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A new collection of exceedingly dark poems, a chronicle of betrayal and eternal despair will be available soon.
TWO YEARS IN HELL
It will be available free for a few days. Keep an eye out.
He had to chase her away,
Insult her, expose her hypocrisy, tell her to fuck off.
However, the only thing he said to her that was untrue was that he wanted her to go.
She didn’t know what the hell she wanted.
But whatever she was looking for, it wasn’t love. That was for sure.
Love does not conquer all. It doesn’t even make a scratch.
And it wasn’t him, only planning on watching for however long, saying nothing.
She just had some morbid fascination with watching him self-destruct,
And she...
Just go. Go forever.
Go to wherever it is you think your life will change,
Wherever you hope to find someone different, and forget that you already did,
Only remember that you didn’t want different, but the same as always.
Go to wherever it is you believe they will cherish your presence, when it would not have made the slightest difference to them if you had not come, and pretend for the rest of your days,
Pretend your innocence.
Just go.
It has become clear that I am delusional, that nothing...
Resolve smashed,
Glass shard look,
Shot through the no one standing there,
Worthless.
It was the end of everything.
There was nothing left to strive for.
He did not recognize the world around him any longer,
Only the cold stare of a wish of death,
Stuck in an endlessly revolving door,
Sinking him into the depths of ice.
It was the strangest of psychological conundrums. She loved him in her denial of loving him, but she did not care for him. It was questionable whether she truly cared about anybody, even herself, as her professions of love always seemed premeditated, scripted, something she felt she was supposed to say,
And her interactions with people gave off an air of coy wheedling more than sincerity. She rarely bothered to acknowledge most of her friends and family, waiting for something she could use to...
He hated it all.
He hated the powerlessness to make it all right. He hated the unnecessary events that led him to his perpetual grief. He hated the gross people who made everything awful for their own benefit. He hated the superficiality of the world and the coddling of those who weren’t worthy of what they had. He hated being hurt, and he hated hurting her, hated not being able to make her feel love. Hated her hatred for him. And he hated those who distracted her and promised her love they...
She had wasted years of her life with diseased men, men with sociopathy written on their faces, and she hadn’t learned a damn thing. She was simply too old to accept anything that wasn’t already familiar, even if what was familiar was rotten. But she could not, or would not, see the truth of it, and would end up repeating the same pattern for the rest of her life, what there was of it, bowing to the expectations of her crowd. She only trusted people she “knew.” The irony being that she didn’t...
As the matter is yet to be determined,
You should be aware of the peril,
Even though you have not earned the concern.
It is known that, during that fateful summer, you were seen called in after an event,
And a report was made soon after.
If it was you who made it, KNOW THIS, o ye arrogant ass,
You were knowingly given bad information, a lie, and prompted to commit the crime.
You were used.
If that is not enough to make you reconsider your silence,
Then you will take the fall with them,
Those...
My name is Sarah Bischoff and the confession of my sins is long.
As I will never make it of my own volition, it comes by proxy through this song.
There is much I never told you, o those whom I’ve misled,
So much I did that I’ve omitted, never to be spoken, by me unsaid.
First I must confess I never told him to leave me be or go away,
Although I’ve told you all I did, and reported it that way.
No, instead I let him think that we were friends and talked to him at length,
While defaming him to...
As he began to pull, the crack of a splintered board signaled the end,
Precipitating him like a wet sack of mud toward the waiting concrete.
Hitting hard, blackout, grayed consciousness, the crash of metal.
Surging pain.
Assaying the wreckage of himself and the machine, he should have seen it coming.
He wanted to feel anger, sadness, but there was nothing left in him, not even for himself. He was a a ghost.
It had always been the same in his life, reaching achievement, only to have it torn...
I have been a horrible person, but I will never admit to it, never, not on pain of punishment. I will deny until my last breath escapes me. You, my dutiful enablers can never know the truth.
You see, he loved me, but I would not be loved, not by anyone real, not by anyone poor, not by anyone who was not ugly and vain, not by anyone not vulgar. But, for sake of appearance, though I spurned his love, I pretended to befriend him, even letting down my guard in messages unseen by the eyes of...
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