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Hero ComplexI bartered my soul away
For the boy with wolf eyes
He locked me behind his teeth

He carved snake bites into my lips
And tore apart the gilded edges of my lashes
In an endeavor to uncover some semblance of my siren words

He broke apart my ribs in an attempt
To find my landmine heart
Which held no sound

Ungodly hoursThere is no such thing as accidental haemorrhages
Not when childhood bravado’s are blurred by nicotine and late night shows
Charcoaled lashes and panda pupils we’d sit on rooftops
Night owls caught in a snare of lace and hard liquor

Thou Shall BurnClench my soul, go right ahead; ignite your flesh and I shall deem you dead.

Dance with fire and thou shalt be burned, scorched to deformity with your soul never returned.

Exceed your limits, turn away your falls, shall the trials begin beneath the walls?

Oh yes they shall my dearest thing, for your fate will rest within this ebony ring.

Such glory was enthralled into my soul, how you plead for its power, its superiority, its toll.

Though alas you've proven not worthy of it all, hence your death shall be remarkable, forever now you shall fall.

Rag dollI am the type of girl who hides in forts
Bruised knees drawn up book in hand
Surrounded by cascading towers of paper backs
And a sea of empty tea cups with chipped edges
Folded into a chrysalises of sonnets and haphazard haiku's
Patched upon one another

Hear me howl.Tell me again, Father,
I’m the perfect daughter-

when all I want to be
is the crescent moons
resting like strong soldiers
in the grooves of my palms.

I am but
(outgrown)
lonely bones,
quaking with frostbite,
numbed with rage.

A wolf's jaw:
locked, teeth tearing
into the chilled flesh
of your neck.

Of boats and boutsWinter leaking into our phosphate spines
Fingers curled and clawing at sun baked whispers behind our lips
Trying to convey what silence tastes like on parched lungs
Misfortune snapping at our humming bird fingertips
The lost do not wish to be found.

Evening childWe’d sit on porch steps
Insecticide burning our lungs
Awkward and gangly attempting to grow into our limbs
You with freckles dusting your nose and I with a small dot on my cheek
You called it a beauty spot and I said god was too lazy to give me freckles

We were 15 and lust driven amnesiacs
Dissolving our flesh with cheap gin in your tree house
Throwing pebbles at the sky hoping to shatter it
We were an epidemic of the underdog prognosis
Playing encores to an audience of cowards

For some reason we’d always rush across rail way tracks
Metal bars quivering and our broken sneakers stumbling
We were branded in mistakes and embellis

Mors AtraDust motes gathered in the corners of her lips
Bruised and rotting her mottled lungs fell apart
The skin of her wrists were smudged with pretty pink roses
And below her dissolving pupils just above the plains of her cheekbones
Were streaks of yellowed pages and posies
And ten days later she fell asleep under a bed of earth and soil

Words on the WallThe sun melted into the glamorous sky
The moon stood there, hidden by sweet lullabies.

But mommy was crying, her day had been hard
The tears in her eyes twinkled just like the stars.

Her face wasn't happy like it should have been
And though she was saddened, she forcefully grinned.

I wanted to see Mommy smile through it all...
I painted a picture on her bedroom walls.

I told her to look, just to come in and see
But Mommy was angry... she wasn't happy.

She threw me down hard on the cold wooden floor
Then picked me up, slamming my head on the door.

She yelled and she screamed, then she hit me once more
She slapped me till I couldn't see a

To contain them...Words are but emotion, finally contained.
~My six word story

when writers cryAwake on strong, black coffee drinks
Words on paper, liquid ink
Dreams of pen tips, future lies
Tragic stories, quotes of the wise
Nights have carved their dark, deep valleys
In the hollows of my eyes

For you see, my friend, when writers cry
There are no tears, their cheeks are dry
But ink dipped fingers, worn out wrists
Chewed up nails and bloody fists

You see, it's strange when writers cry
Their hearts are true, their words don’t lie
They mourn in silence for a few days
Of paper cuts and tear-less haze

Of coffee mugs and smoky paper
Liquid spills, and water vapor
Sorry dreams and wasted hours
Putrid smells and dying flowers

(Torn

In The BeginningI escaped prison and was born.

You Can't Tell MeYou can't tell me
that my writing is wrong.
It might be for you
But for me it will live, forever strong

You can't tell me
that my words are not right.
They might not be prefect
But I'll still put up a fight

You can't tell me
my rhymes are too mix-matched.
Its just because they are not yours
To me they do not lack

You can't tell me
I did not try my best.
Who are you to evaluate?
Its not like its a test

You can't tell me
that I didn't follow a rule.
Creativity has no list
I think you are a fool

You can't tell me
that I didn't emote at all.
How can you tell me what I feel?
Its not like I'm a doll

You cant tell me
everything that I should.
How can you think you know everything?
And think you know whats "good"?

