deepundergroundpoetry.com
Filthy Claws
The charred remains of the forgotten
lie in self-manufactured graves
tell them, tell them there's still
h o p e
fucking hell.
For you, too? Is there
hope for me...?
Gone are the days
where
hope rose like the sun and
set on my skin
Tell him you love him
you'll never know when
it'll be the last time
He doesn't love me
not really, he's after flesh
and brittle bones he can
play the flute on.
My death song
is...
the national anthem
is...
Nationalist slogans
is...
Praising the
dead, the cold, the
disintegrated
I am nothing
the embers in his eyes
glow for another
I'm just
E a s y
a simple fuck
who will simply forgive
& forget.
I do not worship
at any alters
My head never
bows let alone
in the
direction of Mecca
Don't tell your family
Atheism is an unwritten rule
but don't you dare actually
say the word
Say please and thank you
pray before and after every meal
If God was real,
here are the things he
wouldn't have given me:
★ A disability
★ Hunger
★Knowledge of the world
How do you tell someone
you're not what they
prayed you'd be because
you've been preyed on before
You do not have the strength of a cayote
You have a dying whisper for a heart
You have hate that scratches poetic
epithets into your brittle bones.
Your differences make you beautiful...
Your differences make you... you
Liar. Liar.
You stand naked
irradiated by pain
but you want me
to see myself as
w o r t h y?
How much do your lies cost
my pockets are empty
my throat full of curses
my existence a curse in itself.
But.. you could have it worse?
Always a but
never allowing me to claim
my own misery, my own pain
my own struggle...
Don't let it strangle you...
Oh, but it has,
It always had its filthy claws
around my neck
as I age,
the hold tightens
I beg it to rip my throat out
piss on it
It does neither.
My condition is a masochist
enjoying the sight of pure helplessness
as I wade through heavy waters..
without
a c t u a l l y
killing
me...
lie in self-manufactured graves
tell them, tell them there's still
h o p e
fucking hell.
For you, too? Is there
hope for me...?
Gone are the days
where
hope rose like the sun and
set on my skin
Tell him you love him
you'll never know when
it'll be the last time
He doesn't love me
not really, he's after flesh
and brittle bones he can
play the flute on.
My death song
is...
the national anthem
is...
Nationalist slogans
is...
Praising the
dead, the cold, the
disintegrated
I am nothing
the embers in his eyes
glow for another
I'm just
E a s y
a simple fuck
who will simply forgive
& forget.
I do not worship
at any alters
My head never
bows let alone
in the
direction of Mecca
Don't tell your family
Atheism is an unwritten rule
but don't you dare actually
say the word
Say please and thank you
pray before and after every meal
If God was real,
here are the things he
wouldn't have given me:
★ A disability
★ Hunger
★Knowledge of the world
How do you tell someone
you're not what they
prayed you'd be because
you've been preyed on before
You do not have the strength of a cayote
You have a dying whisper for a heart
You have hate that scratches poetic
epithets into your brittle bones.
Your differences make you beautiful...
Your differences make you... you
Liar. Liar.
You stand naked
irradiated by pain
but you want me
to see myself as
w o r t h y?
How much do your lies cost
my pockets are empty
my throat full of curses
my existence a curse in itself.
But.. you could have it worse?
Always a but
never allowing me to claim
my own misery, my own pain
my own struggle...
Don't let it strangle you...
Oh, but it has,
It always had its filthy claws
around my neck
as I age,
the hold tightens
I beg it to rip my throat out
piss on it
It does neither.
My condition is a masochist
enjoying the sight of pure helplessness
as I wade through heavy waters..
without
a c t u a l l y
killing
me...
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