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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
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Read books online » Poetry » At The Brink Of Writers Block by bloodandgorelover (booksvooks .txt) 📖

Book online «At The Brink Of Writers Block by bloodandgorelover (booksvooks .txt) 📖». Author bloodandgorelover



Teenager




Teenagers are speeding creatures
They tend to do things without thinking
We are free
We are creative
It's like we are preparing for adulthood
Sounds like no fun to must
Because the way we act
The way we speak
Is unacceptable
So I sit here
Waiting for my friends to come
Waiting for my school to open
Without knowing the time
And writing just for the fun of it
I am a teenager
But I am ready for the worst
I Am not like them

I Write




I know I wont be famous for my drawings
I know there's a slim chance for my writing
So I separate the pencil from the page
And connect the pen
I write to get better
I write to get heard
I write for me
I write for my friends
I write for selfish needs
But not your's

The Brink Of Writers Block




At the brink of writers block
I need to write
I can't stop
Or my brain will rot
Force myself out
So I can star
With the real creativity
Will flow out

Bored




Boredom is like a cruse
Once you have it
It's hard to get rid of it
But some people feed it
All they do is sit and do nothing
That's what I do
But I'm not special
I take time to think of amazing ideas
But never share them
What's my excuse?
I'm bored

Quick Tought




I can think
A I can write
B I can't start
And if I can
I can't stop
Or continue for that matter
So I sit on my bed
Thinking and writing
But my mind has already moved on
So I guess this poem ends here

I Am A Writer




I am insane
I am crazy
My ideas drips from the walls
Like newly splattered blood
From the slit of the throat
Of a innocent soul
Like gushing blood
From a crushed skull
What blunt tool did that?
I am crazy
I am insane
What's my excuse?
I'm a writer

Creation



As I speak these words
I slowly wither away
I might not live forever
But I can Pretend

My mind is the source of evil
I can not control it
Nor do I want to
I want it to expand

Consuming my body whole
I just sit and wait
This evil expands in only one way
Words that are unseen and new

Once seen
All can not be undone
But for now
I will tell you this

Evil flows in me
For I am not pure
Nor am I safe
I'm just the creation

Of evil

End Of Humanity



I am the end of humanity
I don't know how
But I think
And with the thoughts
I can speak

My words won't do much
But I will act on them
And when I do
Humanity will end

I have been kept
In the darkness
From my kind
From my family

With no name
I am there experiment
Experiment of darkness
I am there weapon

So I destroy them
For what they did to me
For the pain they cause
For my death that will never come

I've lived in darkness
I've been consumed be darkness
I've been held in the darkness
I am darkness

And I will end humanity for what they did

Imprint

Text: bloodandgorelover
Publication Date: 04-06-2012

All Rights Reserved

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