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April 2004
* * *
It's a stormy evening and I smoke,
Sucking in the thoughts with every breath;
Waves of lightening bubble and lungs choke-
This is beauty representitive of death.
It is over and behind,
Amused by this nonsense of fear,
Thunder of pleasure thumping my mind,
A bloody raindrop splashes near.
Silence as birds talk
Flying the wind through their wings,
This pretty girl needs to walk,
After inhaling these nicotine things.
July 11th, 2006
November 2003
Military withdrawl
Confusion alludes a perfect revanche,
the tempting annoyance is simply increased;
Diffuse your migraines, taste the chance,
with powederous morphine, which makes you deceased.
Corrupting the problem when there is none,
a fight for the title of being least scared;
An unpredictable interesting sum,
cursed the ruby to be repaired.
The primary target born as our flaw,
regular basics of ethical duels;
Have certainly sharpened my devious claw,
your carniage on music is feasibly cruel.
Intelligent grammar is withered romance,
promiscuous diction of your formation;
Manhood forced your little boy not to even give me a glance,
that night I was skilfull with your articulation.
Emotion often plays itself out,
desires to strangle you using quotations;
We're silenced by history books which have doubt,
so, maybe it's not complete for you,
but for our generation.
Henceforth, because you create, study and give,
as dreadfuly sinful I feel about hate;
The punctuation allows the thesis to be
historically fully concieved,
you'd die for you scene, which makes you
exceptionally perfectly weird.
Military withdrawl
Confusion alludes a perfect revanche,
the tempting annoyance is simply increased;
Diffuse your migraines, taste the chance,
with powederous morphine, which makes you deceased.
Corrupting the problem when there is none,
a fight for the title of being least scared;
An unpredictable interesting sum,
cursed the ruby to be repaired.
The primary target born as our flaw,
regular basics of ethical duels;
Have certainly sharpened my devious claw,
your carniage on music is feasibly cruel.
Intelligent grammar is withered romance,
promiscuous diction of your formation;
Manhood forced your little boy not to even give me a glance,
that night I was skilfull with your articulation.
Emotion often plays itself out,
desires to strangle you using quotations;
We're silenced by history books which have doubt,
so, maybe it's not complete for you,
but for our generation.
Henceforth, because you create, study and give,
as dreadfuly sinful I feel about hate;
The punctuation allows the thesis to be
historically fully concieved,
you'd die for you scene, which makes you
exceptionally perfectly weird.
November 2003
GAS
You've gassed me.
Nazis always bare the blame,
You're drastic, weird and so fantastic.
Kennan wore a bloody suit,
Where people I inspire-
Are all small girls with half a father.
Tasting refuge in aspiring
To one day collect a chair
And march towards Berlin.
Thread of pink, blue and purple,
There's some glitter; annoy me still,
Your placenta spilled in seconds,
Waiting for my female gills.
All you offer me is heaven,
Sorry, I need more to die...
Don't forget to buy a shotgun
Just to love me in your eyes.
Wool on wool, the scent of paleness;
Your undborn caring lust arrived,
It smells like boy, smells like money,
You used me to not feel deprived.
There's nothing more than that fender
That's keep us going, from out to in,
Did you like me because I was poison
And because I offered you a sin?
She said, don't try to understand me,
I am- emotionally down,
Like SS officers and brandy
The Apocalypse is now.
Snow white, obsessed with goodness;
So sensitive and yet so dumb.
She threw her last forgetful word
Onto your post-pain filthy snob-like
Cherry blackness in a peep-hole
Of your nauseated chord.
Forget her, forget me, forget the entire
Five foot something, smart, provocative and cute
Female population of your city's feminist route.
She's seen your worries, she cares, like gas portrayed in a closed car,
Your happiness prevails, she wants you, she is a nazi star.
Open the chamber, here she is;
Your scent, her scarf, the old guitar;
Someday, your paths will cross again,
For now, she's just like Renoir.
GAS
You've gassed me.
Nazis always bare the blame,
You're drastic, weird and so fantastic.
Kennan wore a bloody suit,
Where people I inspire-
Are all small girls with half a father.
Tasting refuge in aspiring
To one day collect a chair
And march towards Berlin.
Thread of pink, blue and purple,
There's some glitter; annoy me still,
Your placenta spilled in seconds,
Waiting for my female gills.
All you offer me is heaven,
Sorry, I need more to die...
Don't forget to buy a shotgun
Just to love me in your eyes.
Wool on wool, the scent of paleness;
Your undborn caring lust arrived,
It smells like boy, smells like money,
You used me to not feel deprived.
There's nothing more than that fender
That's keep us going, from out to in,
Did you like me because I was poison
And because I offered you a sin?
She said, don't try to understand me,
I am- emotionally down,
Like SS officers and brandy
The Apocalypse is now.
Snow white, obsessed with goodness;
So sensitive and yet so dumb.
She threw her last forgetful word
Onto your post-pain filthy snob-like
Cherry blackness in a peep-hole
Of your nauseated chord.
Forget her, forget me, forget the entire
Five foot something, smart, provocative and cute
Female population of your city's feminist route.
She's seen your worries, she cares, like gas portrayed in a closed car,
Your happiness prevails, she wants you, she is a nazi star.
Open the chamber, here she is;
Your scent, her scarf, the old guitar;
Someday, your paths will cross again,
For now, she's just like Renoir.
November 2003
She's got a class next morning;
She's stoned, beware she argues big;
Her dreadful might will eat you darling,
She is no daughter, she bears no guilt,
Her futuristic vain concussions appear vividly unclear.
