The Dead Heart
After I wrote this, a friend scrawled on this page, “Yes.”
And I said, merely to myself, “I wish it could be for a
different seizure—as with Molly Bloom and her ‘and
yes I said yes I will Yes.'
It is not a turtle
hiding in its little green shell.
It is not a stone
to pick up and put under your black wing.
It is not a subway car that is obsolete.
It is not a lump of coal that you could light.
It is a dead heart.
It is inside of me.
It is a stranger
yet once it was agreeable,
opening and closing like a clam.
What it has cost me you can’t imagine,
shrinks, priests, lovers, children, husbands,
friends and all the lot.
An expensive thing it was to keep going.
It gave back too.
Don’t deny it!
I half wonder if April would bring it back to life?
A tulip? The first bud?
But those are just musings on my part,
the pity one has when one looks at a cadaver.
How did it die?
I called it EVIL.
I said to it, your poems stink like vomit.
I didn’t stay to hear the last sentence.
It died on the word EVIL.
It did it with my tongue.
The tongue, the Chinese say,
is like a sharp knife:
it kills
without drawing blood.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Related quotes
The tongue like a sharp knife...Kills without drawing blood.
The tongue like a sharp knife... Kills without drawing blood.
Pity Not Evil!
Tears of blood reflects the pain in my eyes
Watching devils lurking and dancing in human disguise
Satan's sharp tongue hisses with a melodically eloquent rhythm
Humanity left in an innocent child-like trance and no one to defend them
Before it is seized!
Indeed Evil is very cunning!
Mankind snatched from all sides,
Wrapped around and squeezed by the satanic tongue
It's devilish grip ever-so tight
Pity not Evil!
For there is no mercy from Evil ever in sight!
poem by Mohammod Choudhury
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Heart Turns To Stone
The days and nights you sit around wondering where can
She be
Hoping that she might appear, out of nowhere
But you fail to see
All the hurt inside, the wounded pride
Ooh what she went through for you
You cheated and lied, as her love slowly died
And her heart just broke in two
When she was with you, all along
Behind you right or wrong
She tried to hold on, hold on
But you went too far, and shes gone
And now its over and her heart turns to stone
No time for pity, when her heart turns to stone
She cries a little as her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell do fine on her own
What you thought was a game
A game you were winning
Wouldnt go your way
Now youve lost what you had
And your back to the beginning
Its the price you have to pay
When she was with you, all along
Behind you right or wrong
She tried to hold on, hold on
But you went too far, and shes gone
And now its over and her heart turns to stone
No time for pity, when her heart turns to stone
She cries a little as her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell get by on her own
She hides the pain
But her heart turns to stone
No time for pity
When her heart turns to stone
She cries sometimes
As her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell get by on her own
Yeah its over
And her heart turns to stone
Dont look for pity now
When her heart turns to stone
Listen to her cry
Listen to her cry
Shes a woman now
Ooh its a sad thing to see
To see a heart turn to stone
The heart of a woman
A heart turned to stone
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That's Life
That's life (That's life)
That's what all the people say.
You're riding' high in April,
Shot down in May.
But I know I'm gonna change that tune,
When I'm back on top, back on top in june.
I said that's life (That's life)
And as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks,
Stompin' on a dream
But I don't let it, let it get me down,
'Cause this fine ol' word it keeps spinnin' round.
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn and a king.
I've been up and down and over and out
And I know one thing:
Each time I find myself flat on my face,
I pick myself up and get back in the race.
That's life (That's life)
And I can't deny it,
I thought of quittin', baby
But my heart just ain't gonna buy it.
And if I didn't think it was worth one single try
I'd jump right on a big bird, and then i'd fly
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn and a king.
I've been up and down and over and out
And I know one thing:
Each time I find myself flat on my face,
I pick myself up and get back in the race.
