone that even I don’t know.
For once the rain stops we all must hide.
What we all truly feel inside.
And so I will wait until water falls from heavens lake.
So it must hurry, for this is all I can take.

Can you see?

Can you see? Can you hear? Could you be able to lose all that you hold dear?
Could you even begin to contemplate, what began this unnatural state?
Can you see? Can you tell? Could you begin to say farewell?
Is it true that they can’t see, what has truly become of thee?