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Literature Text
Gothic Expression
The Gothic Poet walks down the street
And stops at the bus stop
She posts one of her poems for all to see
"What do you make of me"
"Am I a freak or am I oh so chic?"
"Dressed in black - am I a tiger or a pussycat?"
"Read my words and you will see"
"A deeper soul lies within me"
She sits at home and paints her self-portrait
Slightly distorted - this is the way she is viewed by the world
She walks on down to the art gallery
And posts her portrait at the entrance door
"Do you want more?"
"You will see more reality in this picture"
"Than anything that lies behind this door"
"Open your eyes and you will see"
"All God's beauty"
She lies on her bed at home
Waiting for a reaction
Bu the passers-by fail to express any emotion
Too wrapped up in their own worlds
In God and man we place our trust
Another creative soul bites the dust
The Gothic Poet walks down the street
And stops at the bus stop
She posts one of her poems for all to see
"What do you make of me"
"Am I a freak or am I oh so chic?"
"Dressed in black - am I a tiger or a pussycat?"
"Read my words and you will see"
"A deeper soul lies within me"
She sits at home and paints her self-portrait
Slightly distorted - this is the way she is viewed by the world
She walks on down to the art gallery
And posts her portrait at the entrance door
"Do you want more?"
"You will see more reality in this picture"
"Than anything that lies behind this door"
"Open your eyes and you will see"
"All God's beauty"
She lies on her bed at home
Waiting for a reaction
Bu the passers-by fail to express any emotion
Too wrapped up in their own worlds
In God and man we place our trust
Another creative soul bites the dust
Literature
Cthulhu
It sleeps. The darkness reverberates with its movement. The man has stumbled into ancient darkness, dragging his wetness through the chamber, hurt, abandoned, unlucky. The man is lost to humanity. It dreams. It has been waiting for so long. The man has found light, light he wishes he had never seen, light, that illuminates the tentacled god, trapped, light, that fragments his sanity. He exists in a moment of pure terror. He is undone. It still sleeps. God help us all when it awakens.
Literature
The Other Me
I've seen you in the mirror Yet I don't know who you are But every time you're clearer It feels like I share your mar I still see your reflection As if you're right here with me Face draped in introspection Pray tell, is it me you see? The scars on my thighs, was that you? What else did you do? The snake in my eyes, was that you? What else did you do? The tears I have cried, was that you? What the fuck d'you do?! And all this time, your image Keeps staring right back at me My head is empty, pillaged Was I ever even real? I view you inside the glass Dismantling me piece by piece Are you looking to surpass Take my place, my life to seize? The passion for fear, was that you? What else did you do? The notion of drear, was that you? What else did you do? The death that draws near, was that you? What the fuck d'you do?! I must rid myself of you You've brought me nothing but pain I'll emerge as something new Stronger now, without your chain "I'll remain right here For
Literature
mornings
Mornings now bleed in different colors While thoughts and priorities still taste like strangers
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A poem about the search for identity and the need to leave some sort of legacy whether it be with words or art.
© 2006 - 2024 demonrobber
Comments15
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your words speak true so sad but true