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The Connecticut Massacre.The Connecticut Massacre.

He was described as quiet, shy and socially awkward.
He was not the type to be loud, abrasive and forward.

He was highly intelligent and kept his thoughts to himself.
He didn't posses the tools to communicate with anyone else.

Whenever he spoke, his words felt forced and fake.
Who knew back then how many lives this man could take.

The realisation of his isolation was activated by the school premises.
He was never able to see his peers as friends but only as his nemeses.

But when he was home his alienation became none existent.
He was able to laugh and smile without any form of resistance.

The constant contrast
The Old WellMy destiny calls from the depths of the well,
The sound of the water my own death knell.
Spirits pass upwards and through the stone,
Leaving behind pennies people have thrown.

The well is filled with the souls of others,
All of whom strayed from the same path.
Every fate as damned as another's,
Consumed by this ancient curse's wrath.

Mysteries surround this age-old dwelling,
I, a servant of this ancient foretelling.
My heart lies at its base,
My life removed without a trace.
Paradigm Of The Lost DivineTake my pitiful mind to a better place,
So I can see the brightest stars shine,
In that abysmal hope called space.
To reach out and touch a forbidden face,
Is the greatest gift anyone could find.

For I have witnessed in vast wonder,
The eternity before this epic I ponder,
Where no creature would consider his death.
But who am I to declare what is up or down?
Nothing is the name of hell in which I drown.

Take my woeful heart to a lesser worth,
So I can hear the darkest sighs scream,
In that dismal void called birth.
That genesis of so mysterious a mirth,
Is the coldest curse anyone could dream.

For I have listened to past laught
Death Of LegendIgnite hell's biting bullets that scorch and sting,
Against heaven's armies that stand and sing.
When the might of garish gods befalls us all,
Where nations crumble and meek mortals fall,
Then celestial suicide will be our fate's call.

Skies will turn to smoke and seas will burn to steam,
Demons will howl. Angels will die. Men will dream.
To believe in an eternal peace beyond war's breath,
No more to suffer through eyes that despair death,
Never to crumble hearts into pits of blackened dust.

Blind hell's hope that bring waves of ruin and rust,
Against heaven's anguish that bring terror and trust.
When the sight of humble humanity
Charade (or Dysfunctional Love)Something old, something new,
Just give me one perfect devious answer,
Or do I have to weed out of you a clue?
You say you adore me, but it feels like cancer,
To perform this childish charade every disaster.

Close shut the door and wave goodbye,
Look through echoes of grimy glass in regret,
To see a forlorn face but you don't know why?
Where times spent in trust you can never forget,
From chords of a pitiful piano that sing then cry.

Something borrowed, something blue,
Just give me one good honest reason,
Why I should give a damn about you?
You say you love me, but it feels like treason,
To play this churlish charade every seaso
The Tears Of The EarthWhat would you do if the world stopped,
Spinning and swirling to a systematic halt?
Would you climb to a mountain majestically high,
Raise your eyes up to the finite electric universe,
And reflect on the redemption of a death so diverse.

Veins line the black with faults of blood,
And I can hear the crazed howls of horror,
Erupt up from the centre of an empty Earth.
Screams swell to scorch the skies above me,
Where sunlight fades to freeze the faces I see.

What would you do if the world finished,
Falling and frolicking to a fatalistic end?
Would you swim to a sea seductively low,
Embrace your demise in that endless dark space,
An
The Solemn VersesI spend my days awake in the darkness,
Where going forward in life is but a guess.
Alone I muse on the memories I regret,
Images that floods me in cruel embarrassment,
But I fear not the experiences I won't forget.

So you think you know everything about me?
You understand what makes me truly tick,
And how you can cause my conscience to click.
You really believe everything you hear and see,
To a point where my death is all you'll hold dear.

I spend my nights dead to the nightmare,
Too cold to the rhythmic heartbeats that care.
Alone I ponder on the possessions I bide,
Items that curses me in flawed attainment,
But I hate not the
1. Foul Calamity To Filthy Mind
The widow carried the glass of blood on her back,
up the climb of the standing hairs upon my arm...
Her stare was without emotion,
but all eyes were on me with each and every step.
~
My hope was in my half empty glass,
yet the widows glass was always filled with blood,
every drop from every venomous bite...
One by one, her steps draw closer to my pounding heart.
~
She burrows beneath my sleeve,
the receding image of her legs,
is enough to overtake my heart...
the suspense alone ravages my pulse.
~
What bitter calamity had overtaken the life through my veins,
by God, such a fear building the arctic sweat about my flesh.
I can
A Leased SoulIt's the sadness that surrounds him
And you look and stare at the scene
Trying to capture what is happening
The loss, the hate, the scream

