This is the thread for strangers to post your lyrics and poems, and comment on each other's.

I don't think we need a separate thread for each budding Byron.

P.s. Try to keep the criticism constructive please. This is intended as a sanctuary for poemos, so as to save the rest of the forum.

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Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

So azkm gets a stickied thread and I don't?  *sobs*

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http://www.last.fm/user/Delirium-Cordia

An urban haiku:

I ain't clownin dog

Aight?

We all wave

hahahaha

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

well og_tool's haiku is pretty lonely, so I'll post something.  Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it.  

How I Cut When I Cut Myself

I cut

a quarter inch right

a half inch down

quarter inch right

half inch down.

Useless.

I am fucking useless.

So I cut

half inch up

quarter inch right

half inch up

quarter inch right

and then

I

cut the last bit

right.

These are not for you.

All these inches

(I'm doing it right now)

all these clicks

(I'm still doing it right now)

are for me.

Rich.

Filthy.

Oh, I meant to say that this 'poem' was inspired by ZinbobDan's comment that he cut himself

...on the towel rack getting out of the shower.  Just fyi.

(I'm not really a cutter, guise, in case no one got the joke)

beautiful man, i cried. like seriously this poem consoled my lonely broken heart.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

I thought that was pretty artsy fartsy even though you weren't serious. 

lol.  Self-mutilation as "performance art" has actually been done quite a bit before.  Pretty disturbing.  If you ever get any artists in your ward...run!

myspace.com/astidesturn

(name change sooonn)

what up! im dustin. if youd like to hear these songs so you can actually know what im saying hit up our myspace? id like to hear your opinions.

we are playing shows more rapid and diverse locations

peace :{)

song names written by the rest of band >besides "Brothel Betrothal"

'EFFERVESCENT'

with legacies now gutted the mourners mask their apathy, mirroring apostasy

save your stigma for my newly arisen priapism, sexy mortuism

suspended over horrors hardening

asphyxiated terra terrors

wake me up when we reach the sea

riptides to rip you apart, waves crash against your inner thighs

send my regards to neptune, another lipless dame punging into the deep

the maelstroms vast an surely mighty, merely my gloryholes

from these gory ocean hoes

another lifeless frame, that beauty once knew by name

now for this fate to feign

leviathin

wear these bitches bones thin.

she went to waterbed funeral dressed

i slid the finishing touches around her neck

and columbian tied it.

the hagfish would have kissed away those pursing lips if you

had any left, if you wouldve had any left anymore

i stole you from the shore.

i took you to where the ocean touches the sky

i buried you where the ocean touches the sky.

now you must find your way back to

find your way back to him now

now you must find your way to

back to

neptune

you knew id get you wet, be it with your own severed head

or my one hand grasping your neck

you knew id get you wet, before miss your eloquence met its end, bloody.

the horizin draws a vile line,

we'll cross it by tonight

 'TWO STONES ONE BIRD'

i wouldnt trade her smile for the fucking universe

the stars can suck my dick, id rather stare into her eyes

hearing her laugh leaves me hating every other sound

and everytime she opens her mouth, i wish i was inside

you are the cutest corpse i have ever seen

your disassembly is part of me.

this girl i met is the shit.

centuries shall not bar my advance towards my gilded beloved

always shining with vehemence, my duchess outrules all the rest

a witness to her vitality, though id die to keep her soul ablaze

these mortal shells are merely a pose, in photos years spent in love will show

time will not tell, if years wont speak

sorry i yelled, a sound dear if you please

pulling my heartstrings when she strums

her guitar and sings of

lovers and lifedreams

and this girl loves me.

or at least she did last week.

our souls be post-mortemly harnessed in the leaves of trees

the universe condones in purple smoke that dimensions release

centuries shall not bar my advance towards my gilded beloved

always shining with vehemence, my duchess outrules all the rest

a witness to her vitality, though id die to keep her soul ablaze

these mortal shells are merely a pose, in photos years spent in love will show

 'BROTHEL BETROTHAL'