That's life (That's life)
That's life and i can't deny it
Many times I've thought of cuttin' out
But my heart just won't buy it
And if there's nothin' shakin' come this here July
I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball
And die
My my!
song performed by by Westlife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My friend who is no longer here
My friend who is no longer here
Death by change my friend
Who is no longer here
My friend you change for good not for bad
You quit drinking and smoking
What began the ticking to you grave
1/01/09 my friend who is no longer alive
I’m hoping you where in god’s hands
When you disappeared
That day you change my friend's
When I wish you didn’t
You did it for your job and family and friends
You died being sobsober
Sad with the pain in your chest
I can’t see or hear you any more my friend
It kills me when I say
It kills me when I think your name
It kills me when I remember that day
When you vanish in thin air
The past is just a past my friend who is no longer here
I’ll stay to say my good byes
for soon I lye next to you
For soon I pray I’ll see and hear you once again
This is about my friend who died 1-01-09 at 1: 37pm
P.S. please don’t comment or vote this thank you
poem by nic Leisure
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Two Old Friends
Preacher went up to the Golden Gate,
And met God there,
With the glow of love in his flowing hair.
I'm dreamin' of a time when love and music,
Is everywhere.
Can you see that time comin'?
No my son that time has gone,
There's things to do.
The world has changed since I first met you.
Back when The Band played Rock of Ages,
In their prime,
And the old juke joint was rockin'...
Oh Lord there's so much hate,
In a world where we're from another place.
Show me how to be like you.
See no evil, hear no evil,
Feel no evil in my heart.
In my heart, in my aching heart.
In my heart, in my heart,
In my old black heart.
In my heart, in my heart,
In my beating heart.
Sky had turned a lotta shades of gray,
As they walked on,
And a gentle rain fell down on them.
They found faith in the way things are and,
The way things change,
And they said goodbye like two old friends.
Take me up to the mountains high,
Or a building top where the spirits fly.
Show me how to be like you.
See no evil, feel no evil,
Fear no evil in my heart.
In my heart, in my aching heart.
In my heart, in my heart,
In my old black heart.
In my heart, in my heart,
In my beating heart.
Oh Lord there's so much hate,
In a world where we're from another place.
Show me how to live like you.
See no evil, hear no evil,
Feel no evil in my heart.
In my heart, in my aching heart.
In my heart, in my heart,
In my old black heart.
In my heart, in my heart,
In my beating heart.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Racism Kills
Racist people,
Are the saddest these days.
Racist people,
And their ways...
Are fading away.
Hatred kills!
Chills.
And often excused,
As heroism.
Hatred kills!
And for thrills,
Often is defended...
As a pride.
No matter if it hangs...
Or drags alongside,
Insecurites denied.
Hiding the fact...
Their is jealousy behind,
Evil and often...
Masquerading eyes.
Black, white...
Brown or yellow folks,
Provoking attacks.
On others.
Or themselves!
To stab with a vengeance,
Behind a back.
To distort facts!
Racism kills.
And there is no sense in it.
Racism kills.
And the sense that's meant.
Racism kills.
Leaving minds incensed.
Exposing ills...
And evil wills.
Racism kills.
And there is no sense in it.
Racism kills.
And the sense that's meant.
Racism kills.
Leaving minds incensed.
Exposing ills...
And evil wills.
And evil wills to kill will end.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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0009 Favorite Poem
and you can’t remember much
about the first time you read it except
that it held you to the end, but most of all
this one line, which seemed to hold
the key to the whole poem
as if you were opening the closet of your mind
to bring out something which you knew was there
but instead something way at the back
called to you and you remembered
a moment from way back you thought
you had forgotten
and then you read the poem again
in company with the poet and
yes that’s it, and the two of you
became friends for life, almost
related.
