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The Lost GenerationIs this existence of time worth my life?
To struggle through each day's heartache,
With all this stress and strife?
Nobody can answer this fundamental question,
How can we save the lost generation?
Is there meaning of conscious left for me?
To hurtle through every night's sickness,
Without any faith to be free?
Nobody will deny this radical emotion,
Where can we find the lost generation?
Is that suffocation of will ready to die?
To tussle through early morning's hunger,
Without the courage to cry?
Nobody shall crave this political flirtation,
Why can't we rescue the lost generation?
Never SurrenderIt's all unjust. It's all unfair,
Why does anyone give a care?
Whether life is cruel or kind,
I reserve the right to laugh than die,
But I'll never surrender to these tears I cry.
It's all untrue. It's all unbearable,
Why are these thoughts in me so horrible?
Whether death is clairvoyant or blind,
I deserve the dignity to question my time,
But I'll never surrender to these words I rhyme.
The SirenShe's a siren of the airwaves,
And I love it when she misbehaves.
Burning air I lust after her elegance,
Breathing in all her melodies lasciviously,
Pursuing her blindly over currents of crimson chance.
But every single time she cries my name,
I don't know if to her it's all just a game.
Weeping tears only for me,
Wailing along the air seductively,
Drowning me softly in glades with gruesome glee.
She's a siren turning me into ash,
Yet her love like tempestuous waves crash.
Sitting down next to me,
Singing down my ear promiscuously,
Killing me gently upon shores of sombre seas.
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?
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 suffers defeat,
Where societies tremble and lost leaders meet,
Then universal disaster will be our's generation's treat.
Spirits will turn to shade and souls will burn to sleet,
Demons will growl. Angels will cry. Men will scream.
To believe in an internal lease beyond war's sight,
No more to fear opposing voices that murder might,
Never to extinguish minds in
The JokerUnchained by the umbilical cord of cordial chaos,
Comes a man dressed like a clown,
Who deals in mysterious methods of madness.
He revels in the reverberations of buildings blown,
Explosions shatter glass around his gleeful grin.
Loosened by the leash of impatient insanity,
Comes a man acting like a lunatic,
Who favours only acerbic actions of anarchy.
He partakes in the pandemonium of a terrible trick,
Flames devour breath around his sordid sin.
Released by the rope of murderous mania,
Comes a man talking like a joker,
Who speaks of wry words of wickedness.
He disguises in the dementia of a boisterous broker,
Death strikes air around his corrupt chin.
Ready To IgniteMy chest feels like a furnace,
And my lungs are on fire.
Death is my mind's only desire;
But I will carry on with bitter grace,
Knowing my ashes may leave no trace.
My chest feels like a grenade,
And my heart is about to explode.
Shall I continue down this road?
But now I stop because I am afraid,
That the life I lead may never be saved.
My chest feels like an anvil,
And my ribs feel like lead.
In my palms is black blood that bled,
But I am scared so much my stare is still,
With bleak eyes I accept misery for good or ill.
Caffeine AddictI adore that addictive aromatic aroma,
Which wakes my senses in a senseless morning,
When my eyes are bound in an eternity of sleeping.
I drink it like the intoxicating ambrosia of angels,
And then I spend the rest of time in a caffeine coma.
I enjoy that enriching essential essence,
Which calms my anger in an anarchic day,
When my mind is lost in a mania of delay.
I thirst for it's poisonous nectar like some necrophiliac,
And then I dream the rest of time in a caffeine conscience.
I love that potently positive poison,
Which lights my mood in a mournful night,
When my soul is dead in a suffering of might.
I desire that drink as black as demon's blood,
And then I waste the rest of time in a caffeine cuisine.
Danger RoadI'm a lonely wanderer,
Strolling down the danger road.
I fear this forlorn heart of mine,
Is like a ticking bomb about to explode,
And then I fall before that setting horizon.
I'm a destitute traveller,
Dying on the side of danger road.
I know this insanity mind I abide,
Is like a supernova giant that will implode,
But I forget about the pain inside.
I'm a dreaming lover,
Sleeping on the danger road.
I hear those raging wheels drawing fast,
To whisk me away to my new abode:
Days I knew could never last
The ThingI lay still in my bed,
Mr. Ted by my side,
And listen hard for the thing
That crawls around outside.