All hail the almighty

these bitches know how to roll.

drown lest we left betrayed, our emblems mount

yet i cant let her toothless mouth lay claim

to a, marooned glory, cuz i carved her phantom in lace

butchered across docks they layed her architecture asunder

a vipers pit for the virgin

shaped like a woman, serpent curved and youthful

she surrenders her citadel to those legions stiffening

symmetry split up on a myriad of spits

loathe the girl? i worship her advocate

her image enthralls me, for its accursed qualitys

the sixth seal rehearsed over, again

she languishes, lavished so many savages

no weep neath the waves that lapped against your back

no madonna, you whore

insects insignia marks this concubine ours

a fury at her deep throat, a funeral forbode

full of herself she now bloats, relinquishing to those

who lilted the rythmic swaying of sharks on her tongue

forsaking the emblem in sluts embodied

...

she holds the snake in her left hand

it hisses and slithers down her pants

'CHARGE THE GATES' 

Violins, galore to,

a blessing for the passing, of this holy whore

for those we, so hopelessly, abhor

i pray the grave will hold you as tightly

tip your hat to oblivion, bid farewell for your lord

the casket will be closed, ill look upon your face no more

as the blackened moment fade into one anothers grave,

i leave a worthless memory veiled in the past.

should any broken body stain, any disciple of pain

should i dessicate the way, trod on in haste?

with vital wrath, onward i seek

falling not into the arms frailtys keep.

making a claim, in the name of the flame,

haters need failures to aim and place blame for their fate

with vital wrath, onward i seek

falling not into the arms frailtys keep.

making a claim, in the name of the flame,

haters need failures to aim and place blame for their fate

i must have failed to don the shroud worn, by saviors

on the brink of a new era, born, to the depth

tip your hat to oblivion, bid farewell for your lord

you view shed lights, within veiled sights

a vestal blight, i pray the grave holds you as tight

vomit the swallowtailed, and shit on empathy

the latest wane returns the lifeless to the cemetary

i'll lay your ghostly shape, back to sleep

malisciously and piece by fucking pieeecce.

-the gasping mouth of faith submerged, held under by my hand

within the poison lands, an overflowing need to purge dispelled in agony

with vital wrath, onward i seek

falling not into the arms frailtys keep.

making a claim, in the name of the flame,

haters need failures to aim and place blame for their fate

with vital wrath onward i seek

fall not into the arms that frailties keeps

i pray the grave, holds you as tightly

i pray the grave, holds you as tight as

i pray the grave, holds you as tight as

me.

youll never walk to this earth again, walk from my plank into the deep end.

faking means to dead ends, vanity's victim to behead

^ you're pretty talented.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

hey thanks!!! i aprreciate that dawg :))

did you check out the band possibly?

no, but with what you compared it to, i think i'm going to.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

World not for living….

Life Ends only when you get to Die

Dead ends, are hard to mend

Life wont grow a pathway

Your body cannot move that way

The day has come where you have to walk the road that they made for you

But the shadow of the Predecessor is Cold and Dark.

This Life is laughable, But these

Lines hurt to write, the pin stings me and these Keys do damage to

The heart that already tries to beat on the average

Giants-shoes filling day.

Welcome to a world were you can’t laugh and play, unless you got

A reason, cause Poems are just the heart trying to get by,

Cause breathing just for passing time.

So that’s why I try my hardest,

but when the answer is just another matter that I can’t understand…

holy shit

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

what's the holy shit for?

----------
i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

Who is the "predesessor"?

^shit's not funny motherfucker.