So, now you’ve read all their poems,
feel some more than others but
as if you wrote them all in the same room
where you read them together
and you wait for their new book with
a sorta family pride
and like family,
you leave the poems for a spell,
grow up a little, then
come back to visit -
they mean more;
can it be,
you've both grown?
each time you come back to them
you carry them more close to you
in fact you feel that you could write
poems very much like theirs
as if you’d inherited, too,
the family gift
and though you wouldn’t of course
seek them out in person except
in a reading where you’d
have to share their warmth
with the rest of their extended family
but not say much since
you are a, well, close relative,
if you happened to be driving a route
not far from them, you’d detour,
park a little distance from their house,
but have it in your sight,
hope you might catch a movement,
wait a few minutes, then
start the car with almost a sigh
half relieved that you didn’t have to try
on their cautiously polite doorstep
to find words to say
you love them in their words,
which you almost wrote together,
lived them together;
love them like life itself,
love them
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Say Goodbye
So here we are tonight, you and me together
The storm outside, the fire is bright
And in your eyes I see whats on my mind
Youve got me wild, turned around inside
And then desire, see, is creeping up heavy inside here
And do you feel the same way as I do now
Now lets make this an evening
Lovers for a night, lovers for tonight
Stay here with me, love, tonight
Just for an evening
When we make our passion pictures
You and me twist up as secret creatures
And well stay here
Tommorrow go back to being friends
Go back to being friends, but tonight lets be lovers, we kiss and sweat
Well turn this better thing
To the best
Of all we can offer, just a rogue kiss
Tangled tongues and lips,
See me this way
Im turning and turning for you
Girl, just tonight
Float away here with me
An evening just wait and see
But tommorrow go back to your man
Im back to my world
And were back to being friends
Wait and see me,
Tonight lets do this thing
All we are is waisting hours until the
Sun comes up its all ours
On our way here
Tommorrow go back to being friends
Go back to being friends
Tonight lets be lovers, say you will
And hear me call, soft-spooken
Whispering love
A thing or two I have to say here
Tonight lets go all the way then
Love Ill see you
Just for this evening
Lets strip down, trip out at this
One evening starts with a kiss
Run away
And tommorrow
Back to being friends
Lovers...love...lovers
Just for tonight, one night...love you
And tommorrow say goodbye
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Death-Bed
1918
This is the State above the Law.
The State exists for the State alone."
[This is a gland at the back of the jaw,
And an answering lump by the collar-bone.]
Some die shouting in gas or fire;
Some die silent, by shell and shot.
Some die desperate, caught on the wire -
Some die suddenly. This will not.
"Regis suprema voluntas Lex"
[It will follow the regular course of--throats.]
Some die pinned by the broken decks,
Some die sobbing between the boats.
Some die eloquent, pressed to death
By the sliding trench as their friends can hear
Some die wholly in half a breath.
Some--give trouble for half a year.
"There is neither Evil nor Good in life
Except as the needs of the State ordain."
[Since it is rather too late for the knife,
All we can do is to mask the pain.]
Some die saintly in faith and hope--
One died thus in a prison-yard--
Some die broken by rape or the rope;
Some die easily. This dies hard.
"I will dash to pieces who bar my way.
Woe to the traitor! Woe to the weak! "
[Let him write what he wishes to say.
It tires him out if he tries to speak.]
Some die quietly. Some abound
In loud self-pity. Others spread
Bad morale through the cots around .
This is a type that is better dead.
"The war was forced on me by my foes.
All that I sought was the right to live."
[Don't be afraid of a triple dose;
The pain will neutralize all we give.
Here are the needles. See that he dies
While the effects of the drug endure. . . .
What is the question he asks with his eyes?--
Yes, All-Highest, to God, be sure.]
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The lies
Crawling into my bed, with innocent eyes,
hunting my fantasies, Why? 'I ask myself'
Why? the lies. The barbarous lies, coming
out of your mouth; I pity myself, but even
more the depths of your soul.That holds a
deep sharp tongue; the lies have spoken
your hazarding thoughts. Shame will hunt
you down, when the Angel's of heaven
manifest their anguish. The lies I believed
in; will speak back to you. And torment you
like a prison sentence, the angels of heaven
will never entwine, with hell and fire. I am the
heaven you are the fire that burns the pure
and holds the wicked.The lies that come from
the heart of evil. The lies will never conquer the
depths of my thoughts, nor the truth of my soul,
the lies will eat you alive, and keep you from
the bliss and joys, becoming like knives through
your tongue. The lies that grow in your twisted
mind.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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No Rest For The Living Or Dead
It began on a Saturday when I had a heart attack and died,
On the Monday I had an autopsy and they had a look inside.
