Bittersweet Peaceful

This pov is a Jojo character, guess who it is 👀 Also heavy spoiler if you haven't read/finished watching part 5 yet

One by one, they disappear into the shadows

Their blood vaporized into the sky

I fail to back down and appose

Their deaths were written in my name

Fear and anger fueling in the back of my head

He charges and yells, throwing up the blades

They pool out of his mouth and he bled

Staggering in his own path

Swollen with pride, dragging him to his end

Like a mouse drowning in fear of the snake

Taking careful measures as the background and I blend

Fallen on the ground, waiting to be defeated

But the pride melted away

As the bullets pierce through my flesh

And defeated, my goals astray

How foolish of I, in the puddle of my own blood

For what might end up for him

Doesn't matter anymore

The ghosts of my comrades at the rim

Of the edges of light, my soul slowly fading

But in any way, I will not admit defeat
As the ghost of my memories will lie down in shame
This moment will always be in repeat
Over and over again, in the pool of my own blood

The Masochist (poem)

[Revised version]

Original written on: 5/12/19 7:08 pm

Double ring, all rusted and crooked
Edges run along the skin, delicate
Her cold hands, jolted
Veins like the broken circuit

She loved the sense of muscles tense
Movement causing slow pain
Her expressions in a pretense
The yelling was abrupt but silent, flesh in blain

But what can't be physically felt
Was more intriguing than the blood
The torture of one's mind, very heartfelt
The horrifying images, jabbed in like a stud

Blood infested gore was a show
Imprinted projections did not matter
It stuck with her like a bonded crow
All embedded like an amber

And there she sits, at home
Writes broken poems, all alone
The tiny room was her catacomb
Her life lies motionless, like a gravestone

My Hidden Voice (A sonnet)

I wrote this for a class assignment, but it turned out alright, and thought I should post it here


Indeed, it is quite a story
The pen being my will
And the words claiming its territory
A soon to be worldwide thrill
The ink to paper gives me a voice
For I do not speak ever so often
And it gives me the rejoice
It speaks silently, giving me a safe haven
Like the painter and the brush
I cannot go about without my pen and paper
My mind being like a 'lone thornbush
That voice disappearing like vapor
Though safe, and comfortable, it leaves me unheard
Linger too much, and I become a soundless songbird

Seizure

My little girl, her eyes went blank
She turned stiff, then violently shook
Her eyes disappeared
And her voice muffled

Her head hit the ground
Her fingers crooked
What a sight with cruel eyes
To watch, to fear

Yet, no help was called
Holding her tight around my arms
As she violently shook, and cuts me
As she struggled and seized to breathe

Cold air swept over me
Holding, the contorted and lifeless body
I cried for my grief
But laughed for the sake of my insanity

Therefore my mindless body
Will begin to rot
With a kiss of cyanide
Killing off the insanity

My little girl, stunning marble eyes
Delicate, rare, full of life
Now buried with raw flesh
With diluted water and poison