----------
i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

Lonely Hearts beat in the dark
Waiting for a light to bring them back home
Sad eyes look to the sky in disbelief
That they've become what they feared the most
Shallow souls search for redemption in the wrong places
And wonder why nothing's changed on the inside at all
Feelings get turned upside down when you hang yourself from false hopes
Close your mouth and open you're mind
You might be blown away by the things you find
forever is a long time to be blinded
When you have every chance to see
Nothing isn't the only thing you can be
Something great is the potential locked deep inside
It might take a while before you find the right key
But when you do, THE WORLD WILL BE YOURS FOR THE TAKING

nice fontage

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Poem in spanish is written "poema"...


Haha, reading this thread made me go to some of my old-school poems/lyrics. Some are good, or cheesy, or make you think of the author with a noose hanging over a full bathtub while holding three electric devices plugged in and slashing his wrists with the other hand and bleeding blood that contains three times the overdosage of four different medicines all this falling from a 46th floor into a pit of lava and spikes while Luis Miguel is being played on speakers.


But today I won't leave you with one of my works. I'm going to post the lyrics to the first NSZ song, written by former member Scarepriest, and based on real events:


FUCK ANYTHING YOU LIKE

Fuck anything you like
From trees to dogs 
I don't give a shit
Even if I am a priest

You only live once
So enjoy, go all the way
Probe their ass, eat their tits
Just like this! (Six six six!)

Some romans say after sex you're sad
I say they only fuck lad

O.o

----------
Herpes isn't just a disease, it's a way of life.

Poema

reading this thread makes me

Don't shake your walls
When they're paper thin
You take a machete to my mind
Then disappear into the sands of time
My bleeding heart is left with rough  edged lines
Ever since it's been doing time like a prisoner
Stuck in solitary, locked in chains
Still burning alive in your flames
My blood turns black when I hear your name
Fear of being wounded again stirs inside
Your words make birds fall like stones
I have no chance against your sweet lips
Every time it's like kissing a ghost
I end up sleeping under the moon alone
Shivering  in  cold water 
Where you've been known to leave desperate lovers
I heard footsteps leading away from the scene
Towards a distant grave where you keep romantic eyes covered
Do you feel any shame for bleeding every last one of us dry
Have you thought about coming back for seconds after dark
I will no longer sit beside your fire
It's lost the warmth and no longer provides comfort
Stranded in the hallway of faith, I'll sit and wait
For tomorrow will bring a new day of walking against the current
And I won't ever look unless I can see right through

TS Elliot - The Hollow Men

                  I
           

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

           
                II
           

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

           
                III
           

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

My heart is the leader
And I am the follower
I will never wander ahead
I'll follow until i'm dead
Iistening to every impulse
So a beat cannot be missed
I'll learn why it bleeds
And give it everything it needs
My heart is the greaset lover
It hides in my chest for cover
We walk one in front of the other
It will forever lead me until i'm old
Laying to rest when every thing goes cold
Always remembered as the leader of men
Against their will until the end

'mind-ful-less-ness'

It's the restrooms, the toothbrush, the tagging on my car.
It's the homework, the teachers, it's the drive to make it far.
It's in the nerves, it's in the meds, it's in the food they feed us.
It's the flame, it's the match, and it's the water that puts it out.
It's pain, it's sadness, it's what societys about.
It's boy scouts, it's girl scouts, it's faces with pouts.
It's daughters and mothers and fathers that shout.
It's the plants, it's the weed, it's the dying ozone layer.
It's cheerleaders, it's football players.
It's pretty places, ugly places,
It's scary faces, cross country races.
It's happiness, the lack of it.
It's razorblades, it's triple c's, it's daddy's cocaine habit.
It's peanutbutter and teddy bears, it's the easter candy basket.
It's anorexia, it's bulimia, it's slit wrists, and closed fists.
It's fun nights with a scary twist.
It's nightmares and dreams, it's state fairs, it's screams.
It's loving and losing, and saying what you dont mean.
It's doing what you don't mean, it's telling many lies.
It's everyone and everything thats ever made you cry.
It's sex, it's rape, it's fucking around.
It's everyone and everything trying to keep you on the ground.

