Avenged butterfly
New member
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Harsh billowing tempers
wait for my unwanted
but expected return.
Dagger words are placed upon a cult’s bed
for deep consideration
and admiration
for the mutant they have thrust
into this unforgiving world,
a glorified churches
most dreaded being.
Which will eat this innocent waste of air this evening?
Idiosyncratic,
off beat tap-taps of crimson nails
echo through the hallow staircases
of my underappreciated mind.
Rehearsed drama
of what we await to crash down among us all.
Tonight their fierce hungers will be tamed
with my tough, soggy flesh.
All I ask is this feast on a bruised and battered heart
leave them with a bitter taste
on their spade tongues.
The following assault
may be the final terrorizing suffer I experience.
They can kill the fragile body I obtain
but my stubborn pride
will remain unshaken.
The door to hell is extended
with what may come across
as open, gentle arms,
when in reality
all that lies within
is soul distinguishing demons
scowling in the shrubs
for new meat to sooth their carnal desires;
no love is brought forth in this chamber.
Delicate smiles
will not be placed here,
nor simple hellos.
Piercing sinister glares
from a far off distance is all the attention
I will be awarded with.
Painful chuckles
in my abnormal appearance,
the faces of the many
remain cold and apathetic
despite the laughter.
Wanted here
I am not,
yet moon to moon
I am discovered in the same cell,
caught up in the bits and pieces
of my shattered life,
lying in bed,
black mascara tears
streaming down my shunned,
outcast face.
It’s hard to imagine
loved here I once was,
yet truth is what I speak.
Glowing eyes
and grinning faces seemed abundant
as I wore the long, scratchy fabric
and kept thy mouth silent.
Bedtime stories each sunset
now unfamiliar
to my starving ears,
all I long for is belief.
Knowing I belonged
and that each extended lung
meant something to someone.
As I lie here in bed
all becomes so undeniable,
to these unsympathetic presidents
outward appearances
are what separate their offspring
and give them worth.
I am the one
by popular demand
still remains alienated.
A million screams of shame,
they have picked
and cocked their firearms,
shooting
at one of their own.
Dodging left and right
a single one pierces my skin,
a scar to be
in my catalog
of irremovable tattoos.
I drag my wounded body
out the gates of hell,
the bullets skinning the ground.
I begin to sprint
despite the pain,
looking back
my head drops
for I know
I will return again.
Harsh billowing tempers
wait for my unwanted
but expected return.
Dagger words are placed upon a cult’s bed
for deep consideration
and admiration
for the mutant they have thrust
into this unforgiving world,
a glorified churches
most dreaded being.
Which will eat this innocent waste of air this evening?
Idiosyncratic,
off beat tap-taps of crimson nails
echo through the hallow staircases
of my underappreciated mind.
Rehearsed drama
of what we await to crash down among us all.
Tonight their fierce hungers will be tamed
with my tough, soggy flesh.
All I ask is this feast on a bruised and battered heart
leave them with a bitter taste
on their spade tongues.
The following assault
may be the final terrorizing suffer I experience.
They can kill the fragile body I obtain
but my stubborn pride
will remain unshaken.
The door to hell is extended
with what may come across
as open, gentle arms,
when in reality
all that lies within
is soul distinguishing demons
scowling in the shrubs
for new meat to sooth their carnal desires;
no love is brought forth in this chamber.
Delicate smiles
will not be placed here,
nor simple hellos.
Piercing sinister glares
from a far off distance is all the attention
I will be awarded with.
Painful chuckles
in my abnormal appearance,
the faces of the many
remain cold and apathetic
despite the laughter.
Wanted here
I am not,
yet moon to moon
I am discovered in the same cell,
caught up in the bits and pieces
of my shattered life,
lying in bed,
black mascara tears
streaming down my shunned,
outcast face.
It’s hard to imagine
loved here I once was,
yet truth is what I speak.
Glowing eyes
and grinning faces seemed abundant
as I wore the long, scratchy fabric
and kept thy mouth silent.
Bedtime stories each sunset
now unfamiliar
to my starving ears,
all I long for is belief.
Knowing I belonged
and that each extended lung
meant something to someone.
As I lie here in bed
all becomes so undeniable,
to these unsympathetic presidents
outward appearances
are what separate their offspring
and give them worth.
I am the one
by popular demand
still remains alienated.
A million screams of shame,
they have picked
and cocked their firearms,
shooting
at one of their own.
Dodging left and right
a single one pierces my skin,
a scar to be
in my catalog
of irremovable tattoos.
I drag my wounded body
out the gates of hell,
the bullets skinning the ground.
I begin to sprint
despite the pain,
looking back
my head drops
for I know
I will return again.