I Lay Here
I lay here dying
Because of him
He killed me
For I’m dead inside
He shot that bullet
Straight through my chest
It would of been best
If it killed me
This pain that he caused me
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Collection of Leisure Poems
I lay here dying
Because of him
He killed me
For I’m dead inside
He shot that bullet
Straight through my chest
It would of been best
If it killed me
This pain that he caused me
Read more of this article »
To be or not to be is the key,
Put it in the lock,
To unlock,
The whole block,
People running everywhere,
Watching a hellhole,
Guards stare,
The Prisioners are escaping,
What should they do,
They have no clue.
By Tyler
One, two, three and four
Cut again, make it sore
One, two, three and four
Bleed until it hits the floor
One, two, three and four
Broken, hurting, please no more
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He is gone now
Out of my life
He stole my heart
By cutting it out of
My chest and leaving
It on the ground he
Kissed my body
But when he was done
He stood up and walked
Away from my dead body
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The Sun is gone now
And The flowers rot away
Along with the time
That I gave to us
And to our relationship
That didn’t last very long
And yet I still tried
To take back the bad things
That I said and did
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Set them loose.
Let them do whatever in the hell they want.
Untamed but regal, they roam the earth, rendering havoc in their wake.
Graceful yet destructive.
Deadly and cunning.
They search the ground for the weak-hearted, foolish, and unaware.
A young girl, quietly licking a lollipop.
Humming a sweet tune.
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I live, I’m home today.
I hurt, It’s in dismay.
The world spins, As I fall.
The ocean waves crash, As I dash.
I’m not perfect, neither are you.
So stop pretending, Yes I know too.
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Why is life not so nice?
The answer relies on Jesus Christ,
Its all just a test to see who is the best
With all the stress compact into your chest.
If good an bad mix its gonna react
And thats just a well known fact
The bad are gonna get smacked
And the good are gonna get to relax in there own hood.
By Anthony Batty (Bluey)
Noises in the Jone’s House
Creak Creak on the floor someones knocking at the door,
Drip Drip comes down the rain on the seat and on the pane,
Squeak Squeak you hear a mouse these are the noises in the Jone’s house.
By Dakota
I wrote you a poem on my wrist with a blade,
Thinking the marks would eventually fade
But I realized I’d cut it too deep,
I watched my crimson shame spill to the floor
And pretty soon I could see no more.
The angels sang a cutters lullaby,
And I reached out to the sky
To be denied by heaven..
At least I died thinking of you
By Katy Sykes