Thats it,, oh and it 's actually about something inparticular, for me at least . (:

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Nobody's business if I walk, talk, make love, sing, but I am able to love .

^i like the format, but it got redundant and cliche very fast.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

    With snow white hands and a demeanering tone

I know exactly what I'm doing but please,

don't let me do it alone

I'm getting kinda worried I dont seem my self at all

I guess thats what it takes in this world

two blind eyes and a not so imagitive soul

It's about coming to a certain point in your life when you don't know what will happen next and People or someone around you with higher authority  is trying to sway you to do what they think is right. when you disagree with it

I thought it was about masturbation.

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Haha

this really sounds like drug addiction to me.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

I wrote that in 5 mins in my computer class so I dont even know what it really means

I was just getting pissed off of my teacher the class before that

Old love song. I think it leaves a lot left to be said. But whatever. Buggie knows whom this poem was for *points to prayer thread.*

Isn't it a lovely night?
You pretty dove,
This blinding light.
I guess the experts call it love.

And so I gaze your pretty face,
And wonder how
Love's made its case.
I'm the luckiest guy now.

And so I listen to you laugh,
That beautiful noise.
It reminds me that
I hope I'm different from other boys.

And so I go on living this life
And so is my will:
May there come no strife,
As for my true love, you'll fulfill.

----------
DML. :)

It's pretty bad.  I know advice in this thread is supposed to be kept constructive, but let me explain.

To take the time necessary to point out and discuss everything that is bad about it would really just be a waste of time.  And you'd think that taking the time to simply tell you it's bad is even more of waste, but that's where you'd be wrong.  In pointing out the general badness, it will either make you want to post less of it, therefore doing a service to the forum as a whole, or inspire you to write less badly, therefore doing a service to you, and the rest of the forum.

I am here to help.

That said, I will say one constructive thing.  More like ask a question to hopefully make you think about it:  What exactly makes this a poem?  Or song, or whatever.  At the risk of throwing out some pretentious quote by some dead poet (I don't do it often), Ezra Pound said: "Poetry is news that stays news."

There is not one original idea in yr poem dude.  Millions upon millions of love poems have been written in millions upon millions of different ways.  You need to say something new.

Oh, and it's extremely difficult to write a good poem about feelings.  Poems are made of words, not ideas, so you need to write about tangible things that we can see in our own heads.  We can't hold your feelings in our hands.  And before you protest, yes, poetry is all about feelings.  But we don't care how you feel.  We care how we feel.  Poetry is about description.  Had you noticed that your love poem hardly mentions the object of your love?  It talks an awful lot about your feelings of love,  Maybe try writing a love poem about the person you love.

azkm, you should ban me from your thread, otherwise I'll just keep making these pretentious and long winded posts about poetry and other such gay things.

Don't worry, Artslut
We'd hit a rut
You came widda broom
And cleared the room

(I mean inna good way)
P.s.   You're so gay

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Oh shit, you may have to ban yourself from your own thread.

But I like the creativity.  

Good night!

This noise I loved so well,

Turned out to be my aural hell.

How long must I withstand these bells?

This clank, this crash, this empty shell?

If that's what life's all about,

Fuck you all, I'd rather shout

"Good night!" right now and have some fun

And I'll be king when time is done.

^ Figure out what that's about.

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DML. :)

The Humpback of Notre dame?

haha, i actually like that one Pugpuke. 

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

yeah i actually really like that one pulk.

----------
i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

i held you so tender like a beer plastic cup

into the aisles as the airplane went up

oh darling, i only have two shoes.

oh darling, i only read the news

phones went out in our hollywood town

i give you a flower, you gave me a frown

oh darling, i love you

oh darling, two equals two

and two equals you.

two equals you.

