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Literature Text
You may not accept when truths are spoken,
And you probably won't even bother to listen.
You can hide your head deep in the sand
and get those who speak to you banned.
You can whine like a bitch and call people names,
you only show you're not as accepting as your claims.
You can spout your bullshit to your mindless sheep,
we all know that spineless words are cheap.
Being unable to back up those things you speak
and refusing to discuss your ideas just proves you're weak.
You can try to pretend that you're something you're not.
You can live in a lie despite what you're being taught.
But you can't force your idiocy onto those who see
and you won't fucking silence me!
And you probably won't even bother to listen.
You can hide your head deep in the sand
and get those who speak to you banned.
You can whine like a bitch and call people names,
you only show you're not as accepting as your claims.
You can spout your bullshit to your mindless sheep,
we all know that spineless words are cheap.
Being unable to back up those things you speak
and refusing to discuss your ideas just proves you're weak.
You can try to pretend that you're something you're not.
You can live in a lie despite what you're being taught.
But you can't force your idiocy onto those who see
and you won't fucking silence me!
Literature
Victimhood in Vogue
Over the past few years, I've noticed that many people are developing a pathological desire to be perceived as a victim of some terrible injustice, with the blame being laid upon the feet of some institutional discrimination or upon certain organizations or groups of people. In their minds, they, or other groups of people, are being marginalized or persecuted based on characteristics such as race, gender, sexuality, religion, or culture. Anything they perceive as being "offensive" or "discriminatory" towards the "marginalized minorities" is met with calls to censor the mediums which contain such material. When I say mediums, I am talking
Literature
What I would say
I tried to be angry with you, mother.
Angry that you were so often absent.
Angry that you gave me some pretty shitty genes.
Angry that you gave up.
You taught me how to lie to people.
How to hide from your problems.
How to run away.
I tried to hate you for it, tried to punish you by pushing you away.
But you loved me.
And I loved you.
I couldn't help it.
I idolized you as a child.
You were the angel that kept away my father's demon.
You were warmth, and safety.
But you weren't healthy, and it had to show eventually.
When I realized what you were doing to yourself,
I started to crack,
Started to hate the world,
Started to see lies in eve
Literature
To be honest
This pain is like dumping water into empty lungs and trying to have faith that it is air.
Painting the Mona Lisa in the dark, blindfolded, seems more feasible.
This mind shakes at the soft, pattering quiet that whispers nothing is worth being happy: rears its head on the best days.
"Hopeless"
is the
vicious
heartbeat mantra
-tied to my translucent pulse.
Choking on droplets and begging the water to birth oxygen.
Slowly drowning, praying the whole damn ocean will swallow me
if it's not going to let go.
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Just a little something I wrote in response to the little Christian cunt that tried to get me banned because they were too big of a fucking pussy to have an open discussion. Christians are fucking cowards.
© 2012 - 2024 Mephistophilez
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