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I'm not really a poet in any sense of the word, except maybe when accompanied by 'bad.' Nonetheless I've attempted to scribble down something passable in order to get a bit of frustration out of my system. It hasn't worked. I still want to murder most of the people at my school...

"So tell us, please," the psychiatrist said,

"Why you willed your schoolmates dead."

"What was it made you go that day,

and try to blow them all away?

"It doesn't matter what I say,"

the boy replied, "'cos anyway,

you'll lock me up no matter what

I say to you, I'll sit and rot."

"Not true." The older man protested,

"It says you were calm when arrested.

I'd like to know just what that means,

it's not as clear-cut as it seems."

"The matter here is far from plain."

The man went on, "What did you gain,

by slaughtering those innocents?

Perhaps it was for amusements?"

"Innocents?!" The boy leapt up,

"Innocents you say? 'To f*ck!

They made my life a misery!

It's them that you should blame, not me!"

"For thirteen years," The boy went on,

"Thirteen years, to be was frowned upon.

Thirteen years they ground me down,

thirteen years, in my hometown."

"More than a decade, thirteen years,

they acted out my private fears,

they turned me into a recluse,

desperation; then drug abuse."

"You think I'm the one who's come off best?"

"The boy went on, "You think I'll rest?

The kid that is now in constraints,

compared to those he killed, the saints?"

"The pain I've suffered for so long,"

The boy continued, "It was wrong.

I was right, I killed them quick.

To draw it out would have been sick."

"Sick the way they treated me."

He reasoned, "for because, you see,

I was mercifully fast.

They drew it out, they made it last."

"But if you were seeking retribution,"

The Psychiatrist asked, "Was death the solution?"

"If you wanted the tables turned,

why not return the pain they earned?"

"I'm better than they'd ever be."

The boy replied, "I know that, see,

I didn't return the pain they dealt,

I was merciful, I felt."

"You see yourself as justified?"

The bearded man asked, both eyes wide,

"More than that," the boy replied,

"I suffered for years, they just died."

"You seriously think they came off better?"

Said the psychiatrist with a hole in his sweater.

"Ever since those idiots died."

The boy returned with a trace of pride.

"I've got nothing. I'm still living.

What a life! So unforgiving...

They had everything I had not,

And they'll never feel the pain I got."

"Isn't that a thing divine?

They'll never feel the pain of mine.

Yes, I've justified my action,

and achieved a measure of satisfaction."

As you can see, it's pretty crap (I used to be better...). Maybe I'll throw together something else later... Maybe something in a less limerick-like form dealing with the rest of the trial... Maybe the incident itself. It's like mapping out the rest of my life...

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What, the copper chloride and carbonate? Of course I'm going to burn that. Pretty coloured flame... That probably wouldn't do anything even if I did inhale it.

I have much better things to do with my time, resources and money than take drugs. I have much better things to do...

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Really shitty but hey, I wrote it with no intent on an actual poem nor any real motivation.

My blood hits splatters amongst the tile

This is less honorable than dieing in battle?

Instead of them I pulled it

The bullet

My angel

My savior

Memories flash

They slip, crashed against a wall

Collided with reality

And my need to be

- something more

Than one number amongst a horde

The choir of life ceases to sing

For it has ignored my existence

Like all the rest

Even in attempts of my best

I fell short, attached to a cord

- a leash, a dawn

My body hit the floor


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short one I made in english;


Soldier! Soldier! Where will you be?

To the battlefield, for my Empire

where honor is gained, but solitude is not

and many foul be that must be fought

Soldier! Soldier! Where have you been?

On the battlefield sir, next to my fallen kin

where swords kiss and arrows fall

with no one to heed the dying calls

Soldier! Soldier! To whom have you died?

My Empire where many are joyous

where forests and fields stretch on

and people are gratful

for my death, for though it is just one

allows them to live peaceful

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  • 2 weeks later...

Diverging Mechanics

The cars worm down streets

In estuaries of light.

Here a striplight animal,

Neon in disgruntlement,

Steps out with grunting orchestras

To dazzles myths

That fly around amazed as ever

At their stupid names.

"An armadillo is an ugly thing,"

Said the taxi's cutline

To a passing raven spinner

Who was pirouetting on the roof.

Traffic-lights wink and strut their stuff,

Enticing trade from needy machines

Who lustfully rev and hoot

With wolf-whistle blurts and oily squirts.

The old sea-dog,

A nefarious chap,

Once eighty to the gallon

On a pushed down pipe,

Now resides in seedy tavern sides,

Drinking engine cordials

And single atmospheres.

The innards of a singed cornetto

Seashell rotate a million impossible

Degrees as it shifts a gear

To charcoal stares and burns rubber

Skidmarks on double-decker roads.

Architectures strain as throbbing



Broken dreams and

Small appendages.

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really rough

Alone he sits atop his throne

Axe and helm aside

he sits there in grief

hearing their death cries

Reminiscing battles of old

Battles he would astride

How he relished the blood he spilt

The honor he had gain

How his once glorious banner flew

Now it sits with bane

For he has shed too much blood

His honor now a stain

His once lush laurel

Now rots to his side

The broken men before him

Their cries he wouldn't abide

Kill them all we would

Killed them all he did

Now he sits atop his throne

Axe and helm aside

He sits there in pain

Feeling each wound he applied

Reminiscing battles of old

Slaughters he now decries

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  • 3 weeks later...

Ok you all write really good,and inspirationally too.I post one of my own here done back in the mid 90`s,it took me bout 5 min to do.It was during one of my brain storming moments.It is written as text to music.

                              MOVING CHANGES  manna dessi

      Yesterday happen one of the tough stuff that does from time to time

          Problems do occur but is difficult to handle

          It turn out to be the way we comes around them

            Which is the answer to the question of what we should do

                Year after year we do the same old things


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