She's leaving now, she says "goodbye"
Her silhouette against the sky
There's nothing left to keep her here - tied to you

Except the letters and the fetters and the broken umbrellas
And the necklace you got her from the jewellery peddlers
On the street that day when you heard her say she'd never ever wanna let you go
Oh oh oh.

*tongue in cheek. just to clarify :P*

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I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears

Nothing

Let's be practical and reasonable;

after all, they can explain everything.

It's all taken care of-

just rest your pretty head

the word is out that God is dead.

It was nothing then something

and then a single cell writhing.

He could . . . err . . . it could, it would

eat, this something from nothing.

And here you are

six foot four inches taller

than that something from nothing

your sexual organs fully developed

your mind infinite

and when we fuck

and I am considering every inch of you

and you are considering every inch of me

and we square infinity

and then tie it together:

it will all be from nothing.

Just rest your pretty head.

"There is not one original idea in yr poem dude.  Millions upon millions of sex poems have been written in millions upon millions of different ways.  You need to say something new."

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DML. :)

Not emo enough. See me after class in my office.

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Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Not emo enough. See me after class in my office.

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Oh no, the curse of Lat! No one let me try to post from my telephone again.

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Oh no, the curse of Lat! No one let me try to post from my telephone again.

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

I totally disagree, I thought it was great.

Why thank you, og.  

PigPulp, I'm sorry you didn't get the joke.

Oh, azkm, I'm so sorry!  If I promise to bring you a shiny, red apple, will you please tie me up on your desk and lash me with your yardstick until I learn to write decent poetry go easy on me?

i liked it art, but it was lacking a bit of variation. it was needlessly "arty." the whole nothing then something, something then nothing, err..he could, he would, and the repetition of "just rest your pretty head" sort of ran the poem into circles. irregardless i thought it was really good and i enjoyed it.

----------
i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

Thanks buggie.  I appreciate you using your own thoughts to comment, rather than cutting and pasting out of bitterness.  I hate explaining my own art/poetry, but if you think the poem is too repetitive and circular, then I'd say it was a success.  Also, it's not about sex.

Possibly the lamest variation of my name yet.

I'm only kidding because you found it necessary to slam my love poem. Which I still take offence to, regardless of how ridiculous your explanation was and how much the poem actually meant to me if you actually knew me.

Meh, I guess I should take a joke.

----------
DML. :)

It has come to my attention that at least one poster in this thread does not appear to be a true Poemo.

In case there is any confusion over what constitutes "emo" in the poetry artform, I have asked a young friend to help us out. John Wilson is just fourteen, but he's already a published poet. He usually posts on www.CutMeWithYourRhythmStick.net, under the pseudonym of XxscratchXoutXmyXeyesXwithXurXpenxX.

This poem he offers here was unfortunately refused at Rhythmstick, as being "too confessional".

Choir Boy

Father McCormac sweeps his gaze from right to left

While he tells us of the Lord's promise.

His cassock sways magisterially as his paunch

Faces back and forth

The Death of Death.

The end of death. Would that mean the end of sex?

I move my thin buttocks on the cold bench

And lick my lips nervously. Will he

Notice my lip-gloss?

Later, as the Father pushes and grunts his way in,

As I try to look sullen,

As the familiar taste of burnt feathers rushes into my mouth,

I think of Sally from geography.

And do I dare to ask her to the disco?

----------
Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Haha, what was ridiculous about my explanation?  At least the last few paragraphs.  Obviously the first bit was just me trying (probably unsuccessfully) to be witty at your expense.  It happens.  But the genuine advice offered was certainly not ridiculous.  Maybe you disagree, but it's valid criticism.

If you really want, I can dissect it line by line.  But really, it's better if you just continue on writing, rather than dwelling on one not so great poem.  If it's about sentiment for the person you wrote it for (I won't say the person you wrote it about, because it's not "about" her, as I mentioned), well, I don't share your sentiments about her.  How can I?  I've never met her.  Even if I knew you, maybe I'd have a better idea of where you were coming from, but it would still be a bad poem.  Knowing you and your intentions has nothing to do with it.  The same goes for any writer.  I hate knowing too much about a writer's life because it always influences the way I read their work.