The following Thursday I was buried and the last rites were read,
and on the Friday I became a member of the living dead.
Someone dug me up and put an abnormal life inside of me,
he told me to be happy now that I’d joined his family.
I asked him why he chose me and he said why not,
I was freshly buried, and he loved a good blood clot.
I was now part of his food chain, so I must get out more at night,
I must encourage chit-chat with conversation romantic and light.
He expected success from his family and huge amounts of blood.
His thirst was enormous and drank whenever he could.
He would take from his family what we had taken from others,
so he could bring back more dead sisters and brothers.
I must admit I don’t like doing this, I never did like nights,
when I collect blood from a victims neck I get uptight.
Tonight I’m going to the park because lovers tend to go there
and so if I’m really lucky I might get a pair.
This is a perfect warm cloudy night, what more could I ask
and there are several lovers lying in the tallest grass.
I’ll begin with the couple making love in the darkest shadows over there,
I’ll snuggle up to the male and sink my teeth into his neck with care.
The girl is screaming, but I’m trying to calm her by holding her tongue,
I’ve now finished with the male. Ah! and with her I won’t be long.
I’ll just drink up two more couples before I return home to be drained,
my master will be waiting for me, so that I can go out again.
He looks so strong and happy now that he has drank my blood,
I asked him if I could have a night off soon, but he didn’t think I could.
As I was leaving, he said my blood tasted kind of tangy and sweet,
and if I could obtain some more like it, it would be a real treat.
But then he began coughing and vomiting, and all the family could see,
he said we were all doomed because of contamination and me.
poem by Orlando Belo
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An Almost Made Up Poem
I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Have Mercy on thy Children, Man!
’Tis only man who kills his own
offsprings while in their mother’s womb;
And turns his human heart to stone,
and sanctity of womb to tomb!
The womb is now a slaughter-house!
The child can’t see the light of day;
The blame doesn’t go to either spouse;
The unborn children have no say!
What evil heart dares bring piecemeal
The little ‘homo sapiens’,
Forgetting it can sense and feel,
And lies in womb without defence!
The life within the womb hasn’t rights;
Parents decide the unborn’s fate;
No one will change the poor child’s plight;
Millions have died this way till date!
What cruel gadgets harm the child,
Dismembering it while alive!
Such things aren’t done by beasts in wild,
Freedom to live, can man deprive?
When man can kill his own like this,
What wrath can fill the heart of God!
Will Nature not deny him bliss,
And give him on earth stern a rod?
Man, have a heart for little ones;
Life is life in the tiniest ant!
If you pile corpses in the tons,
No living God will hear your chant.
All human lives are sacred most;
Man can’t kill babies and then boast;
Such murders will become a ghost,
And haunt him life-time, turning worst!
The God who allows life to start
Cannot forgive the man who kills,
For flimsy reasons without heart by
In ruthless ways and ev’n pills!
Oh, stop these senseless killings, man!
Lest scourge of God fall upon you!