Who am IWho am I
But a pile of thoughts and
Feelings served on golden plates

Who am I
But the darkness that surrounds me
And the light that penetrates it

Who am I
But a figure ducked in corner
Enveloped by melting fingers

I cry and shout
But nobody can hear me
I try to move
But space curls around me

Who am I
Deep inside underneath the clothes
Underneath the skin and flesh

Who am I
The being that exists
For itself and by itself

I cry and shout
And smile upon the sounds
I try to move
And split myself to pieces

And there is no one
To stop my rapid fallout
As the drops of me
Soak into dried earth

For EternitySick
From another's disease.
No cure.

Browse More Like This

More from ~grew-up-a-screw-up

UnknownI'd listen to radio signals
But all I'd hear is chlorine bleached static
That leaves a the bitter taste of Advil in my thoughts
Drugged up in an anaesthetic haze of morphine induced comatose
I'd clench my teeth to stop the florescent vowels
From escaping my insomniac lips
I've chewed them shut and pasted book spines on my ribcage
In an attempt to be something organic and interesting
Because the plain Jane exterior I've laced between my iris's
Is becoming a contradiction of what little sanity I possess

Stuck In ReverseWe'd make drunken eye contact
While sat on iron bar motorway bridges
Road kill paved beneath us
And diluted starts that hung above us like spirits

Passing bottles of liquor while discussing Shakespeare
I'd hide behind my sleeves
We were scatter brained and tongue tied
Scorched pupils and leaper fingertips

I don't know how to let go of these Polaroid memories
We need to plan our escape because Alice had the right idea
The smell of stagnant rainwater is making me nauseous
Because sometimes painkillers never seem to work
And carving words into one another is the only way we can exist.

Mr. BrightsideI remember last year in September it was a normal Saturday
And my room smelt like beeswax polish and Mr Sheen
And my floor was golden and neat and warm
And the trees outside were naked showing their limbs as their feiry leaves were shedding
And the sky outside was a brilliant blue that was just so clear
And vapour trails streaked across the blue in pretty dust cloud patterns

And it was just a normal day, mum was downstairs cleaning and dad was outside mowing the lawn
And yet everything was humming and there was something amazing about that day
In the way that I felt like I could really breathe and I was part of everything
I was awa

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Snow White Syndrome

by ~grew-up-a-screw-up, Mar 5, 2013, 1:57:48 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I seem to have forgotten the sound of my own heartbeat Splitting apart my limbs I've found the source of my insanity Coiled around veins and arteries Star dust and a lazy man’s drug Has put me to sleep under fictitious pretenses Of forbidden apples and two faced prince charming’s

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Snow White Syndromeby ~grew-up-a-screw-up

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syndrome is a really pleasant word, syn-dro-me it's so lovely in the way it rolls off the tongue

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*yours----truly Apr 13, 2013

I love the way u write, it is effortlessly poetic. Really great

very talented xx

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~grew-up-a-screw-up Apr 14, 2013 Student General Artist

Thank you so much c:

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*yours----truly Apr 14, 2013

pleasure x

Reply

=Shadowsoflosthope Apr 10, 2013

Holy crap, i absolutely love the bemusing and intense emotive feel wrapped around a theme that i can barely understand but completely love, coupled with a strange and spectacular rhythm.
So ,ummmm, yeah i like it.

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~grew-up-a-screw-up Apr 11, 2013 Student General Artist

Thank you so much, I'm happy you took the time to read it, enjoy it and write me a lovely comment so thank you c:

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=slowslicksnails Mar 24, 2013 Student Writer

I favorited this awhile back, and was surprised I never commented, so I will now.

Even though this is six lines, it's perfect being this short. It's so impactful - I love the word choice. It's seriously such a beautiful poem, the imagery is fantastic. Ah.

I am such a sucker for mental disorder-like poems. Very intriguing.

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~grew-up-a-screw-up Mar 25, 2013 Student General Artist

Thank you so much I'm glad I could woo you with my angst-y poetry, but in all seriousness thank you so much for the lovely comment

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=slowslicksnails Mar 25, 2013 Student Writer

You're very welcome!

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~Harzlek Mar 6, 2013

Syndrome has two syllables... I am sure you know.

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~grew-up-a-screw-up Mar 7, 2013 Student General Artist

I do, I just like playing around with words and testing them on my tongue.

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