by Jordan   Jan 29, 2015

Poor boy. He used to be so
anti-ecclesiastic, used to be
so eager to relish in his
dark and twisted thoughts;
bones reeking of dreams,
eternal dusk, blood, sweat, dust.

Poor boy he used to feel so
unhealthy when he was healthy -
confused as if happiness
slithers up like a shyster;
as if by its purest definition
it is damnation, extinction.

Poor boy
used to want to be immortal.


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Latest Comments

  • 4 years ago

    by BlueJay

    Judging Comment

    The word choice is so simple in this piece but it worked so well in the piece and made something so personal into something so relateable to the outside world. This piece takes a unique tole from the usual or common use of imagery in a great way - it really made a splash this week. Great write.

  • 4 years ago

    by Jordan


  • 4 years ago

    by Jordan

    In the interest of keeping the poem out of the explicit section, as well as maintaining aesthetics by avoiding symbols for censorship, I had to edit the final couplet from:

    "Poor twisted f**ker
    used to want to be immortal."