Do good and increase your life-span;
Let evil thoughts not woo you through!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-24-2009
poem by John Celes
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Michael Jackson
I didn't get to say goodbye
I didn't get to tell you that I love you
I didn't even tell you how I feel
You left in a hurry
Without a sound
With no clues
I have to ask why
Why did you have to leave me
Why didn't you tell me how you feel
I don't understand
Why you left
Is it because the God wanted you
But I am selfish I won't share you
Not even with God
You were my hero
My idol
My star
You had my heart
And when you died
You took my heart with you
But that's okay
Because I know I will soon
Be with you
Then I can have my heart back
You are in heaven
Away from all this distruction
But I must ask
Why didn't you take me
Then I could of truly told you everything
You are older than I am
But I still love you
You made mistakes
But so have I
I didn't want us to be together
But I want us to be able to tell each other anything
I wanted us to become Great friends
But now you are gone
Gone to heaven
Is that the best thing
If so for who
You left millions of people
Heartbroken and sad
Gone to heaven
Must be good for you
No distruction
No evil
All good
I didn't say goodbye
And that is killing me
I didn't say all the things I wanted to
That's tearing me apart
I am going to miss you
But as you leave
Another comes
Maybe he wil be like you
But I would have died for you
I am crying my heart and soul out for you
Praying you know that I loved you
You changed millions of poeple's lives
Including myself
You made me believe
I can too feel the music
The beat is within my heart
Closing my eyes
Picturing you here
Is not the same
Of having you here
With all of us
You left behind
Your family
friends
fans
me
Would you have come back to us all
Or would you wait for us
Until our time comes
But now it's time for us to let you go
People will never forget
How you changed everything
We will miss you forever
But now it's time to say goodbye
So goodbye Michael Jackson
poem by Makayla Straight
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The Reckoning
My mother was carried to heaven
On the day that I turned six,
She died of tuberculosis
Spitting blood in a coughing fit,
She'd been so ill for a long long time
That I couldn't recall her smile,
My father, he just grumbled, said:
'Your Ma will be gone for a while.'
'She's gone to sing in a choir up there,
Who knows how long she will be? '
But I saw the coffin that carried her out,
The hearse and the burial tree,
I watched as it sank down into the ground
And my father just left it there,
Went off to visit my 'aunt', he said,
A woman with long, blond hair.
I stayed at home, such a lonely child,
And went to a place in my head,
Where mother was fit and without a care
She laughed at the things I said,
My father left me alone a lot
So mother would tell me, 'Shush! '
We'd laugh and giggle when he went out
But talk in a sort of hush.
I played outside at other times
Where the grass grew long and wild,
I'd catch the skinks as they darted past,
I was always a curious child,
I'd bring the Sleepy Lizards home,
My father didn't mind,
He said I could keep the pets I caught,
I thought he was being kind.
But then one day he came on home
With this 'aunt', who moved right in,
He said they were married now, so I
Should call her 'Mum', not Jen.
I scowled, and went to my room to cry,
My mother was looking sad,
She said, 'just do what your father says,
I'm your Mother, but he's your Dad.'
This Jenny, she was all right at first
She tried to make me smile,
But I was feeling rebellious then,
And turned my back for a while,
I kept my rabbits and guinea pigs
And fed them out in their hutch,
But Jenny came out to look at them,
And she didn't like them much.
I knew, she wrinkled her powdered nose
And said, 'Oh pew! They stink!
We'll have to find you a hobby, one
That's pure and clean, I think.'
I heard her talking to father, say
That she thought I was rather slow,
She wanted the garden tidied up
So my animals had to go.
It was just about that time, I think
That my mother said goodbye,
She couldn't stay in that house, she said,
It was time for her to fly,
She left me alone in a great big world
So I brought a Lizard inside,
And put it under my bedclothes
Thought it a perfect place to hide.
When Jenny made the bed, she screamed
And shook me like a rag,
She went and got a kitchen knife
And a plastic shopping bag,
She made me put the Lizard in
Then she took the bag outside,
And stabbed and stabbed 'til the Lizard bled,
'Til my Lizard friend had died.
'Now bury it! ' she said to me,
'And don't you ever dare
Bring filthy animals into this house,
For if you do, I swear...'
At this she put the knife to my throat
And stood and watched me scream,
I saw the hate in her powdered face
It was like an awful dream!
Whenever my father left the house
She'd always scream and shout,
Knock me around for the slightest thing
Then drag me, throw me out,
Lock the door so I couldn't get in
And give me nothing to eat,
She said if I told my Dad on her
It would only get me beat.
