Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Oct 2016 Quisha
taia
glue (haiku)
 Oct 2016 Quisha
taia
chemicals wafting
the sharp smell stings my nostrils
but it feels so good
 Oct 2016 Quisha
taia
people were staring
the mark on my cheek speaking
words i dare not say
 Jul 2016 Quisha
taia
i'm a broken mess
this pile of flesh and bones
doesn't feel like home
 Jul 2016 Quisha
Oskar Erikson
FINALLY I SAID GOODBYE.

GOODBYE I SAID, FINALLY.

FINALLY! GOODBYE, SAID I.

I SAID GOODBYE. FINALLY?

I
SAID
GOODBYE
FINALLY
.
.
.
Finally. I said.
Goodbye.
 May 2016 Quisha
Oskar Erikson
Hello, you.
I won't bid adieu,
till we finish these few
stanza's.

You came looking again.
am I right?
You just can't tame
those feelings, thinking-Poetry
will make'em behave- quite.

Well. We're both at a loss.
My own pen resists writing
icy words. Frost.
Bitten sentences need warm eyes
to thaw out.

Tell you what, lets
work. together.
I'll write something, anything which'll
forever, stay.
You just have to promise to remember it
and not twist it.

I'm not sure if our talk
was lengthy enough or indepth.
You'll just have to accept.
This; Metaphorical-Physical-Emotional-Mental
discussion has ended.

What we may of, or may not of, agreed upon.
Shall come true.
Now
adieu.
Lets talk.
 May 2016 Quisha
taia
as i hug your body close to mine,
i feel my grasp tighten,
and my fingers clutch at folds of fabric.

this goodbye will break me.
you're the only thing holding me up,
and the second i let go i will crumble.

how could i become so dependent,
on you,
on this single soul?

be strong, they say, be fearless,
because fear is the enemy.
i ignored them.

but as i stand here,
holding you in an embrace for the last time,
every ounce of me is filled with remorse.

i regret not doing so many things,
simply because i was too afraid to.
fear was the enemy.

lessons learnt far too late,
my courage only now found.
but you're already gone.
 May 2016 Quisha
CautiousRain
You call me sunshine
and there are days I'd believe it,
but others I don't.

When my mind is so cloudy
I can't think at all
or when I process far too much
and it clashes in thunderous claps,
or when my tears block my view,
pouring, dribbling into its final trickle,
you say it.
How could you call me sunshine then?

You mean to say that behind all that,
nothing changes?
Surely an object cannot be an object if its properties change.

Yet you have the audacity to say otherwise,
that I can still be sunshine even when the night has fallen,
and the stars take my place,
because who else would illuminate the moon had it not been true?

So maybe I'll believe you.
Next page