Browse By

Tag Archives: death

mermaid painting

Mermaid

I am on a boat with no oars, at the mercy of the flow. It is a surefire fall ahead as a steep and deadly fall awaits my death. I know my fate and have come to accept it. Death has never scared me anyway.

lips are sealed mute poetry by scottshak

Mute

What’s wrong if I spill myself out? I die tomorrow, don’t you know? Maybe you have all the time in the world, Maybe I am running out, And you have no idea how, But each passing breath is a goodbye From this cold world. And

afterlife poem featured image

Afterlife

Woke up one day To find me dead; It didn’t make a difference. I climbed out my bed, And walked a mile To find no one, But were they ever there? Not a soul lurked, Not a car stirred, The traffic of dopey minds Was

kiss me dead featured image for poem

Kiss Me Dead

I feel your searing eyes Piercing me, Making me Shift in my edgy seat, Twitch in this ugly heat, What are you thinking Behind that crazy skull? I ain’t that dull, I am trying to keep up With your brutal signs, You are defying Me

swords are needles

Swords Are Needles

Why draw a sword, When you know That it only kills? Nothing good has ever come From a needle that only knows how to cut, And how to taste blood. You are calling out destruction When you know How to use a weapon; Its knowledge

an unmanned boat in the sea

The Unmanned Boat

Sea to the left, See to my right To find another hopeless sight, Down below death drowns, I might not ever make it out, And yet I try to find my wade, Clueless about a certain fate, Must be a land somewhere That my purblind

the absence of everything poem image

The Absence of Everything

I read pain on faces I had never seen weep; Could they cry too? Now I know – Joy isn’t anyone’s prerogative. You wish it were eternal, It never is. No matter how taut it is held, It always manages to slip through. Emotions are

image of a noose as a tie

That Place You Visit Everyday

Walls are closing in, Everyday I am here I smother myself a little, Yet I shoehorn myself in Into the world’s most hated place; When you are not in love, Everything turns into distaste. Aren’t we checking into a stockade Of chasm to find our

image of a road for the road poem

The Road

I am walking. I think I am; The road walks the other way. A tiny kiosk sells death in all sizes While people flock in huge numbers to die; They ask for their favourite cigarette flavours. A girl preens her hair trying to find What