Exclusive Ink

Author: CMS

  • REMORSE

    by ERIC

    Silence can be the loudest action
    Concealing the depression
    With aggression
    Against the thoughts of passion
    Emotions should tangle with apologies
    Of being so bland against the beings that care
    Hovering over the sorrow of what was done even though the apologies soar in thin air
    Morphing into despair
    Shrouding it with anger
    So the world doesn’t know of the sadness that remains constantly there
    Why apologize for the lies of saying it’s okay overloaded from irritation?
    And the endless questionable glares
    In a pool of self loathe gasping for air
    What caused the suffocation?
    Who or what for?
    Was it done by yourself?
    Apologizing for bottling up  the pain that constantly contorts
    In reality opening up the little tea pot short and stout to let steam out from the pores
    The world depicts one’s self being apologetic but inside the thick skull
    Exposure of x-ray that has little remorse

  • VERBAL BULLETS

    by ERIC

    No sky light horizons from the trenches
    Spacious depths equal the minds of the senseless
    Mindless infliction
    Of a vocabulary
    That doesn’t deserve the forceful misuse abusive apprehension
    Picking up the words once read
    And turning them against us
    Slang and slander
    Attack the defenseless
    By using the media to depict vulgar pictures
    A world our past didn’t envision
    Using ain’t, good when it should be well, and making up
    Words for common terms and we remember it
    Teaching our generations bad ways to spell is our predicament
    Hence forth negating the fact some words are case sensitive when read in sentences
    And butchered when said and the environment is listening
    A shot in the dark with verbal bullets leaves no witnesses
    A world where no one is rubbed the wrong way
    Because everyone has been the attacker or the victim
    So the entire society is frictionless

  • WRECKING BALL

    by ERIC

    Rooms littered with black and white,
    the ceiling discriminates the walls forcing them to see the ceiling as something to despise.
    The abuse on the foundation starts to become trite,
    Clichés jammed in the mailbox,
    the overly used expressions are to be shipped away, to be gotten rid of like a parasite,
    cancerous, but they still give insight of a haven that could be paradise
    if the civilization in this situation wasn’t given hammers to cause genocide.
    When fingers are pointed to the structure, the area without a wrecking ball is victimized.
    In a equation of thoughts, people forget to simplify to make everyone equal.
    When they identify a broken home,
    broken for a reason, it’s all are wrong so we can’t vilify.
    Racism of floor boards try to be washed, but the soap and water is filled with hype
    that energizes the lies.
    Of the fact that it does
    the house fluctuates and caves in all of sudden
    in a racial race worth running for the hope again even if it isn’t nudging.
    A tragedy occurs and the house sees its molded from the water it was always trudging,
    held in the basement the heart of the house the egg
    pushed through the fallopian only to breed bigotry and nothingness.

  • LETTER TO MY PAST SELF

    by DARLENE

    Dear Darlene,

    It’s okay. People will listen. I know it’s hard to trust, but it will get better.

    Those names you write down. The people who make you suffer. It hurts to remember those horrid days still. You probably can’t tell from this, but my heart is beating and I can’t stop shaking.

    Please, please, the list of people you wish were dead only intensifies the problem. It may seem like no one cares, sometimes it still seems that way, but there ARE ways, ways to survive.

    The main thing you’ll remember is orchestra, those people who you confided in, but wish you actually told them the truth.

    That you’re scared. No, I’m scared. I’m terrified to know why, why they called us names, what we did to make them despise us.

    Trust me, it may not end, but it will get better.

    You’ll be able to do things you never thought you could do.

    You’ll want to live, to survive. So please, please, it’s okay to cry.

    Love yourself,

    Darlene

  • THE DOGS AND THE DEVILS

    by DARLENE

    Reading, writing, laughing, playing,
    these writers have no shame.
    Stories, poems, raps, and scenes,
    these artists know what it means
    to have a soul,
    to have a voice,
    to express themselves like no one else.
    Making friends
    and bonding lives,
    the depth of their actions
    speak louder than their words.
    The Dogs and the Devils,
    hand in hand,
    living through the actions
    of pen and pad.
    Creating the worlds,
    they most desire,
    the Dogs and the Devils
    have the power.