He'll start with the scratching,
It's always the same,
His claws carving the face
Of the wooden door frame.
Then he'll move onto the blood
Seeping beneath my door,
Dripping from the walls,
Covering the floor.
The wardrobe will squeak,
Those green eyes appear,
Voices will whisper
Dark words in my ear.
Their dead hands will tug
At the edge of my sheets
And insects will crawl
All over my feet.
I lay and wait
For their games to begin.
But tonight will be different,
I whisper with a grin,
Tonight I will show
Those monsters a scare.
They can come back again,
IF they dare.
It's Your Sick WorldYou're bold, you're stupid, the blame game is your friend.
Pointing fingers, shouting names,
none of them your own.
Swollen bellies, teenage bodies, where's the father,
why the bother?
Drugs replacing, mind is racing, colours facing, love escaping.
Designer brands determine friendships,
the popular ruining it all.
See the girl in the chair, dead in the centre,
judged, broken, offended, broken.
What do you do?
Judge, break, offend, BREAK!
Tear down the creative,
shatter the artistic.
This is your life,
walking a fake line.
Cherish it, or don't.
It's your sick world.
Tick TockTick tock, the time goes by.
I lay so still and wonder why.
Thoughts racing through my head.
Almost think I'd rather be dead,
Then go through these pointless motions.
Am I depressed or devoid of emotion?
With no happiness, I only feel pain.
Faking this smile is just a drain.
I don't know how much til I crack.
Almost wish for an anxiety attack.
What comes next? More of the same?
A suicide shouldn't be my aim.
When all seems lost, what do you do?
Getting some sleep would be something new.
Sonnet XIDear Death, thou art shunned, yet I welcome thee,
I fear not thy shade nor thy trailing shroud,
Whilst mankind greets thee with a teary plea
I shall embrace thee like a monsoon cloud.
Why men fear thy presence I cannot say,
Nor discern why in thy company, weep,
For life bears us all: love, woe, ceaseless sway,
But death, kind death, cares for every man's sleep.
My love for thee exceeds mortality,
And as seasons sweeten the sweetest wine,
Lend my fruitful years to vitality
And I shall remain eternally thine.
Ring my vows from my grave O timeless wife
We eloped at birth for the afterlife.
Never Be With MeThe answer's no. I don't want you.
It doesn't matter what you do.
You can plead and you can beg,
Drop down and grab my leg.
See, we don't connect at all.
Feel like I'm talking to a wall.
This doesn't have to be the end.
I would love to make a friend.
You acted like that was fine.
But you just had to be mine.
Now you hurl your insult.
Act like this is my fault.
What's so bad with this fate?
We only went on a single date.
Why can't you just see,
You will never be with me.
Almighty GraceAlmighty Grace:
This poem will rest the case
For any whom deem to embrace
A life full of questions
Handed over suggestions
Though even being wise
Please do think twice
It may save what is last
From whatever longed past
I stand before you now
Raising one brow
Asking you once
So don't be dunce
However you chose to live
Know that I forgive
For the look on your face
Shows there is space
For my Almighty Grace
LonelinessI sit here and think of you.
Sometimes it seems that's all I do.
Loneliness is all that I feel.
It almost seems like you're not real.
To hold you close would be bliss.
To feel your warmth, your touch, your kiss.
It drives me crazy that you're not here,
And won't be for a whole year.
Being with you is all that I see,
But until then, loneliness will engulf me.
The day we are born.
What is expected from us?
From day to day
Our plan is a play.
Each being different
Though what is the difference?
Live your life free
Like a door to your dreams
As smooth as a flowing stream
Know however you live
I am here with you
One nation to the next
We are Generation
Sick MachineIf you could cut deep into my bearable blood,
Would you see it as a circuitry of veins,
Madly manifesting itself across blackened bones?
But I won't forget when it rains all the pain,
Salivating from scarlet sides of that knife of wood.
If you could slash hard into my subtle skin,
Would you know it to be a mimicry of silicon,
Insanely invigorating itself over mildewed muscles?
But I won't forget when it snows all the blows,
Impacting from emerald edges of that dagger of sin.
If you could claw slowly into my pitiable plastic,
Would you find it more than a secrecy of nerves,
Wildly wasting itself under obliterated organs?
But I won't forget when it hails all the flails,
Singing from crimson curves of those talons of static.
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More