Self-destruction poems bring the best collection of short and long self-destruction poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great self-destruction rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these self-destruction poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on self-destruction are here for you.
Submerged in doubt one floats carefree in aimless waters without hope of touching land. Tethered with guilt and regrets one tows his/her soul to a destiny of penance. Overt or clandestine, pain is no one’s gain if one can grasp
Everything we know, or think we know, comes from an infinitesimal speck of time and space. “Important” people, just random specks of insignificance. Nothing more than Sea Monkeys, fluttering around Sea Monkey world. Everything spoken as truth only reinforces ignorance.
There’s a line in the sand drawn in dark distant lands, where the guts and the glory and fine marching bands will all die in the dust and play into their hands, till they all say, NO! Those invisible walls
Physically abused, Mentally accused, Emotionally scared For the ones she held dear. Her burning flesh And the positive tests Her leaking face Would always make my heart race The looks of disgrace would show on their face Without a clue,
Under the dark Sky, In full view of The Moon and stars, I gaze into those eyes: a deep sea of mysteries entrapping me to a world unknown.. around the corner .. under each shadow, rough nails clasp around my
Breeze rippling sheer embroidered patches as sunlight streaming shadows prance across plastered walls… As precipitation mist cool Floridian rays beaming tin roofs. Winter temps once again; no show. pre-Black Power, post-slavery; steel railroad tracks line wooded villages alluring Negro Parramore
I saw you struggle today Coffee and bag, trying to open the door I slowed my pace Not wanting to communicate Choosing not to help What if I had Would you have made it to your interview Without a coffee
Did you know that Never knew none To know what’s what Poem let be done. Primitive the people Of the early days So is religion Founded yesterday. Media is a set-up Government is a fraud Churches, pure business Well-played, applaud.
Whenever you’d ask me how much farther I’d always tell you we’re closer Than the last time you asked And this seemed to satisfy you You’d say, “ We’re closer?” “That’s right,” I’d say “Then how much longer?” you’d want
The other sex was stapled, I started unfolding the secret: what was static and who was silent. I searched, therefore I was lost before the end of journey. The stench of grafting was taking over. The incendiary recce was carried
Death will not measure the height, from which we fall. Not being, the psyche of primeval fear finds its conscience – subverts the softness of moon-eyed life with wealth of green blood in brown bread. And the white candle burns
Audacity to live with your demons, putting up a fake love belief, who was the time, of that dark night? Distinctly alive to what I was not just putting up the shades of death into nothingness of peace in war.
Bilobed ginkgo resolves the conflict of soul and body on the right side of truth, laid out on a table visited by desolation; here comes the crash of bodies. You stand up against the end of beginning to lock eyes
Exfoliated, I come to you, to scratch the blighted palace of the body, where a god lived once. Dervish, when did you stop whirling? The tomb is gone, the shroud tattered. I am collecting the withered roses. It rips open,
Dancing Shadows High in the Great Canadian Rockies; on the shoreline of a rippling mountain stream, dancing shadows are reflected in the eyes of a massive, supreme bull elk. A gentle breeze is gracefully guiding the leaves of glorious fall
Hopes filled and mostly disappointed A few of succeeded giving a courage A year called that at the end of midnight Put a comma and it continues same as In a cycle we ride the cycle Beyond the horizon some
Just not my day. When everyone else is making hay I sit at home and lay between threads with not much to say. I weave and weave colourful stories but stories they stay while I keep waiting for things to
With watery edge time’s pouring down the sledge and yet once again I find myself in sweet similar pain Is it the pain of losing someone or it hurts cause my emptiness hasn’t yet found someone This unknown fear haunts
My mother once told me Not to cry over spilled milk, Because accidents happen. My mother once told me Not to make a mountain Out of a molehill, Because accidents happen. My mother once told me When things go awry
Inside my prose poem is happiness, happiness for all. Even the juicy parts don’t lack think material. I have it on good authority. My autistic Aunt says I should stop writing. Where are the beans? I was told in my
This servitude eternal, Bound by duty and faith, I find hope fading, Devoured by these, Ordeals. These trials, Harbingers of all That is ordained, Also conduct terrible fate. Dread comes, For this bounding main Of darkness, Lies absolute. Imploring for
“I love you like a grand poem.” Like a poem that reflects the beauty of night In the arms of a sleeping lover Through his content breath Into the sweet scent of satisfaction “I Love you like a grand poem.”
The day bleeds slowly, blots across the blackening sky, red drips into the nothingness, darkness overpowers the light; I fly back to my lonely nest, hunted by the crescent moon, only the stars offer me sight, I long to be
Tribute – on his Birth I stepped into the evening Of my life and lost interest in living And thought of leaving This wild world. I was waiting To see my grand son arriving Into this wicked world smiling Before
Someone connects a bonsai to elemental peat. Your visual collides a clay bite of water, deepening the bottom of invisible fence. My primrose was waiting for you. Polychromes become volatile. An inventive missile leaves the trace for a predator to
I woke up, got hit by a rock No wait, feels more like a truck It doesn’t matter I’m broken and my heart is scattered Listen closely friend; LOVE does not matter Those empty promises, shallow vows The memories, the
When our mind becomes vulnerable It marks the incidence of fear We are petrified of everything A mishappening seems near There is a conundrum inside us Life doesn’t seem clear Fear engulfs our thought process It takes away our wisdom
Why is it so difficult to convince The Heart, That feelings nowadays are sold at The Mart. Ventured into The Mart, in hand The Heart, And In tow, a shopping cart. Trust was on sale in a neat pack, Came
When he comes, he visits her at night. Entering her personal space, uninvited but nonetheless welcome. She does not know his schedule; dreadful expectation. Absences unexplained. Too wary to search for answers, prepared to forgive for shared moments. His silent
With fruits and flowers bound There stand the mighty trees Bent with the touch of nature And covered with the beauty of love As when upon a trance summer night You are seen as a green of peace Tall oaks
Wading in your memories. Through an orange smoke. Against a mirror, a lake shrinks. Days are smaller now licking the night I will count the candles Of your birthday. A haunted landscape scoops a wedding of a flame with a
Again the Sorrow Coming like a crawling thief. By stealing joy and all what was the dearest It leaves me in the hollowness of grey No sun, no stars and neither blue, blue sky I don’t see anything, and I