there's a wickedness hidden inside that god-fearing exterior.
an obsession with polka dots can symbolize
spotty plagues you've spread onto vulnerable hearts.
there's a cycle of giddy hand holding and aggressive kisses,
but always the hesitant broken promises to linger.
if your hands weren't so clean and delicate,
you could rip off the heads of your partners
faster than a black widow in need of spawn.
you have the appearance of innocence
with the soul of a reckless harlot.
you mistake attraction for a romantic encounter,
dragging down the victims of heartbreak.
all the world's a stage,
and your setting is high school.
the plot twists in ways you're not comfortable with,
so you kill romeo and juliet while crying suicide.
[stage left has never fully satisfied you.]
I do not doubt the kindness in your heart towards friends.
the need for control in a blur of gossip and whispers.
but it's your lack of decency when courting others
that boils blood and slits eyes.
you move from lover to lover,
jaded without even removing a speck of clothing.
[the worst level of whore in some eyes.]
the word love is thrown next to uneasy vows of faithfulness.
your transition to the next ice cream flavor
involves little to no remorse for hurting others in the process.
the heartbreak kid whose ex-girlfriend was only a two-day seperation;
the lanky, slender romantic who was too old [and you knew that still;]
the gentle, half-friend who was taken by another;
and now the climax of this story, whose security is at risk.
I watch from where I stand in disgust,
the body count rising with each passing hour.
maybe one day you could have been respected,
but your greed and cowardice is enough to make my stomach churn.
this is for the brief instant messages in which you lied to me,
not to mention the personal blunder you broke me apart with.
'misunderstanding' my ass.
if you hadn't been found out in your acts, you might have even won.
but the upper hand won't be one covered in the blood of a former lover's.
your beliefs are what keep you from spiraling into sexual urges,
and I hope god really is first priority in your ultimatum.
one day you might actually be worthy of salvation.
Author notes
This was a class A rant. No connection between run-on sentences and abstract metaphors. A brain vomit across the computer screen. And only somewhat fulfilling. If only hatred could be easily put into words.
Give me anything, as long as it's honest.
Comments
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I swear at first I thought it was kit... then about two seconds later I realized it was Alyssa. Nice. I agree whole heartedly and if she even lays a hand on her next potential victem. She is dead meat. Cause I'll make sure even god knows she's a fucking whore. =D
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I told you I'd give you some constructive criticism on this piece. So, I copy and pasted it onto word, went over it, and only saw a few minor adjustments to make. These are just suggestions, so no need to take heed or offense.
In stanza one, lines 2 and 3 can be rewritten to sound a bit.. nicer, rolling off the tongue. Here's what I came up with:
“An obsession with polka dots can symbolize
plagues spotted, spread unfairly onto vulnerable hearts.”
Stanza five could do without the word 'jaded' in the second line. It's not a necessary part. To me at least.
Stanza six seems out of place (even though I know each stanza has a different metaphor). The ice cream reference just throws that stanza off. Again, here's what I came up with:
“Your taste buds switch flavors,
Showing no remorse for others and their preferences.”
Also, I think the last line of that stanza could do without the word 'now'.
Stanza seven, is fine, metaphor and all, I just think the first two lines need tweaking. A rephrasing of such. Here's what I came up with, for the final time:
“I watch from where I stand, disgusted,
counting the bodies rising with each hour.”
Also, in this stanza, line 3 should be written in the present. 'Could have been' to 'could be'.
Well, that's my observation and my corrections. Hope it helps a bit.
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