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A Product of Sex and Violence

Confidence

By James BrendPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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I am just a sick man; they’ve all washed their hands.

I leave metaphors all in my wake.

I’m a freak, i am weak, I’m a fool, my whole future’s looking bleak.

You’re so cool, look at you, beautiful.

You turn heads when you walk through.

I’m a waste, a waste of space, a bitter taste,

No such luck, No saving grace

Just shut your fucking mouth and know your place!!!

I can hear the walls, they are stalking.

Whispers in my ear, i follow fear.

For me, Saturn rise, this world is ending.

I comprise a lie now i feel fine.

Cheap perfume and hotel rooms, i can see our marriage ending

I cut myself to feel a thirst for hate

Teach me how to breathe; I’m no machine to waste away

Teach me all these games you love to play...

I am Phobos, i am Deimos,

With dirt between my nails and staring down a gun,

Halfway from paradise towards the King and failed sun

I live amongst the stars, yet forged beneath the floor;

forever running circles around the God of War.

Chasing milk of poppy, suppression begins to mount.

I hope she will appear, soon to surely see us.

I am just Mars, waiting for Venus!!

sad poetry
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