When I Grow Up I Want To Be. Poem by will atlas

When I Grow Up I Want To Be.

Rating: 5.0


The air mocked the night my life shaped me.
The pine needles rustling violently as I sped faster, they crumbled louder.
My gut sensing deranged instability, you got me at first blink. How passive I cried.
No words, no sight, only the very clammy feel of the fearful night.
Oh what's in store for me? the thought races through my comatic body.
The fabric rips and the instinct can't kick in, it's only through the fighting
The war begins.
I still hear the pine needles rustling.
I felt the stranger tussling.
Though the air was frigid and cold, the skin of the stranger fell below.
Even still the steal on my nape could bite snow.
the aggression too determined/ festering in my friends soul.
It wasn't until noting these senses, could I move on to hone.
Turmoil escaping, panic filled lungs.
From the notably forceful maelstrom.
Have you ever teared from tidal fear?
Salting quicker than your molecules quiver
The haze before me sets a figure in my receptors.
Still with latency almost in tune with ringing concussion.
I look across the needles to see my home. so close -
But in a journeys reach.
So popular am I to have this treat tonight!
The shadow still tarring the sheets, while the nick on my neck
Beckons to make that lonely fearful frog leap….
The one slip was the characters mistake from the
dominance of bludgeoning contact I waked.
The life brought back to me,
Hahaha now he's in fault.
For the sake of vengeance!
He will embrace the lonely, dark, fear filled vault.
The salts are mixing now ever so violent!
Pathetic rumbling only fuels the rage.
The feel undoubtly painful, breaks the steals fall.
Like a bland saw cutting so much wood. hold the sounds
Of the shivers as the panic rivers,
running straight up the hands.
to engulf the Tingling of my godlike commands.
At the right hand is bleeding, faster than them all.
Gurgling shouts but not from the mouth.
Cages ribbed are dancing in the spout.
So many beats of the gavel justifying all.
In My dear friend who will stay for the years.
The sudden silence finally catches ear.
…a certain grace of triumph,
I appear.
That 30 seconds,
Tore me apart.
I reaped!
in spite.
Of ironic mochary that tragic night.

Saturday, April 25, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: dark,god,gothic,mental illness,murder,scared,sick,tragedy,tragic,trauma
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Jazib Kamalvi 23 September 2017

A great start with a nice poem, Will. You may like to read my poem, Love and Lust. Thanks

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Unwritten Soul 21 December 2016

This work show how strong you can be in poetry.. i mean look at the words chain and flow..it just something...keep it up! ! !

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Soul Watcher 25 April 2015

A very profound poem, thank you for sharing it with us.

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Kelly Kurt 25 April 2015

A captivating piece, Will. Thanks for sharing

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