Notes: Poems of my own making. Warnings include: Violence, Unpopular views.
-Sanguineous- A piece on child abuse. Personal favorite. Disclaimer: don't
kill your parents kids.
-Love/Hate- an odd piece, and done at random.
-Lair.- I was feeling neglected by a friend of mine. Put whatever you wan
to it.
-Sharp Redemption- Religion is an odd and confusing thing.
-Controversial- My theme. My views.
-144- Simple enough: 9 syllables per line, 16 lines.
Rhymings of a Teenage Monster
~Installment One~

Bloody bits of bad bad things,
Sits upon the Blackbird's wings,
Little children with the gun.
Tell me, tell me; Was it fun?
Did you let him cry in pain?
Were his tears soft like rain?
Did the devil take his heart?
Was it rapture from the start?
Was the pain he felt your own?
The seed that he himself had sewn,
That sprout a flower dark as hell,
For your little souls to sell.
Crush the dirty hands he has,
Ones that broke your fragile glass
That you kept yourself clean in,
Soiling you was a deadly sin.
For his death, you aren't to blame,
You smote a man without shame.
He had no purpose in the world,
Over the trigger your fingers curled,
None shall miss him; none cared.
He the garbage that rats shared,
You have taken the divine right,
In the void of the bloodied night.
It was your decision, your justice paid,
He had deserved it, or so they said.
His darkened soul had been defiled,
For what sort of coward beats a child?
I'd like to break your face in,
I'd like to smash your heart,
And melt away the ice in you.
You've been so cold from the start.
Oh how I'd love to hurt you,
And then kiss the pain away.
How I want you to leave me be,
And how I'd love for you to stay.
You're a fatal ailment,
You're an infectious disease.
I'd like to just wipe you out,
And then live as I please.
And sometimes I loathe you.
And more times I love.
You're chaos and you're paradise,
From fires below and above.
You're cruel and yet you're so sweet.
A beautiful devil come to me.
An angel spawning from the shadows.
I'm blind but I can see;
You're an ice god of the jungle,
A fire spirit from the sea.
You're everything and nothing.
And you're driving me crazy.
Nothing I do reaches past you,
Nothing breaks your shell.
I want to tear up your pretty face,
And fling you into hell.
And I love you and I hate you.
How I'd want to make you cry,
Then wipe tears off shining cheeks,
And never tell you why.
You're harder then a stone.
You're colder then a storm.
I'll melt you with my passionate fire,
And I won't even mourn.
And you're not mine,
You are your own,
I'm still your precious pet;
A silly king long overthrown.
I want you to leave me.
I never wanted to be with you.
And I know you don't like me,
This game should be through.
But we're a magnet, you and I,
We can't be pulled apart.
We're like God and Satan;
The perfect enemies from the start.
I know you feel the very same,
You want me yet you don't.
I'm a wonder and a horror,
A cockroach that can't be smote.
You must despise me,
Just as I do you.
You love me just as strongly,
And there's nothing we can do.
Because we're the perfect pair,
Ideal partners; my unmitigated mate.
I guess this is what they really mean,
But saying we're love/hate.
She's the one you run to.
She's the one you cry to.
You must really love me;
I'm the only one you lie to.
For who am I to know you pain?
And who am I to care?
I'm on the outside looking in. . .
All I can do is stare.
You can here her laughing,
You await the words she'll say.
I must just be too quiet.
You can't hear me when I pray.
You never look away from her,
Your eyes will always stay.
I'm just not colorful enough.
Cause I seem to be fading away.
You pine to always hold her,
Your hand fits like a mold.
I suppose that you can't stand me.
My body must be too cold.
You told me you'd always notice,
You said you wouldn't let me cry.
I guess my tears aren't flowing too hard. . .
But my eyes are running dry.
'Cause. . .she's the one you run to,
She's the one you cry to,
You must really love me;
I'm the only one you lie to.
-Sharp Redemption-
It is the human fascination with pain I find,
That lets the small knife pierce the mind.
One always tries to draw all their torment out,
Through one gorgeous crimson fount.
Draws upon them their mortal sins,
And thinks, 'Through my pain my soul wins!'
And Purity, they find, through letting blood seep,
But tell me really, what do they reap?
A scar, a memory, a soiled knife. . .
Perhaps even one foolish visionary's life.
Controversial at the age of fifteen!
I guess by now you should have seen.
Look what happens when there's too much time,
And all your thoughts come out in rhyme!
An unspoiled mind was left alone to think,
While the others were made to rot and stink;
Polluted by the media's words and sights,
Poisoned by the phrases in verbal fights.
While I was left alone to brood,
In my pleasantly vacant solitude,
I found the answers that worked for me,
And I'll spend the rest of time making you see;
Stupid, naive, wrong. Those words never stung.
You think me a fool; a visionary so young,
That sprouts these words of all equality,
That thinks; 'Be exactly what you want to be!
Love is sexless, God is raceless; you're all kin!'
This thought you rejected as if it were the 11th sin!*
But I'll keep saying it, only then you'll be free. . .
Funny how truth is seen as controversy.
Pretty girl, sitting on a park bench,
Waiting for another pass-her-by,
She sits, blinking in the morning sun,
Trying desperately not to cry.
Pretty girl, sitting on a park bench,
What is actually wrong with her?
Reading back to the words that she said;
"You've never really knew what you were."
Pretty girl, sitting on a par bench,
Hate the world for what it really is,
She sees her now being dragged away;
Denied that finally perfect kiss.
Pretty girl, sitting on a park bench,
Doubting all the power that is above,
And four parents; angered by the thought,
Of two blushing young schoolgirls in love.
Thank you ~Green Bird
Finishing Note: Installment One of Rhymings.
11th sin*- What I call it when people make up rules for Religion. I'm
Presbyterian. I consider the only laws of the Bible the Ten Commandments
and the Golden Rule. Mind, it's my own opinion, as you might have gathered.