Stuck alone in his house
Rain pouring down outside
He howls to the moonlight
Fear is just catching his pride

Lost as tears come
He makes an effort to leave
He cannot reach the doors' handle
The scare has left him to his knees

The hours past slowly
The rain beats outside still
Grasping onto the door
He catches the winds' brutal chill

And slowly as he walks
To their favourite wooden bench
The rain there piercing through
The garbage, the rotten stench

And he sits there with her cane
That
so lovely, so dolllikeSWEET NOTHING
she's everything i want and will want to be.
with a pretty pout and those big Bambi eyes,
long lashes that flit as she
                            casts
a girlish sideways glance,
towards her hopes and aspirations.
and spins her long honey strands around porcelain fingers--
AND WAITS. . .
like a doll so perfectly careless,
delicate truth behind the stillness.

she doesn't exist in this world--
no, but she could, just so perfectly unaware
of her own childlike innocence,
of the uncanny perfection of
                          her,
button nose, little wrists, fragility
pink ribbons tie loosely and sleepily,
l
BeautyBeauty rose out of that silent sea,
Her eyes were tepid with wild thunder,
And then she turned and looked at me.
Me; a meagre man who knew no lady fair,
Nor one of care as she snaps my heart asunder.

Beauty flew up to that sinister sky,
Her lips were dark with mad desire,
And then she turned and started to cry.
Cry; a crude curse who knew no mortal smile,
Nor one so vile as she scars my aura in fire.

Beauty stood up on that scarlet skin,
Her locks were rouge with quiet rain,
And then she turned and walked on sin.
Sin; a sordid spirit who knew no lover true,
Nor one in clue as she saves me from my pain.
Water Bomb"Water Bomb"

Everyday my little boat
Becomes filled with more and more water
My shoes are starting to get soaked
Like lambs unaware in the slaughter
There seems to be some kind of hole
Just big enough for water to get through
The hole isn't big by any means
But I don't know what to do
And everyday my little boat
Sinks deeper and deeper in the sea
I can't rewrite the script I wrote
I can't undo what is to be
The hole now becoming cracks
I tried to plug with paint and clay
With barrels full of whole grain sacks
But even still the boat decayed
And I just can't stop this water
From seeping in little by little
Every damn crack a
GuidanceGuidance.

My father once told me that life is supposed to be a struggle
And that everyone has their own specific type of hustle.

Whether it be working in an office or stacking products on a shelf.
Naturally we all share the same aim of accumulating wealth.

He also told me that nothing is promised in this life time.
When you least expect it the man upstairs will throw you a life line.

Something or someone that will give you a reason to continue.
Awaken the hidden belief and talent that law dormant within you.

He then told me that happiness and success are short lived.
In time your name will both appear and disappear from life's short
CapsizedNo one saw her go
Wailing a somber goodnight
Capsized,to the ocean's will

She did not flail
Not a shred of panic in her voice
As she inched to the depths
Clothed, only in acceptance

But i bore witness
As a nobody,
Helpless and weak
Offering my pristine words
Much to no avail

The murky waters gushed
Burrowing into her wounds
Claiming every inch of her worth
Until,she is kept and never again released
Vindictive Thoughts.Vindictive Thoughts.

Evil, is knowing better
   
But purposely doing worse.
       
Toying with love by the tether
             
And laughing when it hurts.
                 
Prevailing by any measure
                   
With no intention to reimburse.
                         
Flaunting stolen fabricated treasures
                         
Gaining what you never truly deserved.
                             
To live a life of complete leisure
                             
And never keeping to your words.
                             
Manipulating and applying pressure
                               
Be
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Brave New WorldOn this sanguine ship we sail due south,
Eyes humbled by echoes of a distant horizon.
Waiting for a moment to prove our worth,
On the soils of a vacant realm tamed by truth,
Hidden from our lying lips of poison.

On this valiant vessel we land upon grace,
Sighs whispered by sands of a bitter waste.
Fasting for a second to show our face,
On the earth of a wild land touched by trace,
Bitten from our faltering feet of haste.

On this idle island we depart from crime,
Noses damned by voices of a forgotten disaster.
Pleading for the hour to lose our allure,
On the mud of a new world tormented by time,
Forbidden from our howling hands t
Leaving Love LostWhy did you have to leave me?
Before omens of such an opinionated wind,
Leave the whitest drops of snow bleeding.
If only the stained scarlet make you see,
How much your lies of love left me blind.

Why did you have to leave me?
Even signs of just a sanctified breeze,
Clear the blackest spits of rain healing.
But would that virtuous void make me freeze,
When your facade of futility bids me wheeze.

