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BenjamromShow poetry

Angel and Demon
morphed in one body.
Singed feathers floating softly
and bloody extremities:
the featherless wings of perfection.
Feel the fire burn as blackness takes your vision
and blade takes your tongue...
Forget your prayers
they are no help for your soul
and as the wingless cower
under my featherless glory
you will know the true meaning of hopeless.
Succumb, don't fight it...
we are all eager for a feast.

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Hi, my name is Benjamin... i started writing less than a year ago when i started writing short stories... other than that i really dont know what to say... ill tell you if i dont like something with your poem and i hate people who cant take critisizm. i love talking about anything... especially poetry, so just message me if you wanna chat



  • Last seen 1 day ago. Member since March 6.
  • I'm a carnelian hope poet for 125 comments.
  • My mood is , and quote is "Can't you smell the laughter?".
  • I am a 16 year old guy from Texas (United States)
  • When I'm not writing, I'm writing.
  • I have 125 comments, 3 contests, 77 poems, 1 journal

Poems I'm focused on

My Poetry

1 - 4 of 77   Show all Search
  • It's not like it's in cold blood. We're all sinners, every last wrtetched one of us, so why pretend to be anything else? Why try and rise above the evolutionary precedant given to us Hell-bound to bear? Yes, i believe in hell
    23 lines, 18 comments, October 4
  • Marked from birth, the girl plucks the strings
    Creating sweet chords and melodies
    40 lines, 5 comments, September 14
  • I know this sounds melodramatic
    But it still needs to be said:
    24 lines, September 4
  • Bleeding black mascara holds no poetry
    And twisted hearts know only demonology and heartache.
    24 lines, August 23

My journal entries

  • The field was broken by a dirt road running straight through and ending in a stone bridge. The road would continue on the other side (as roads tend to do) if it not were for a barricade made of heaped dirt that was obviously taken from the area in front of it. Along the dirt barricade was a line of gunman, the o
    August 7, In Story.  2,800 words. Make first comment?

Guest Book

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