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it hurt being beaten, but i roared to life, calling you a coward a fool and a cunt!
my blood burned as it ran down my face. the paid coppers questioning fault, but pointing at the boy.
"i'll show them, in spades," i spit with hate.
i made my run soon after, my drama pulled at me to make a scene that would crash upon the tabloids, but doom pulled me in close to the fire. the coppers seeing only me that fault released me to your care.
"focus on the steps," boils doom
the beating was wild, yet merely focusing me. my blood flowing but my hate grew in its wake. as time creeped and the protectors failed. i woke in my cell toiling at witching hours, preparing.
doom whispering sweet nothings in my ear, "focus boy"
as hate grew, lines intersected and it was executed with the focus of night terrors.
face of death formed in black, painted with a horrific toothy smile focusing me. the sound moaned and cried chopping with glee as i swung the bat upon legs and hips like celery.
"in spades" i spit, laughing with doom.
as i walked away free, sheading armor and weapons upon the drowned lady, cold rain washed me of the hate and doom. as the coward coppers began to beat me they saw meat raw and red cloaked in naked black.
"focus boys no pity for me now" i boil
Justin
My brother's ghost watches over us, aware of the death we all fear. We witnessed towering fires fueled by hate, the broken bodies of men—some dead, others grieving—and faced death with a smile. We fought as brothers, not for glory or anger, but as lost boys seeking meaning in this life. I count on him still, to remind me of the tasks ahead; his ghostly presence grips my grief.
He succumbed to a silent death in his sleep, only hours after we talked about a vacation. He led an adventurous life, surrounded by loved ones and making friends wherever he went. His absence leaves a void, but his legacy of joy, exploration, and connection will always be with us.
Scarred
Scarred from head to toe like a tree marked by knives, Fires, or stones.
Yet a birthmark I have not known.
Did my former selves live a life of sedentary means, lost deep in twisting dark forests of time?
Did they hold to the peace that we all seek or live a life so short they could not
speak?
Forgo this query that I seek: I started mine with impending fear at
best.
When granted freedom, I progressed into a ravenous reckless
abandonment, tempting death’s hand, and its sweet release.
I see it as I was merely an afterthought new in soul, a replacement tool
unblemished and bold.
Sad
I couldn't stop; danger was near. Saddened fierce eyes watched as I came near, knowing the thud would hurt more later. An ugly enraged cry, some contraband liquor, and a trip to hell in the evening. A ghost forever follows with her eyes as sad as mine.
Ernie Vegas. its probably not a good fit, Disabled American Veteran haunted by my mind, I write what comes, 9 times out of 10 they are bad. I'm just putting the words out there if it fits cool thanks for reading. I write under a Pen name.
This poem comes from an ambush were a life is taken to save others, a life that shouldn't have been that close to war.
Untitled panic
It hit in a flash, tearing at my heart and brain, Slowly pulling me down to the ground, racing breath, heart, and mind. Sweet sweat bubbling from within, hot then cold. Is this it? Have I fallen? Panic fills the void of noiseless calm as my brain fills with an unknown fear of a threat—me or something else. Weeping, caged to a quiet room, lost to the nothing...someone save me.
Be
Be a life well spent, a healer of weak, no death, no danger.
Definitely nothing sweet.
This fearfully gives way to
A life misspent, a protector of the weak, the death, the danger.
Definitely everthing sweet.
This Slowly gives way to
A life feared misspent, a pamper of the weak, sleeply in death, cautionary in danger.
Definitely miss the sweets.
IED
Each ragged deep breathe forces sweat out like falling rain, everything hurts, raw to the touch, blood hardness like mud across your clothing, Your eyes burn with hate and sand but forward your feet shuffle,tired, you curse your grit
it is here life takes on a new meaning
It's the end of the old you, fun loving, whole
Where is your rifle, well fuck
Back to the firey hulk