Bloody Ink

Poetry doesn't just write itself.

Discarded uncharted retarded unwanted haunted vomiting pages with poetry on it

Your hearts so dark that it leaves a black mark on my shark skin flesh

You take and you take, watching me break

You feed and you feed, until you’re freed from any moral belief while we bleed

A murderer, a motivator a traitor a faker a world-shaking, life taking, monster creating sadist raising racist fascist a bloody ink face disgraced beneath the skin erasing my sacred patience gone thin and making me disappear fading into the background the leering ink being seeing itself free again in the mirror, fear nothing else, a monstrous harbinger, a goner, a fond karma a demon screaming while your dreaming, seemingly teeming with meaning a dark figure in the clearing

I hate you, I see you go about your life and watch you on the streets, drooling over the raw meat like some kind of miscreant

You feel my suffering, you make me strong, you make me angry, happy, you make me wrong

I see you in the halls, crawling while the world is falling, calling your thrall to maul us all

I see you in the houses you reside behind that shine a red light, quite like luminous insides

The corners of my very mind you hide behind kindly waiting for my timely demise rising covering the horizon in your all seeing eyes, never hiding, open wide like a hole in my hide and inviting me for a cup of tea, drinking me dry, drowning in my angry satisfaction, an attraction, a passion, it happened, an interaction like a lit match infatuated and I’m on fire again, my friend there is a difference between insanity and living a lie, and it seems I’ve crossed the line so many times intwined like a spine of rhymes that resides high binding inside inside inside fighting alive gasping for air as I suffocate in my chair, aligned blinded seeing the darkness it isn’t fair, watching everybody stare, sucked back into the deep dark hole by the creep, the monster, the haunter, the freak, kind of feeling violent a pilot of silent nihilist psychiatrists villous pillagers eating the corpses like crows of woe still as the cold grey world in our simple limbo whining like a window through the soul and out to the other end, like death and new life again

You write my poems, you shape my mind, every word, every line

Signed away and chained you stay inside my brain like a body on display, a blade never drawn, a right that went wrong, bonded to my soul, whole who’s unfolding the cording within the sewer of pipes and tortural sights that might make me up, the way I am, less like a man more like sick fright, a fun spout of spite, an avatar alight with the right to smite my enemies, slight and rightfully ending men until the light from their form leaves and they’ll be nothing left to do but grieve in the blood of greed as we feed the seed of hate just what it needs, immoral creed, a new belief, a brief beseeching hate keeping preacher, a loving living accepting reaper

 An overseer in battle gear you wait for the first punch the blows, first blood’s embrace, and eat away my mind, with your smile on my face    

Holding my earthly heart in the clay mold, the thing is shaping me, slowly raping me, corrupting me

Making me inhuman, worthless, cursed with burnt bits, ripped lips, ragged lungs that blood runs through like the holes in the fleshy corridors, shrewd words flowing through and slowly killing you spurning juice a jam of misunderstandings abuse and reprimanding’s adding gladly to the pile of pain, just another trip down memory lane

You know my pain, you don’t behave, you’re not afraid, of the scars, the stains they made

Making me a nonperson as the feelings worsen dispersing hurting certain to bring down the curtains asserting dominance laughing at me, learning, an abomination, elation beyond ancient, a maintenance of abrasions and mutilation, creation’s failed fixation eating at the rotting thoughts that I forgot, boiling in a crockpot

The ink that falls upon the page, the hate, the anger, the tears, the rage, the ink that swallows me inside, the word monster that’s already died   

Turning me into a criminal, a monster, subliminal unliveable unkillable symbol that means it isn’t winnable dribbling the ink constant vomit that flows freely like a sea of insanity, thinks it lives, has my name, flows through my veins,  ingrained and sustained plain to see again taking away my pain and replacing it with pleasure I’ll never ever feel better than when the resurrected letters shape on the page like rage better than the scars from my slayers blade, no longer afraid, growing in hate, gaining in spite, smiting the right, burning, a stain of sin murdering curdling fertile mold of misfortune a monstrous thing that cannot be shamed

Don’t need a reason, don’t feel ashamed, the insanity, is not to blame

You swallow my pain when my hearts hollow blood stained

Chained, the monster decides to remain sane for a little while longer breathing in my sour sorrow, hungers, becomes a little stronger, devouring morrow from my skeletal metal frame, my unwanted name, my weighted self hate, the great suffering being the reasoning to start pleasing needing a bleeding lesion releasing the beast inside riding my mind behind the eyes seeing the despise that rises from the mouths of the people like they’re, evil, medieval, sealing what’s real and what flesh must be peeled to keel the next meal fetal needles of words that want to shout, just need to be heard, smother the others in my colour, a mother of curses giving birth mirthless ink, no way to cope, no way to think

I know that your worthless, unwanted, merciless, disregarded, thirsty, martyred, cold-hearted and hardened

I know and I’m sorry

Because you’re a part of me

I can feel you breath and beat beneath the meat, while life is sweet and I live by my beliefs

We did the very best we could, a house built out of rotten wood

I made you, you came from me, I am the one to blame, maim me for it, exclaim that you deserve to remain

You continue to treat yourself laughing at me, waiting for when I’m beaten, mistreated, eaten, watching in the silent quiet violence for when I’m defeated

For when you might be needed, when wounds must be treated with someone else's blood, you'll be vigilant, privileged,  waiting to bleed it onto the paper, now or later, my blood or a hater

I know you're the only one who stood up for me, you listened to my pain

But please remain seated, and I'll remain sane

 

 

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[Ghost writer]

this poem is amazing, the flow was great, the words rhymed really well, and I was really impressed because it was long and you stuck with the good rhymes but it didn't lose it's meaning, and I really got what you were talking about and feel the same thank you for writing this it's beautiful.

[Correspondence]

A part of me just died a little....
This was so dark and glorious, even for a contest, this is something worth continuing. *claps vigorously*

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

amazing stuff thanks so much for entry into why i write competition

[NEHA]

A bit too impressive...
#claps

[Oliver Lee]

this was so lyrical I loved it. so f*****g cool

[sette]

it is a well written piece. and makes me wonder what is the real reason why we write?

[Shattered Rose]

All I have to say OMFG that was f*****g amazing lol!!!!!! :)

[wordman]

the alter ego coming out,enjoyed the trip