Her pausing fable of her boredom
May teach a Christian in a panic,
Allowing deadly sins to rhyme
Beyond political suspicions;
Her love for murderers- her crime.
Contempt reviewed with sex and lies,
Dope up the public's horrid patience
With life's simple complex super-mind.
Flying through pictures, text on a paper,
Moving objections, a sting with a key.
Her household is burning, image-denial.
Her promised to build her a plant on a tree;
Pathetic! excuse me, forgot it, im stoned.
Damn, I have a class today morning!
All these authors, their nature is cloned.
She's got a class next morning;
She's stoned, beware she argues big;
Her dreadful might will eat you darling,
She is no daughter, she bears no guilt,
Her futuristic vain concussions appear vividly unclear.
Her pausing fable of her boredom
May teach a Christian in a panic,
Allowing deadly sins to rhyme
Beyond political suspicions;
Her love for murderers- her crime.
Contempt reviewed with sex and lies,
Dope up the public's horrid patience
With life's simple complex super-mind.
Flying through pictures, text on a paper,
Moving objections, a sting with a key.
Her household is burning, image-denial.
Her promised to build her a plant on a tree;
Pathetic! excuse me, forgot it, im stoned.
Damn, I have a class today morning!
All these authors, their nature is cloned.
creative19 July 2004
Burning through my clothing,
Shadows casting smiles,
People feel creative
In their trauma-flaming trials.
But with horror comes the sunshine,
Maybe baby you'll understand-
Boy and girl together lifeless,
This is playing love-pretend.
You're the tree to which I grow
Closer, twirling like a fly,
beautiful and undeserved
You're eyes too blue to be the sky.
Hoping that I can fake it,
I loved all people unlike you,
Searching for Plato's cave
To be everything but true.
Now you sit, the train is flying,
Tunes of honey blossoms and the sun,
When will you come back to me?
Oh God, I wish I had that gun!
Oh I can see your face,
The manly smell of your hair,
That sweater- warm and glossy,
Only if I knew how much you care!
Now that the tears come out
I know you feel the same,
Wishing you could be with me
So, I could stroke your hair, say your name.
When you'd close your eyes
I would gently hold you tight,
You would tell me you're in love
As I'd feel all good and light.
However, we're not together,
You're so hard to let go.
When you come back
I'll act on every feeling I sense below.
Then I'd do things I'd never do
To see how brave I am and where I stand!
And dream-like, all pretty and lucid
You'll tell me you love me too!
The trains rush through, smoking...
You take a drag, I'm so waiting.
Please come back,
I'm tired of painting!
A girl who feels misused,
A girl who bleeds mountains!
Dreams of whispers and candles,
You need a girl to drain your fountains.
Kneeling, listening to your words,
Needing to sit by your hand,
Holding the pain, laughing,
Laughing at your band;
Through the forest, down,
Up the road, stop,
Under the stars, glarring,
Your nose just needs to drop!
A! You make mad!
Like yesterday and even today!
But everyone sees, they all know!
First day of two good months are our birthdays;
Explain what I feel,
Because there's no reason,
Just a boy and a girl-
Your grunge kind of treason.
You always fake it,
Only alone you're happy and dumb,
I'd smell you but you're always far,
Closer, day after day, your become, strangely;
This awkward writing has to end,
I'm very right, think you know,
So hurry back to your half of the cake
And go to really high from low.
july 2005
What's left of the cake? two pieces,
of two broken halfs.
What's covered in black? two hearts,
in a shadow, back against back.
What's the colour of the plate? two blue shades,
almost two eyes? almost alive.
What's under the mass? the foundation,
checkered chocolate stress.
What's in my stomach? a hole,
tension of two hungry halfs.
What's up firther straight? one heart,
discovering pleasure of chocolate and being the bate.
What's left of the cake? two pieces,
of two broken halfs.
What's covered in black? two hearts,
in a shadow, back against back.
What's the colour of the plate? two blue shades,
almost two eyes? almost alive.
What's under the mass? the foundation,
checkered chocolate stress.
What's in my stomach? a hole,
tension of two hungry halfs.
What's up firther straight? one heart,
discovering pleasure of chocolate and being the bate.
Июль 2004
Он тише и тише бьёт по крыше
Детский кошмар мне в голову льёт;
Молчание вдарило, я его слышу
Призрачный стон, холодный и злой.
После него глупо и сухо
Жить и мечтать что он станет мой;
Мёртвые дети, простое окно
Оно укрывает меня теплотой.
А дождь это люди, дождь это стены,
Жёстко и странно я стала немой;
И крикнув как ворон, естественно плача,
В сонную бездну мой голос плывёт;
Где это солнце, что оно значит,
Ведь дождь со временем тоже умрёт.
July 10th, 2006
july 2004
he deserves a girl who'd listen,
he deserves a girl who'd speak,
does he feel it?
his emotions are not weak...
everyone can be a poet,
anyone can make a scar,
noone, though, can find a love-
hurtful hearts in forms of tarr.
he deserves a girl who'd listen,
he deserves a girl who'd speak,
does he feel it?
his emotions are not weak...
everyone can be a poet,
anyone can make a scar,
noone, though, can find a love-
hurtful hearts in forms of tarr.
fulli started another one just so i could post my poetry,from all those years back and up until now,
somewhere where it wouldnt get lost.
there.
somewhere where it wouldnt get lost.
there.