She killed my rabbits, cooked them up
And served them from a pot,
She gave me a crooked, evil grin:
'You'd better eat the lot! '
I found myself in a black, black rage
Inside, at the things she'd done,
And hoped that my father would go on out
And buy himself a gun.
He never knew what she did to me,
I never would dare to say,
I knew that she'd get me on my own
And then there'd be hell to pay,
So I stayed outside in the barren fields
And found me a hessian sack,
Then went for a hunt with a long, forked stick,
It was time to get her back!
I waited until he'd gone away,
Was gone two days or more,
Then bit my tongue as she raved at me,
Spat hate from the kitchen door,
The morning came, and there wasn't a sound
To come from that angry head,
And I will never regret the day
I put a snake in her bed.
10 March 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tess's Typewriter.
That year they gave Tess
her first typewriter. She'd
not need to borrow her
brother's battered old piece
or write down her fragile
poems in her spiderlike
scrawl as her father called it.
The promise came while
she was getting her mind
together in that mental
asylum, after the mucky
love affair that went no
place and left her hanging
there, like one crucified
for all to see and most
to softly mutter and stare.
Get yourself mended girl,
Father said, and we'll buy
you your own typewriter,
so you can stab away on
the keys to your heart's
content and bring out
those poems of yours.
He never read her poems,
never read much apart
from the back page sport
or gawked at page 3 girls
with a tut tutting tongue.
That year she gazed out
of the wide barred window
of the asylum at the snow
on fields, at the seagulls
gathering and feeding behind
the faraway tractor as it
ploughed, at the grey
depressing sky, wondering
what it'd be like to not be,
wondering what the woman
with a cast in her eye, was
doing to herself in the toilets,
one night when she'd gone
in to pee unable to sleep.
The typewriter idea
and promise kind of got her
through the dark hours and
the ECT, and the following day
headaches and numbness.
After slitting her wrists (mildly,
a cry for help) she said on the
phone to her father, Come get
me out of this place, help me
get back together. Ok, he said,
Miss Humpty Dumpty, and he
put down the phone, and she
stood in the hall of the asylum
with the receiver in her hand,
the image of the typewriter
before her eyes, those poems
banging on the inside of her
head, new ones wanting to
get out, old ones left for dead.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Tongue No Longer Used
My thoughts crawl to paper
My heart the pen I hold
My tongue is but a rapier
But my ink my very soul
So I hold back my fowl tongue
And write instead my tears
Without a sound air escapes my lungs
For I have learned from years
Though sharp I can be I shall not
No glory in death be had
Instead I shall hold fast my lot
And make my place in life less sad
For when your life is made to kill
Your life cannot be true
For when it's others blood you spill
Their life spills unto you
No longer yourself but an empty shell
A place where you once lived
This place now your living hell
The happiness taken with the shiv.
poem by John Dillenger II
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes I Feel so Evil
Sometimes I feel so evil
going crazy
ready to kill people.
I laugh
ready to go to the store
buy a gat.
Watch it go blast blast blast
Now watch your past
flash before your eyes
and who knew this would be the way you die.
But I won't be sad
Feeling so evil is the best thing I've ever had.
Ready to grab a gun and shoot your dad.
He hatted me anyway don't get mad.
This relationship is over I found a new wife
Its evil and a knife
Into your back, slice slice slice
You deserved it, you gave me lice
and told me lies.
You don't know how many times I've cried.
But evil will put a ring on my finger
all around me, you can smell, it's a clinger,
and it always lingers, the feeling
the presence even when I'm gone.
You remember what you felt the
evil will drive you insane. Your brain will melt.
Start whippin your kids with belt, leavin welts,
all up and down there back, the evil passes
and they attack. Now they hate you,
they say 'a father I lack'. Letting go getting fat
off sugary snacks. But its okay cause the
evil will pass.
The evil I wish it would last.
poem by Matthew Petranovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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