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Little Girls LostSlow scissor strokes cut the canvas corsets from our waistsLittle Girls Lost by Rosary0fSighs
laces slack and curling over hollow cheekbones to wasted insides
tubes pouring food from doctors in white administering medicine
pink heads blurred in a bare room that barely holds conversation.
Naked lips with lullabied tongues too sleepy to curl over sweets and
dark wine blots discolouring slender necks with sluggish swan feathers in blue
a patchwork of uncirculated blood.
The mirror whispers its distorted curves in the lamp light
and unthimbled fingers are pricked to check blood sugar
instead of spinning wheels.
We sleep for a thousand years
spool threads of hair falling loose, to masted shoulders
a chandelier of sadness and little girls lost.
Imagining bodies carved in marble or stone
translucent in the twilight with veins of quartz
cloth filled mouths make for heavy skulls in so much silence.
Midnight In DisguiseShe wanted to blend in among alpine bridge pillarsMidnight In Disguise by LUCKy-LoTi
Her red wine eyes hidden away in fog that stained irises in bloom
She is strong but held on for too long
She wanted to witness numerous suicides of winter’s name
So she may otherwise convince herself within a timeframe
Every forsaken martyr jumped without hesitation
Believing that he would be the last to join Lucifer
But she drew impertinent of this act of self-hate
And became obsessed with burns and blades
Why was her ghost poetry so hypnotizing
Her view from above was not as obscured as it seemed
But she was forced under ice to surrender to joyous deeds
Every dawn was now an error in her exertions
She was advised to repair herself
Because her poetry slaughtered admirers’ throats
Leaving a harrowing maroon note
She could not hold captive her tears in a jar
The moon now had a companion in her
Whilst she balanced on the bars
With pink shoes hung by a wire, the very wind sucked her voice away
Leaving her to asphyxiate on dry
Happenings And Routine Makes It Go AwayThe big bald head of a nervous infinity,Happenings And Routine Makes It Go Away by Redsterfish
is pulling the strings, that move your wooden body.
As you were sworn in to a wooden icon,
not knowing, and supposed to not knowing the materia called life.
Punched into a world, some sick dictator has conceived.
Ah yeah daylight robbery was such an amazing idea.
Slavery of your brothers for any sake, should be it?
You know, just meet other insects at a certain place,
speak certain words at that certain occasion.
Otherwise you´ll bleed, there isn´t too much information,
everybody should understand, unpunished.
Speech is around a very tiny subject, but think what you like?
One day the individual just got blown up and exploded.
The mixture of wish and forced to and irreality was highly dangerous.
A desert turned up... no being around, the dead planet?
Development was killed by a substance, you choose, didn´t you?
It was in your hands, not one to blame.
The chance is gone, only fear and being on the bottom of social life,
17/09/2015I do not want to sing17/09/2015 by MadreCojo
To release the smoky heaviness in my breast
Anchoring me down
Taking me to a dark, dank place
Filled of nasty nightmares and battered hopes
A song filled to the brim with truth
A song throbbing and convulsing with my sorrowful soul
My siclkly, stinking soul
These harpies wait to pick the skin from my warm carcass
A song of my own voice
The voice of my own face and not of the many decorated masks
Crafted for another's pleasure
Created as protection from those vile feathered vermin
A song from a twisted, weeping face
Chipping, cracking, caving in
As there can never be any truth
The winged monsters screech before my song is half way
Muse On The LooseAs you keep being there on time,Muse On The Loose by Redsterfish
You just feel how that cotton swab grows.
You know you only get those feedbacks: It´s fine.
And then your pillow will explode at the show.
All those feathers hover in the air,
you still think: I don´t care.
And before you knew what was happening,
that psychologist pushed you into that mould ...kling.
A massive weariness which is the precursor
of a insidious and paralyzing state of mind.
Creativity and fun is about to flee ...behind?
Surly you only want to get some sleep, tame the predator.
The routine will do it´s very best job,
freeze your mind and float with the mob.
That´s all they want you to do.
Work for their world, fit like the perfect shoe.
They don´t need to dig for alternatives,
it´s their business, just has to run faster and fluently.
You will be the collateral or even at the junk fives,
if you don´t say yes and amplify their very own cruelty.
You will be a part of the system, the tiny little cog,
.upon surrender..upon surrender..upon surrender. by Amanda-Graham
... only she knows ...
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
touch stones without remark tumbled
one after another
no clack of disapprovals shed
one after another
as though i were an insult though they never spat me out
as though i were a crime they'd committed in dead of night
as though i were several different outfits now out on consignment
as though I were the dog who barked at a breaking