The Living Dead
When your bit… your bit.
You can scream and cuss and shake your fists
You can curse your gods till the end of it.
It’s a timeless question like the Earth is old.
The answer to we may never know.
Bacteria? Virus? Maybe a mold?
Like an avalanche it starts real slow; it’s an ache, a pain, or could be a cold?
But when your bit… your bit…
And that’s the end of it.
Your flesh grows pallid and your chills grow deep.
At the end of days you’ll wish for the endless sleep.
Then the aches get worse and your fever burns.
But deep in your stomach you start to yearn.
Your friends grow weary then flee with haste.
Through bloodshot eyes you ponder their taste.
Because when your bit… your bit…
But that’s not the end of it.
Your eyes roll back, blood pressure drops.
Your heart rates flat but your feet won’t stop!
Raise up your arms and arch your back.
You shamble on at the head of the pack.
Bite through flesh as victims scream.
Tastes like heaven in this bloody dream.
Now the lessons learned but it’s too late.
Infection spreads and binds your fate.
But you have a choice if you so choose
One shot to the head?
Or the living dead?
When your bit… your bit.
You can scream and cuss and shake your fists
You can curse your gods till the end of it.
It’s a timeless question like the Earth is old.
The answer to we may never know.
Bacteria? Virus? Maybe a mold?
Like an avalanche it starts real slow; it’s an ache, a pain, or could be a cold?
But when your bit… your bit…
And that’s the end of it.
Your flesh grows pallid and your chills grow deep.
At the end of days you’ll wish for the endless sleep.
Then the aches get worse and your fever burns.
But deep in your stomach you start to yearn.
Your friends grow weary then flee with haste.
Through bloodshot eyes you ponder their taste.
Because when your bit… your bit…
But that’s not the end of it.
Your eyes roll back, blood pressure drops.
Your heart rates flat but your feet won’t stop!
Raise up your arms and arch your back.
You shamble on at the head of the pack.
Bite through flesh as victims scream.
Tastes like heaven in this bloody dream.
Now the lessons learned but it’s too late.
Infection spreads and binds your fate.
But you have a choice if you so choose
One shot to the head?
Or the living dead?
Sooooo, generic writings about ones happy/love feelings. How about generic fool stop being generic, fool. talking to you BoStaff.
We're not here to write poems about life and good times. We're just here to write. Also uplifting!? Ha, go read a poem from some delusional hack who thinks it's all good times. The real secret to making a uplifting motivational poem is to secretly make it depressive.
Some of the greatest arts is made with anger, pain and tears. Not ignorance and ecstasy.
We're not here to write poems about life and good times. We're just here to write. Also uplifting!? Ha, go read a poem from some delusional hack who thinks it's all good times. The real secret to making a uplifting motivational poem is to secretly make it depressive.
Some of the greatest arts is made with anger, pain and tears. Not ignorance and ecstasy.
Last edited by T0ribush; Jul 31, 2013 at 08:34 PM.
Originally Posted by Ztc01
The Living Dead
When your bit… your bit.
You can scream and cuss and shake your fists
You can curse your gods till the end of it.
It’s a timeless question like the Earth is old.
The answer to we may never know.
Bacteria? Virus? Maybe a mold?
Like an avalanche it starts real slow; it’s an ache, a pain, or could be a cold?
But when your bit… your bit…
And that’s the end of it.
Your flesh grows pallid and your chills grow deep.
At the end of days you’ll wish for the endless sleep.
Then the aches get worse and your fever burns.
But deep in your stomach you start to yearn.
Your friends grow weary then flee with haste.
Through bloodshot eyes you ponder their taste.
Because when your bit… your bit…
But that’s not the end of it.
Your eyes roll back, blood pressure drops.
Your heart rates flat but your feet won’t stop!
Raise up your arms and arch your back.
You shamble on at the head of the pack.
Bite through flesh as victims scream.
Tastes like heaven in this bloody dream.
Now the lessons learned but it’s too late.
Infection spreads and binds your fate.
But you have a choice if you so choose
One shot to the head?
Or the living dead?
Nice work, man.
I'm guessing you're interested in the whole zombie apocalypse thing. Me too.
I'ma try making my own poem about it.
A disastrous virus, an act of God,
No one knows for sure, call it whatever you want.
One thing is certain, our old life is gone,
no more relaxing, stay alert from morning 'till dawn.
Civilization wiped out, replaced by mindless demons,
most of our own race committing worldwide treason.
Most of us make the mistake of seeking healing,
forget that. Make an escape from all the cretin.
Let go of being afraid and embrace intelligence.
Fear is their ally, ideas are their weakness.
Take advantage of their inability to think,
You are capable of swimming, all they do is sink.
Their brains don't work anyway, put a fuckin' stake through it,
but your mind fuctions, so don't fuckin' lose it.
Next to life, sanity is something you can't give up,
we've been fighting for centuries, now's not the time to stop.
This is a test given to us for us to keep our surviving desire.
Don't tell me Apple products took that away with fire.
The more advanced we get, the more weak are our hearts,
so we were given this test to rise back from the start.
a spoon.