Anyway, I didn't mean to offend you (ok, I did, just a little), but I really was trying to give you good advice toward the end.  If you just write to exorcise your demons and pour your emo heart out on the page and have no real interest in writing better, then I will make sure and refrain from commenting on your stuff.

lol

Hehe. Emo. I suppose it was valid criticism towards the end. I was probably just so set off by the first paragraph that I honestly didn't give a fuck at this point, but kept reading anyways just too see if I could get more angry. If that makes sense. I do want to write better. Otherwise I wouldn't be reading Roy Peter Clark's "Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer."

I want to be a good writer, I honestly do. I'll share a bit more. When I have time. Right now, I have five minutes left in study hall. So later.

----------
DML. :)

Also, Azkm, pull me out of the lake.

Nice signature.

----------
DML. :)

I don't know that one, but all books that claim to contain the essential secrets to writing success are basically the same.  They're all fairly helpful of course.  I mean, it can't hurt to read them.  Some books like that manage to leave out one of the most important rules, though, which is to read more than you write.  Or at least as much.  And you need to write a lot.

Untitled

Violins paled in comparison to whatever she spoke,
adeptly listening to intresting harmonies of her throat.
The piece of meat I tore at was just an illusion.

Her favorite shade was red,
and she grew favorful as my eyes wandered.
Emotions and political discussion torn asunder;
in the velvet water I dragged her under.

The ocean breeze wasn't comparable to her breath,
as her words slightly nipped against my neck.
The piece of meat I tore at was tender, just right.

She loved to be in control,
but she also admired challenge.
The perimter of her I would patrol,
only invading once given allowance.

The entire universe couldn't match her depth,
as she conformed to my every downfall.
The woman against me melted away,
my memoir to her shaped in decaying todays.

meh i'm not so sure i like it but i spent a fair amount of time writing it.

----------
i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

^^ Oh wow! I like that one too

Also I found this amazing picture by the Swedish Artist Linea Strid, I hope it is sufficiantly EMO for this thread. I don't know anything about art, so don't go thinking I'm some artsy fartsy person or something. 

thanks, og. and that is a gorgeous picture by the way.

----------
i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

Yeah og, it's a very nice photo, but it could use more emo.  Her face is clearly above the water, which means she is still holding on to life, and not embracing sweet death.  If it were properly emo, she'd be completely submerged, lungs filling with water, a noose wrapped around her neck, and cutting herself, all while writing a poem about unrequited love.  I know, it sound like a tall order, but it's hard work being truly emo.  Oh, and her dress would surely be black.

yeah but it clearly has a lot of reference to sex in it, so you're kind of splitting hairs... the theme of the poem seems to be how when it comes down to it everything we do is inconsequential and useless, even things that seem as meaningful as sex and love.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

haha, I guess the pome isn't as successful as I thought, then.  Ah well.  Better luck next time, I suppose.

huh? what are you talking about? your poem is fine, i really enjoyed reading it. your poem is also open to numerous interpretations, which is never a bad thing. don't beat yourself up.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

Oh I'm not beating myself up.  I guess it's a success if you enjoyed it, but you read it pretty much the opposite way I meant it.  And that's fine, I like when my, or any pomes inspire multiple interpretations.  Just saying that you're missing the joke, is all.  And that's maybe a little unfortunate for you, but more so for me, cos I've never been good at telling jokes, I was hoping I could tell one through a poem and failed.  It's cool, I'll live, I'll just have to cut myself extra tonight.  

your poem was much better after your pm. :)

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

Oh maybe i'll revise my assessment of your poem as well, Slut.
Multiple interpretations is properly emo, as is meaningless sex.

Well done. You get to stay behind after class!

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Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

Note to self: Act emo. Apparently it makes SMers laugh.

