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Submitted on
February 16, 2009
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Tears are turned to dust behind my eyes.
       My tongue is shoving itself down my throat,
               swallowing forgotten words.  
                               There is a mind and there is a heart
                               but their purpose serves to let live a monster
                                           who should have never risen.
     Let the womb eat itself.
        Let a boney hand consume.
           Let there be a golden life, where work is scarce
           and not a thing can conquer the numbness.  
Such is the life that seems to be demanded by foolish feet who stumble down a path
   unguided by mind or eyes.
                   Grab from the pile of mess, so conscientiously avoided, the fibers to
                                                                                   hang yourself down to hell.
                                                     Bathe in carnality.
                                          Continue this gluttony of sloth.
Shed this skin before a mirror.
                                 I melt in shades of blue and black and red.
                                                                                                              Eat more.
                                                                            Consume the image of yourself.
                                     Let the dark chocolate of the knowledge of who you are
                                              melt and sting bitterness into your tongue.
                     Touch yourself.
                     There is no respect.
Feel those silver scars.
      Does the sharp past of a glistening friend remain upon your body?
Temples can only be destroyed by people
if they suffer a worthless king.
                                                    I have no temple.
                                                     No love or hope,
                                                                                                    nor even a God.
No paradise but a desert.
     Tongue and throat swollen,
           I choke on myself.
                The sand corrodes the shaken heart,
                      I eat at myself.
Sometimes there seems to be a glimmer in my life.
A glinting pendulum
                   beckoning like the hungry snake.
                       Life yields no glimmer
                           just a doom to consume and spit my bones out for the insects.
Time is ticking away.
Slow to take me but quick to rush me off the steepest cliffs;
                      it's always the steepest on the top.
                                                                                      My blood is flowing thick.
                                                I can barely move.
     Night is swallowing me.
                           Where is the scythe to rip these nights and days?
                                              There is a swarm inside.
                             Scratching and trilling an unbearable scream.
                                It is the whistle that only dogs can hear.
                                                     I am life’s bitch.
Consume, kill, laugh, scream, dream, cry, strangle, run, scratch, hang, touch, hate, learn, hide, moan, breathe, reject, stare, whisper, love, teach, drink, lie, bend,
                                                           catch....
                                              The demands of living,
                                                    I am life's bitch.
(Second time I posted this. Darn computers and their foobarring.)
(Another Note to add....this thing is being dumb and it says I already have this deviation but I am seeing it NOWHERE!!! DAMN this confounded hulabaloo called technology and the whipper-snappers who use it!!! Anyways, I was titling this Life's Bitch. So there ya go.)

Anyways, this is a poem I originally wrote in my journal. I wasn't having a good time but I decided to turn it to poetry. Quite a healthy way to deal.
This might be a fun fact for you all, but occasionally, as I wrote this, I thought about Kurt Cobain. = )
I hope it's enjoyable because I think it may be one of my best poems. Amazing what we do in the heat of the moment = )
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:iconmatthordika:
Matthordika Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
What are your inspirations for writing? Who do you look up to as a writer? I'd look to know, because whoever it is is probably very good, considering what you've been putting down on to paper.
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:iconaubundance:
Aubundance Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2010  Hobbyist
My inspirations tend to be based on my emotions at that moment and on life, when it comes to my poetry.
As to who I look up to: I look up to J.K Rowling and have just recently read some Jane Austen, who I now look up to as well.
Thank you so much for you compliments, it means a lot to me.
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:iconmatthordika:
Matthordika Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
I see, I see... Personal feelings are always te best inspiration. Unfortunetly for me (well, unfortunetly for my writing), not enough happens in my life for something to write about. I guess I'm stuck with the world's problems.

And you're welcome. I'm just happy to have a writer on this site to talk to.
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:iconaubundance:
Aubundance Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2010  Hobbyist
Lol, well, I mean you can write pretty much about anything. Usually, my writing ends up being about life and emotions because that's how I let things out. A healthy escape lol.

Well, I'm happy to have someone appreciate my writing and be a writer as well.
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:iconmatthordika:
Matthordika Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
I just, can't write about my life. I have to make things up, and then somehow relate it to myself. I usually turn to something like war in all its stupidity to find inspiration. War, greed and hope.
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:iconaubundance:
Aubundance Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2010  Hobbyist
Well, those are very excellent topics.
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:iconmatthordika:
Matthordika Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
War and greed I ripped-off of John Lennon and U2. But hope isn't!
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:iconaubundance:
Aubundance Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2010  Hobbyist
Haha! Well at least there's hope. (pun intended)
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(1 Reply)
:iconprosecutie91:
Prosecutie91 Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2009  Student Photographer
Oh man....I was just reading your author's notes and you said you couldn't find it the first time....the same thing happened to me, so....did you check your scraps? It might be in there. :shrug:
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:iconaubundance:
Aubundance Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2009  Hobbyist
hmmm, no I didn't. I might just check there. Thanks!
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