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I'm a aspiring writer looking to focus on short story collections as well as a aspiring lets play content creator.
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  • A place where I will be sharing my writing via poems and short stories.

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Death of Humanity


A frame sits in front of me

Its bones are bare

save for its muscles

its nerves

its organs


All that is physical is prepared


Lights shine on this metal floor

casting a sea of white reflections

while shadows stretch across the floor

from a table as the tools that rest

show wear from old age


There is no more grey hue to them

Only a brown rust that eats away

as a question runs its marathon

across my mind


What shall I put in its soul?


I look at the paint buckets near my feet

Shall I color its skin black?

Shall I color it white?

Shall I color it yellow?

What about red?


The paint brush selects its color

It paints away 

giving the skin its coat of identity


Off to the left sits another table

These sexual organs sit 

there physical meaning gone

as gender, and even sexuality, 

have become a spiritual identity


What shall I teach it to read?

Shall I teach it religion?


Off to the right I look at the books

that sit on a table as dust collects


Perhaps it could give the soul strength of faith

but also poison it

with unbridled hatred


Maybe I should teach it politics?

No, it would not be best

It would be just another cult

to blind its vision


I regard this frame 

Shall I give it life?


No, it is best to start over


I slide my stool over 

ready for the next frame

as I know the last one

will only know division

but will never know true humanity

as it will never see the individual












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Corporatized Causes A causeCan be justA causeCan bring change Until you meet me <

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Got the urge to right a new poem. I call it, The Suppressed.

You look at me

You hate me

Here I stand

Poor to my name

As my voice sings

A song of freedom of speech

As my hands

Paint a picture of freedom of expression

You tell me to lean

Lean a certain way

That which offends

You must hate


What I tell you to hate


What I do not approve of


What I tell you to mock

My political correctness

Is the only political correctness


If in truth

It offends

It does not matter

Spread my cancel culture

Spread my infection

Spread my disease

Let them come

I say

Let them march

I shout

Let them bring a fight

I bellow

When cancel culture knocks

I shall reply

A simple reply

Go fuck yourself

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Public post
Humanities Genocidal Legacy


Crimson paints the dirt

Sidewalks become red

Fields are blessed by blood

Rain washes it away

The Earth receives the bodies

Voices are silenced



Does not stay silent

Yet, those with a voice

Those with a powerful influence

Simply do not speak


They hide it

They cover it up


Only for history to teach us later

But Humanity

Still refuses to learn

Crimson continues to paint

In everlasting cycles

As our legacy

Becomes a legacy of genocide

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Nothing but Children


The children stand

Ready to verbally abuse

Fanatics sit on the side


They cheer

Save us

Save us from this other party



How naïve

These fanatics are

As the children prod them ever onward



How blind

These fanatics are

As they do not see

The hate

The division

The fear



How the puppets

Become indoctrinated

Into fanaticism



Here I stand

Ready to do what needs to be done

As I say to the children

The red’s

The blue’s

To shut up

Stop bitching

Work together

And make the country

For the people

By the people

And not against the people












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A Name Painted in Crimson


I am a painter

That paints in crimson

My name

Is on everyone’s mind

But not all act on it


Save for those in power

Who spill crimson paint

Through their civil wars

And their genocides


Fight on


Fight on

In your civil war


Take in the name of your nations

In the name of your gods

Paint the world in blood


And when you commit self-genocide

When you reach Heaven

Or Hell

And the gate keeper asks 

Who sent you



Tell them 

Violence sent you




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