Why did you have to leave me?
Though labels of only a liberalised air,
Break the lightest falls of hail clearing.
Yet now those fateful flames makes us free,
While your aura of attention departs my care.
White LightStars shatter into dust and echoes of light,
And for a second: everything in that ether is quiet.
I wish I was there to witness such a splendid sight,
Where once only the blackest of dark voids resided,
Wakes a cacophony of clarity from it's internal riot.

space shivers from ice and flares of light,
And for a second: everywhere in that emptiness is still.
I hope one day that I could touch it with daring delight,
While only to have my eyes of raw ignorance blinded,
Partakes a symphony of sobriety from it's external will.
Souls Of SilenceSilence echoes in that shade I call a soul,
Festering on a feast of sin with lips so foul.
Tears drop as snowflakes spiral and sparkle all around,
While lightning licks the canvas of the celestial,
And thunder roars against that tide of sound.

Serene corruption of my spirit I know as sanity,
Choking on a madness of belief in eyes of calamity.
Voices die as winds bellow and blast the skies,
While mists shroud the dais of the divine,
And air breathes out their forgotten mortal cries.
Black-HeartOh look at her with ivory eyes,
Striking the velvet veil of starless skies.
Is she a draconian demon ready to bring ruin,
Upon those that ripped her life apart,
With every pulsating beat of her black-heart?

Oh look at her with crimson claws,
Maiming the satin skin of monstrous maws.
Is she a bedlam beast desiring to grant devastation,
Upon those who mocked her for a start,
With all the wild begging of her black-heart?

Oh look at her with ebony breath,
Purging the flaxen flesh of devilish death.
Is she a cruel creature who wields her earthly wrath
Upon all who took to hurt with such art,
With the aching echoes of her black-heart?
Dear Mr. RealityDear Mr. Reality,
What have you done to me?
I am alone and everyone has died,
Was it more than words of weary woe,
Or silence that made them leave?

Dear Mr. Reality,
Where are you right now?
I am scared and everything has gone,
Was it only little things in turbulent times,
Or a catastrophe I did not know?

Dear Mr. Reality,
Why couldn't you just be dead?
I am upset and everywhere has vanished,
Was it just me screwing up social salutations,
Or mere fantasy of realism instead?

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December 23, 2012
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:iconnemox7:
Another written off top of my head. Basically about someone with too much pride going through a harsh time and won't accept anyone else's pity or sympathy.
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:icona7xfan666:
Mood: Wow! *A7XFan666 May 13, 2013
Wonderfully written <3
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:iconshadowsmokeandfire:
~shadowsmokeandfire Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Awkward man. I think this is the second time I'm critiquing one of your works.
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:iconnemox7:
~NemoX7 Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Why awkward? Btw, thanks for pointing an error in your critique, which I quickly fixed. It was merely a human error.
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:iconshadowsmokeandfire:
~shadowsmokeandfire Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
No problem. And I just said awkward, because I was halfway through the critique before I was like "Wait...I recognize the writing style"
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:iconnemox7:
~NemoX7 Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Ah, yeah I've got my own distinct style of writing. I was terrible at structure at school, so when I started writing poetry a year ago I ended up coming up with the style I'm writing in now. Sometimes I tweak it here and there, but mainly I don't follow anyone else's influence. Everything I write is based on trial and error, so one day I'll write something I think is brilliant, then I'll write something in which I have doubt. All in all I just find writing gives my mind exercise and it's enjoyable too.
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:iconshadowsmokeandfire:
~shadowsmokeandfire Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Nice. Me, I don't really have a style. It tends to change based on the piece. But yours is very interesting to read, and I'll hopefully be able to see more from you!
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:iconnemox7:
~NemoX7 Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I write and I write. Already submitted about 750 odd poems here, 6 chapters of an intended book, and a few lyrics. There's also scraps of unfinished poetry on my phone, which I need to get back too and finish off. People call it my style, but basically I've never noticed till recently. I kind of just write out most of my stuff at random. I get say an idea, maybe a word or an image, in my mind and I come up with a poem. I always feel if I can read what I wrote back to myself and I enjoy it, then it's good enough to be submitted. Most of the time I rarely get any form of complaint about my style.
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:iconshadowsmokeandfire:
~shadowsmokeandfire Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Nice, and WOW. That is a lot of writing. How do you have so much time to write?!
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:iconnemox7:
~NemoX7 Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I find the time somehow. When I started off I'd write maybe 10 or 15 a day. Trying to get back up to that stage, but my mind's slowing down. Still I usually need a quiet day where I can spend time just listening to music, which I find always stirs up my imagination. Taken me a year and half to get so many poems. And all of them are of my own creation. Each one, even the ones that many have not bothered to read, are written solely by me without any help from a dictionary. And the matter that I'm constantly thinking 24/7. Writing poetry was a sort of remedy to a dark period I was going through and still am in a sense.
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