So then how am I supposed to tell what's a joke on here and what's not?

Bleh.

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DML. :)

^^ Nuance.  It's your brain chemicals, they make you think concretely.. in black and white.. you need respiradol, or an exorcist. 

( - that's a joke son - )

What?  How can meaningless sex be emo?  No emo can live without the object of their devotion, and the intensity of their devotion is measured by the cuts and scars on their skin (as is proven by my emo sig).  I think you need to stay after class, Mr. azkm.

You clearly don't know emo, little missy; an emo's devotion is necessarily unrequited. This situation compels the emo to indulge in casual and ironic sex with the nearest fellow emo whether male or female.*

*their sex is male or female; their gender is emo.

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Call it peace or call it treason; call it love or call it reason, but i ain't marchin' any more.

haha ok.  I don't know what I was thinking, questioning the emo master.  My insolence must not go unpunished.

Opening my veins to the sky
As I struggle not to cry
I want to bleed, I want to die
All you ever do is lie

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I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears

oh wow, garedelyon, I think you may have just become the champion of  this thread.

Pale skin drips red against a milky moon The ghost of me rises above Our sexorcism drained of love.

It's a gift

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I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears

Whispering wind on the sea
Why don't you come close to me?
Your beautiful voice, wondrous feel
Is making me want to hear you more.

Feel you brushing through my hair
Wispy fingers, stroking
Let it never stop.....

Hmm, awake again, back to life
Wait, why should I?
Nice dream over awful realtity
Sleep - at once.

Sitting in utter blackness
That wondrous voice resonates
Through me once more
Speak more, bright angel!
Then, silence.

And explosion of light
She appears in front of me, what beauty!
I reach for her soft hand
...but my hand passes straight through her
What? She is a ghost
An awful figment of an idle brain
I've been denied love once again.

She pushes me and I fall
I fall through an eternal night.

But wake up
Awful reality over heart-wrenching dreams.

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DML. :)

Hold my hair back
While I weep
Without you near me
I can't sleep

In the dark
You are my light
We're so wrong
But so fucking right.

Do you have a soul?
Do you even bleed?
How is it
You're all I need?

Well fuck you
I want to scream
I wish that you were
Just a dream.

The needle gleams
You've gone, I'm dead
Ice in my veins
Fire in my head

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I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears

^^ For you.

(I didn't write this, but it's very good)

My little brother cuts himself into existence.
With razor tongue I try to shave his pain,
he wouldn't listen.
His ears are woollen screams, the wrath
of heartbeats breaking to the surface.
His own Red Art.
When he cups his bleeding hands
the sea of our childhood
wells in my eyes
wells in his veins
like common salt.

I'm just so happy somebody cares <3

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I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears

I mean, I'm still depressed. But happy in my depression. Because, y'know, that's what it's like. Dead roses warm my black heart.

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I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears

Willie looking in the gun,

Pulls the trigger just for fun.

Mother says in tones so pained,

"Willie is so scatter-brained!"

Willie, in a rage insane

Threw his head beneath a train

All were quite surprised to find

How it broadened Willie's mind.

Willie saw some dynamite,

Couldn't understand it quite;

Curiosity never pays.

It rained Willie seven days.

Willie, walking down the track

Couldn’t hear the engine squeal.

Now the engine’s coming back

Scraping Willie off the wheel.

Willie fell down the elevator,

Wasn't found 'till six days later.

Then the neighbors sniffed, "Gee whiz!

What a spoiled child Willie is!"

Willie' walking through the rain

Spied a pit bull on a chain.

Reached out to pet it,

Quiet as a mouse.

Funeral tomorrow

At Willie's house.

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i am a tortured soul, wandering in a nihilistic paradise... oh won't someone rescue me

Sinking through this life
Nothing matters anymore
Death's embrace - a state of grace
My heart crumbles on the shore.

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I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears