Poetry Poems from the vents

[Shawdios]

I wrote some vent poems, decided to put them here instead of the vent journal.

Spoiler: TW: SH

The artist donned in long sleeves,
What is their art?
The artist who fears summer,
What is their passion?
The artist that longs for the cold,
What is their medium?

They paint in red lines,
Their brush in a careful grip,
Makes light strokes of a sticky crimson art,
With tissues to clean the paint that drips.

 

[Shawdios]

Spoiler: TW: SH

I want to spew hate,
At the one who gave the idea,
of etching Red line art,
But the words catch with fear,

Both the art and person like a drug,
So addicting and pleasing,
But hurtful— hey don’t you shrug,

Why can’t I hate,
The one who nitpicked and leached,
Sparking the urge for red line art made to be ornate,

The morbid art of those red lines,
Akin to a tattoo,
Drawn on the canvas of skin,
But starkly more taboo.

 

[Shawdios]

Spoiler: TW SH

The artist wonders how long
Till the lines grow deeper
And their brush more aggressive

How slippery is the slope?
they ponder
As the farther up lines crawl

Their brush imatates a kitten claws
Drawing paint from the can
Ever so slightly

Eventually their brush will grow rusty
What then?
Will it knock some sense into the artist?
Only time will tell

But how much will Time tell?
Will it tell the artist anything?
Or are Time’s words falling on deaf ears

The lines are pleasing to touch
Their rough texture a craved stimuli
So the artist relishes in the fruit of their labor

As their fingers trail up and down the canvas
Full of fading red lines
Both new and old

 

[Shawdios]

Spoiler: TW SH

Boredom cursed artist drawing Redlines
Some Numbly drawn
Some Tear streak drawn

They all look the same
And cause the same shame

The same fear of Spring’s arrival
And the goodbye of winter
Because the Convenient excuses of the season
Will no longer be working

 

[Shawdios]

You cant save everyone.



What a curious line
For the people pleaser to hear
Do they deny it?
And cling harder to the toxic ones they hold dear?


Or does it resonate
And spur the moment to break
Away from the leeches
Who would forever take and take


The same leeches
With no care for the pleaser
Who’s always dragged down
By the manipulative teaser


Exploiting their kindness
For just a taste of power
They cry and demand
The pleaser’s lost another flower


But what is the cost
Of their deserved freedom?
Well, its urges for harm
And a desire for lines others cannot fathom