[x]

Homosexuality BitesThey found me slumped over in the school showers
With a towel loosely wrapped around my waist
Scalding hot water was blistering my skin
As I bled from an unspeakable place

A hard-handed teacher dragged me to my feet
With little or no sign of sympathy
For the bruising to my feeble framed ribcage
And the fractures to my identity

I think they all thought that I had it coming
As no one was willing to testify
That the sodomy inflicted upon me
Was something to which I hadn’t complied

Boisterous boys laughing in the corridors
As I shamefully limped throughout the day
Not a thought for the pain that was inflicted
Just worried for what my pa

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate

*Mask*Tonight hearts will beat
Identities are concealed
When we masquerade.

Familiar voices
Behind flamboyant disguise
Recognize those eyes.

2013 Delice1941
13th April2013

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

AveryHis veins are filled with music and with stars.
His thoughts are filled with emptiness and flow.
His voice is made of dusty old guitars.
His mind’s a rusty cog that clanks below.
And these affects and gifts with which he’s blessed –
Or cursed, as alternately it may be –
Are some well-known and some yet unaddressed,
And they determine all that he must see.
But when his veins must open up and burst
And when his thoughts in dark directions fly,
When all his voice can do is preach the worst,
When all his mind can think to do is die –
It gives him pause to check himself and breathe.
May he stay in this world and never

All AloneI'm sitting in my four walled room
Their closing in, like an ancient tomb
I feel like I'm wasting time for two
When all I want is me and you

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

You never chose the middle pathYou never chose the middle path, the place
of careful, safe and unremarkable,
the sky at 10 am, the camp at base,
the decaf paper cup unbreakable.

You had to go with high and low and real,
with rich and fast and things more notable:
the sky at midnight, Himalayan-feel,
the oxygen and you, unstoppable.

But then your weight became too much for skies.
Your melamine became a china cup.
And those who cried moved on to lesser highs.
They look ahead, or down, but never up.

You never chose the middle path, you raced.
I’m looking up, and pray that speed is graced.

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.

SomedaySomeday all this work
That I have nearly mastered for years
Will be recognized and will lurk
Between the pieces that my talent fears.

Someday I will look upon a shelf
And see the story of my child,
A character that is true to thyself,
And their plot can then be finally compiled

Someday I will have a fan base
That will love me even through my faults
And have a beaming smile upon their face
Mostly during the greatest results.

Someday I will be an author,
One with a great metaphor.

'The Thing''The Thing'
The thing that's so strong
no one can get rid of it.
The thing that takes millions
especially the innocent.
What rages on,
poisoning anyone that gets a hold of it.
What is this thing?
I can't even say
the name of the object
that takes loved ones away.
It lures beautiful people in,
and tears them apart.
So after that,
they will wish they had never start.
The Thing's only purpose
is to attack.
Whether it goes to innocent or evil,
it will never go back.
So heed my words
and stay away from 'The Thing'
because once it takes your soul,
you won't be here,
so your story will never be told.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 273 bytes more ▶

More from ~Aichobitz

ValhallaIgnorant of that celestial voyage,
That would succeed the carnage,

The path of valkyries we pursued,
In the name of 'einherjar' valued,

Risen again amongst the chosen,
From death, in Asgard to be driven,

No, not in Freyja's meadowy field,
But where swords we'd again wield,

Why, fighters were we, so shall we remain,
For Odin awaits, uniting the slain,

In Valhalla, the hall of armament,
Where prevails the want for vanquishment,

There rules for all a sole principle,
To survive Ragnarök and its battle,

Blessing of golden Glasir we seek,
For strength when we're weak,

Of the lone fighters such is the fate,
Behind the doors of

WordsWords are my prime weapon,
Even without rhyme or reason,
The drug I can rely upon,

They are my peer and foe,
In times of cheer and woe,
Following like my shadow,

In poetry or prose,
With artistry I compose,
Words to disclose,

Often to denunciate,
Even to advocate,
Then to denigrate,

Mud or clay,
Bud or decay,
Words are my play,

Words behave as armor,
They save the honor,
Of their author,

Of my lust they know,
Upon them trust I bestow,
My secrets they don't blow,

They cease my tears,
Appease my fears,
Those words with ears,

An obsession perchance,
An addiction and reliance,
With words, a romance?

BetrayalI had seen you somewhere,
Somewhere, I no longer care,

For only you caught my eyes,
Never knew your ways were lies,

Mesmeric you had been,
But your truth was unseen,

In my heart was love for you,
Did you feel the same way too?

Upon me aloof was your gaze,
'Cause you knew you set my heart ablaze,

Style of yours you used as a tool,
Of my feelings to make a fool,

Only one of your victims,
Were I, lived up to your whims,

Had I knew about your maneuver,
I'd not have cheered you with silver,

But too late it was indeed,
When I learnt your greed,

At that very time,
You left with your crime,

And my faith was down the drain,
Of my

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: January 2, 2012
File Size: 273 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 2
Favourites: 1 [who?]
Views: 25 (0 today)
Downloads: 0 (0 today)

[x]

Words

by ~Aichobitz, Jan 2, 2012, 11:40:07 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Sweet nemesis, ink off my pen,
Off my shoulders carry the burden,
Whether significance or incongruity,
All I crave for is some prolixity.

It ends, LOL!

Wordsby ~Aichobitz

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

I was able to write it after a long time of reflection, but I couldn't gather more ideas (nor was I inspired) enough to transcribe into words. However, I'll keep on truckin' with it.

~Aichobitz Jan 4, 2012 Student Writer

Thanks!

~suicidalwhentired Jan 2, 2012

It's so true I like it!
Nothing makes me feel lighter than inking out a few pages..
Good luck on the writing I hope you find inspiration!

More from ~Aichobitz

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Words

Wordsby ~Aichobitz

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style