God

If you were to teach a torch to shine
it would blind eyes as the sun
If you were to teach fruit how to taste
it would sting the toung with sweetness
If you were to teach a man to love
his lovers heart would burst
and out would spill,
all the too much loviness of which he filled

to say you are amazing would be wrong to say with sound
you knoledge, skills and love should have never have been aloud

-Nicola

Down to the wire

Down to the wire
the brutal desire
to pretend, pretend, pretend
it is time to mask up
and push your reality down down under ground
into the grave
so the theatre can save? you?
Where are you in that costume?
Where are you on stage?
Where are you?
Where are you behind make up?
what part of you is within that mask


to dissapere, to pretend
you become who you want to be
dont you realise
you've been pretending with me?

Nicola Pope

'Lines Written on the Artwork of a Fourteen-Year-Old Me' - Brett Mottram

CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS
Exquisite corpse,
Collaged letters, hardened chef clenching a heart,
Polar bear, dart to the neck, a pretty watch.
Mein Kampf, the face of Hitler, a businessman
Smoking banknote cigarettes while the tape cuts off the files
And a woman's waist meets a fighting machine,
Shot at; bog bodies form sandbags.
Nothing is free. World of the Wars.
Racing hounds with drums strapped to their heads
Beside a scruffy, ink-line clown, sided by newspapers,
Facts and lies. A scenic landscape, tower blocks,
Sweeping steps, balcony nostrils,
Eyeless, searchlight-armed, glassy-walled building.
In an alleyway, a man lets his dear wife
Lean backwards while he gently eases a blade
Through the roof of her mouth.

I'm not designed for love.

I'm not designed for this,
I don't do love, hug or kiss.
I find my bliss.
Not skin to skin.
But shoulder to shoulder.
My heart's grown colder.
Solidified.
All love has died.
I tried.
I cried.
Pathetic whines
No more.
Boots on the floor.
I'm designed for war.
-Harry

I'm sick of caring.
Sick of staring.
While you're glaring.
My temper's flaring.
I'm a nightmare in-
carnated.
A suffocated.
Boy, deflated.
Aggravated.
You can't take it.
Away.
I may.
Stray.
And be gone forver and a day.
What you say?
You wanna play.
The game.
You'll wish that you never came.
I'm too un-tame.
Don't feel pain.
With an infected brain.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARH!
I've gone insane.
Smash my fist straight through that window pane.
And lay claim.
To the earth.
Since birth.
I've been dodgin' the hurse.
I'm a curse.
I destory all things.
Friendship, love, even one night flings.
Won't answer you when my telephone rings.
In a land of kings.
I'm a peasant.
Yes my language is unpleasant.
But I don't care.
I sick of caring.
-Harry.

Exhibition.

An exibition of my life...
Nothingness...
Secrecy...
Alone...
All in plain sight for you to see,
How truly lonely, I can be.



A quick short peom by Amber =)

What IF?

What if the girl sat to my right.
Liked.
Me as much as I like her.
What if I made her speech slur.
What if I made her chest burn.
When ever she looked at me.
What if, even though I knew how she felt.
I kept stringin her along.
I couldn't it'd be wrong.
What if she wanted me so much,
It hurt when I said.
"I don't see us bein anything more than friends."
What if she kept tryin,
And cryin,
Like an idiot when rejected.
What if she gave up.
I know I should.
I know it'll never happen.
But I'm wonderin,
What if...


BTW sorry for the negativity 2day, I just think it'd be better if non of you had ever met me, I'm not good for people. Sorry. Harry.