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               F U C K E D  U P  C O L L E G E  K I D S
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                - t h e  p o e t r y  v e n t u r e -
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        [intro]

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	kiss the needles

	a snow white pain
	seethes in morbid silence
	a quiet simplicity that
	outlines my very being
	quickly - turn off the lights
	before searing brightness
	burns my mortal soul
	unwilling and unable to
	fulfill the simple desires
	that permeate his being

	i wonder what it is to
	be a violet - perfection
	in its own right
	imagine the possibility of
	suffering a yellow soul and
	being adored in spite of it
	a silent reaching, a bleeding
	within within
	and yet beautiful without
	what is it about innocence
	that beckons? And can I
	capture that lacy corsage
	and pin it upon my own
	breast? Or would it prick me,
	a sharp death instrument,
	shunning the torrid veined
	flesh that lives there?
	That flesh
	That flesh that knows
	teeth and fists, an intelligent
	knowing that blackens
	and mars, a rose petal
	torn by life. See the gentle
	curl of ruin and love it as
	you would a violet
	please.

        demonika        4/14/98



        Blood

        My bite breaks the surface of his trembling, pale skin,
        as I rest his head gently upon my shin.

        His warm, moist, luscious blood drips through the cracks of my teeth,
        and I listen to the sound of my tasteful love's frightened shrieks.

        I see him squirm, wiggle and tighten his fist,
        as I move in to give him one final everlasting kiss,

        I feel his chilled flesh between my two hands,
        while his hair parts into small, thin strands.

        He looks at me with pleading blue-green eyes,
        as I smile sweetly and lick my lips dry.

        I let him loose and he falls to the floor,
        as I walk away wishing I had more.

        I move on to find my next male victim,
        as the sun sets and the day becomes dim.

        I walk through the woods, lips coated with dry blood,
        sneakers carrying me through the sticky mud. 

        Crickets chirping their tune,
        while I look up and cry at the moon.

        My eyes that have changed to auburn,
        look around remembering all I have learned.  

        Hair of blond that has now been changed to a darker shade of black,
        hugs my shoulders and dances on my back.

        I hear him in the distance, so my pace becomes faster,
        something grabs me from behind, it is my master.

        He created me so he is my love,
        I wonder if I am damned as I look up above.

        What I have become is not my fault, I didn't have a choice,
        when it came to my decision, he had stolen my voice.

        I do not wish to be changed, I longer understand the meaning of good,
        you can try to change me back, but I doubt anyone ever could.

        Volaris



        New Gods Decree

        subtle lies, faithless cries
        i hear them all

        for I am one of the new gods
        let it be, the emotional debris

        persecution unending, my soul in lending
        new stye of abuse

        for I am one of the new gods
        flesh is torn, again i'm born

        self damage your sin, as if giving in
        you try to drag me back

        for I am one of the new gods, and this is my decree

        mea culpa       98



        TEMPORARY PLOT

        it's motionless. this passing
        phase sleeps. decision want
        to circumsize my integrity.
        peeling back love. leaving
        emotions on the floor. one
        more kiss for credibility.
        
        childhood forces. black
        days and dead nights. everyone
        sees them pointing a finger.
        wake up. nothing breaks
        like a dream. and no one
        knows you when you linger.

        borrowing idols. turning to
        sounds for answers. and there's
        only one more sacrifice to try.
        thoughts harvest hate. sanity
        bleeds into the Holy Grail. but i
        am not prepared to fight and die.

        Indiana Poet            March 5, 1998



        In times of sadness pressing madness,
		you make me laugh comical tears,
		to forgetful hardships colored murky,
		we elope to happiness hello honest,
		you attire my emotions adorned alive,
		I love you like sunsine heated time.

		In times of sickness pressing wickedness,
		you make me well thankful health,
		to amnesia amazement cured despondency,
		we elope to fancy for each other,
		a rare caring crafted honey,
		you've acquired my emotions dancing inside,
		I love you like sunshine heated time.

        Sadia



        Dark Cavern

        Dark cavern of my refuge
        Only the way I want it.
        Light as much or as little,
        scent and decor up to me.

        Alcove in the wall,
         where I can stop and stare.
        No need to wonder,
         what I am doing there.

        Not liking the outter-world
        I can always find my way,
        to that dark cavern.
        Dark cavern of my refuge.

        Filled with only the items I wish 
        no need for rushing or being harsh.
        The cavern is onlyt he way I want it.
        Days or years do not matter.
        For I shall always ...
                the dark cavern of my refuge.

        Kamira                  March 20, 1998



                                   BULIMIA

                                   Images
                               in front of me
                                   waifs
                               wisps of hair
                         I stare into my reflection
                                  and cry
                               fill my needs
                                pour in more
                                 It's full
                          I stick the hand of fate
                               down my throat
                                   deeper
                                  come out
                             anger, bitterness
                                  fill me
                                  purging
                                pouring out
                                like a river
                                 with empty
                                  promises
                              of becoming you
                                a frail bird
                                 empty soul
                                   a waif
                                  Longing,
                                 Bingeing,
                                  Purging

                                 BlueRose

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        E D I T O R S:   jericho@dim.com   &   demonika@dim.com
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	A V A I L A B I L I T Y:
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        (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.     
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        F O U N D E D:                         October 30, 1997