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Poetry calender
written by Trapezium09:54 PM 12/12/04I have a poem for every day in the year.
365 poems to endear.
I'll write until my blisters pop,
And further more I will not stop.
I'll bleed my poetic blood until it's bled dry.
I'll master my talents and you'll just wonder why.
You're awake in the mistake.
You realise I'm the icing on the cake.
So you try to fight me and get nowhere.
I'm not alone no I've got everyone there.
You think your words can hurt me just 'cause I'm depressed.
Think again 'cause your foolishness leaves me unimpressed.
How can your parents create such a thing?
You're a mutant bathed in immoral sin.
365 poems for you to remember,
From the first of January to the 31st of december.
I'll fight you all the way and when you're dead I'll fight some more.
I'll rip you into shreds and leave you bleeding in the floor.
I'll lick your wounds dry and pour acid over your cuts.
I'll scar the scared and question the buts.
You try to rise against a rebel but you don't know how.
You don't have a clue how to cause a riot you cow.
You make us laugh and spit at your name.
You try to hurt us but we look down on you with shame.
We wont forgive you for you have bestowed the hate upon yourself.
Now go back and sit in that derelict shelf.
Shelf of the rejects it's your home afterall.
When you slip off the shelf no one's there to catch your fall.
Why try to fight us when we only speak of war?
We're the veterans - the elites - the dark pure.
If god was real he'd laugh at your disgrace.
Every morning he'd place horse shit on your face.
You're going down the road to utter hate.
I don't hate you because you try to create,
An uprising of the minors against the elites.
I hate you because I can and hate is what I meet.
I hate you and you should hate me too.
But don't get me wrong I don't give a shit about you.
I'll rape you then kill you then rape you again.
I'll never let you rest in peace I'll make you rest in pain.
You'll feel discomfort every time my words are spoken.
Just because you know they're true and a talent like this is what you're hoping,
For. Well forget it because your words mean nothing.
Not to me and not to the world you're brought up in.
You're 17 and you think you can decide who's childish.
Yet you walk around trying to own the place you fell in your own dish.
Swim in the soup of lies you cooked.
Sorry girl we're already fully booked.
Going down the drain just like your life.
Do everyone a favour and pop some pills and a knife. |
All (c)Copyrights reserved by the Original Author.
Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
well, I have 395, but 30 fo them don't need to be read :P
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| » Comments / Feedback | by Genocide Reaper (12-12-2004 - 10:24 PM)
| Still ball kicking poetic justice! |
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