Child of Decay• Show poetry

We held hands on the last night on earth. Our mouths filled with dust, we kissed in the fields and under trees, screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves. It was empty on the edge of town but we knew everyone floated along the bottom of the river. So we walked through the waste where the road curved into the sea and the shattered seasons lay, and the bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease. In our cancer of passion you said, "Death is a midnight runner. “The sky had come crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide. We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress. The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn as the Ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop. The few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime. I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked if you would accompany me in a quick fall, but you made me realize that my ticket wasn't good for two. I rode alone. You said, "The cinders are falling like snow. “There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence. Of blue and grey. Strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city. The sun was stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines. Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message.


~..~

This world is a mystery to all those who don’t open their eyes and look for what’s really out there. The sad thing is that for those who do see the truth, all it is, is pain and suffering. We are all alone…

You laugh because I’m different; I laugh because you’re all the same.

The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike then those who think differently.

Moral teachings and gloomy thoughts can be wrapped in a cloud of beauty, to be only understood by the wise.

Why do people act as if war and murder are unnatural? What’s unnatural is to go your entire life without ever raising your hand in violence.

The darkness has consumed my soul. All I can see is crimson. All I hear is cries of pain.

Paint my world in black and white. I want to see through your eyes, and I’d never have it any other way.

There are no saints, only unrecognized villains.

Humanity is composed of two categories, the invalids and the nurses.

The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.

Like puppets we are moved by outside strings.

The most merciful thing in the world is the inability of the human mind to correlate its contents.

In art there are tears that do lie to deep for thought.

Patriotism is a pernicious, psychopathic form of idiocy.

No one feels another’s grief; no one understands another’s joy. People imagine that they can reach one another. In reality, they can only pass one another by.

Suicide is the most sincere form of self-criticism.

All the worlds a stage, and all men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances: And one man in his time plays many parts.

Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us.

If I could be anything in the world, I would want to be a tear. So I could be born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips.

Life is but a dream from which we shall wake.

~..~

O my sole love, I pray thee pity me
From out this dark gulf where my poor heart lies,
A baren world hemmed in by leaden skies
Where horror flies at night, and blasphemy.

For half the year the sickly sun is seen,
The other half thick night lies on the land,
A country bleaker than the polar strand;
No beasts, no brooks, nor any shred of green.

There never was a horror which surpassed
This icy sun's cold cruelty, and this vast
Night like primeval Chaos; would I were

Like the dumb brutes, who in a secret lair
Lie wrapt in stupid slumber for a space...
Time creeps at so burdensome a pace.


~..~


Hey, I'm Child of Decay. Thanks for coming to my author's page. If you want to check out my poetry, feel free to do so. I think that this is the part where I tell you something about myself, so here it goes.

I like:

Thunderstorms. They have such amazing power. It’s like controlled chaos.
Midnight. It’s my favorite time of the day because everything is so quiet that even your breathing sounds too loud.
Graveyards. They are so peaceful, and there are so many stories there, waiting to be told.
AFI. They’re my absolute favorite band.
Poems. As if you didn’t already know that.
Psychology. People’s motives, or even your own motives for that matter, are such an interesting subject to meditate upon.
Reading. Science fiction and the classics are my favorite.

One thing I really don’t like is the sun. It gives you skin cancer, and it makes you hot, need I say more?

I am really into reading the classics. Like, Wuthering Heights, Hunchback of Notre Dame, you get the idea. People back then knew how to write. Stories written today are just not the same…

If you would like someone to read one of your poems, feel free to send me a message. I will defiantly take a look at your poetry, and probably comment.