A Poem, by muh bb Slip Kid

I love.

I love your smile, making the world brighter
The feelings you inspire can scarcely be spoken

I love your eyes, bright and cheerful
Yet hiding something malicious and broken

I love you.

I want.

I want you to bind me betwixt the twin branches of pleasure and pain
To rend my body and kiss my weeping head

I want to feel the incandescent heat of your love cracking against my back
Leaving seeping wounds of hate in their stead

I need.

I need to feel your flesh pressed upon my own
Even as my chains of devotion begin to rust

I need to loathe you for all you have done
For me, to me, leaving nothing but a chasm of putrid lust

I hate.

I hate you more and more as time marches on
My chains have snapped, and I am free from
Your twisted ideals

I stand here, scarred, unsteady and alone
Yet I am free from your manipulations
Leaving you at my heels

I hate you.

lel xD bb liek woah im cuttin mahself with that edg.

Comments

[Slip Kid]

You know you love the edge bb

[Slip Kid]

Here's another poem:

Roses are red
Violets are blue

U r sexi
Can I fuck you?

[blank check]

2071481

wot a masterpeice

[Scootareader]

One of my favorite people makes a blog about a poem written by one of my favorite people.

[Slip Kid]

2071495

Ano rite, much better than that bullshit up there am I right?

[blank check]

2071498

ythnkyu bb

2071499

loads

[Slip Kid]

2071498

Thought on ze poem I knocked out in 10 minutes? And glad to know I'm one of your favourite people

[Slip Kid]

2071508

I should go professional

That shit's better than Shakespeare

[blank check]

2071520

Hell, better than Stephenie Meyer even!

[Scootareader]

2071512
What, you want my opinion? It sounds like something I would have written if I had more talent with the written word after my first girlfriend had broken up with me.

[Scootareader]

2071512
2071534
Sorry, that sounded like a borderline insult. It most definitely wasn't.

I liked it, though it sounds familiar to a good amount of the poetry I read from members of the fandom. Most of the age group on FIMFiction writes dark and edgy poetry, which isn't inherently bad poetry, it just has recurring things that aren't exactly avid interests of mine.

I liked it nonetheless. Thank you both for sharing it with me.

[Slip Kid]

2071542

Yeah, I did that just 4 the sake of edge, as I said it took 10 minutes

Plus it's for the monumental faget known as Razzle Dazzle, so it had to be edgy enough to cut

[Slip Kid]

2071529

Nah, no one's better than Stephanie Meyer

[Slip Kid]

2071542

Just to clarify, it isn't serious in the slightest

[Scootareader]

Oh, I'd like to add some more edgy poetry. (This poem is actually pretty awesome.)

fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/146/c/c/filly_twilight_studying_by_pinkiepi314-d516fsr.png

The Garden of Proserpine, by the colossal faggot known as Algernon Charles Swinburne who also happens to be from England

Here, where the world is quiet;

Here, where all trouble seems

Dead winds' and spent waves' riot

In doubtful dreams of dreams;

I watch the green field growing

For reaping folk and sowing,

For harvest-time and mowing,

A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,

And men that laugh and weep;

Of what may come hereafter

For men that sow to reap:

I am weary of days and hours,

Blown buds of barren flowers,

Desires and dreams and powers

And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour,

And far from eye or ear

Wan waves and wet winds labour,

Weak ships and spirits steer;

They drive adrift, and whither

They wot not who make thither;

But no such winds blow hither,

And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,

No heather-flower or vine,

But bloomless buds of poppies,

Green grapes of Proserpine,

Pale beds of blowing rushes

Where no leaf blooms or blushes

Save this whereout she crushes

For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,

In fruitless fields of corn,

They bow themselves and slumber

All night till light is born;

And like a soul belated,

In hell and heaven unmated,

By cloud and mist abated

Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,

He too with death shall dwell,

Nor wake with wings in heaven,

Nor weep for pains in hell;

Though one were fair as roses,

His beauty clouds and closes;

And well though love reposes,

In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,

Crowned with calm leaves, she stands

Who gathers all things mortal

With cold immortal hands;

Her languid lips are sweeter

Than love's who fears to greet her

To men that mix and meet her

From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,

She waits for all men born;

Forgets the earth her mother,

The life of fruits and corn;

And spring and seed and swallow

Take wing for her and follow

Where summer song rings hollow

And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,

The old loves with wearier wings;

And all dead years draw thither,

And all disastrous things;

Dead dreams of days forsaken,

Blind buds that snows have shaken,

Wild leaves that winds have taken,

Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow,

And joy was never sure;

To-day will die to-morrow;

Time stoops to no man's lure;

And love, grown faint and fretful,

With lips but half regretful

Sighs, and with eyes forgetful

Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,

From hope and fear set free,

We thank with brief thanksgiving

Whatever gods may be

That no life lives for ever;

That dead men rise up never;

That even the weariest river

Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,

Nor any change of light:

Nor sound of waters shaken,

Nor any sound or sight:

Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,

Nor days nor things diurnal;

Only the sleep eternal

In an eternal night.

Thank you for taking your time to read Scootareader's Copy-Pasted Poetry. Free refreshments are now available in the fridge as thanks for putting up with it. I hope you like stale muffins.

[blank check]

2071600

It's nice to know that the nowaday classics used to be total emo faggots.

except those guys were actually good lel

[Slip Kid]

2071623
2071600

Hey, fagets, have some more poem:

Six sat around a worn table
In colours of orange, pink, purple, blue, white and yellow

Mugs were set down with a harsh click
The atmosphere was vibrant and mellow

Musky liquid flowed from cup to cup
Only one remained dry that night

Conversation flowed like the cider in their mugs, full of
Drinking, jeering, laughter and ponies testing their might

The evening wound down and the air grew still
The six stumbled off to their cosy homes

One flew steadily to her mossy abode

Another took to the skies and crashed just as quickly

Two unicorns stayed at the table, minds already long gone

The others strutted away into the crisp early-morning air

In the morning, despite lamentation and illness, all knew one thing:
It was a night well spent.

Took five minutes and it kinda sucks, but oh well

[Scootareader]

2071689
I'm Commander Scootareader, and this is my favorite poem on the Citadel.

[Slip Kid]

2072063

[Infinite Carnage]

So this poem is about the beginning and the end of a relationship? At least I think it is.

[blank check]

2184245

I never thought about it that way, but yeah, that seems to fit. 2071570