Leave a message after the beep
Braden Kreft
Braden Kreft
Nov 30, 2014

My brain went out fishing
No king to run the keep
If my words you're wishing
Leave a message after the beep

#short   #mind   #rhyming   #humor  
to the beep
Feb 28

she waited
and waited
and waited
to the beep
of her phone
feeling sad
and happy
and nervous
all at once.

she waited
and waited
and waited
til her eyes
had gone to

she waited
and waited
and waited
and died waiting.

#love   #sad   #life   #prose  
Jorge Echevarria
Jorge Echevarria
Oct 12, 2014

Always wanted Her but she ran too fast
Doesn't matter id never last
Got some drive but no destination
Lost with a road map no transportation
Your hand in my headlights
As I drive away...

Joshua A
Joshua A
Sep 13, 2010

"Why did you stay up so late?" she asked
Because my mind is a machine
And this machine controls my body
And this machine told me not to sleep
So instead we paced and we paced
And we paced until my body was tired
And than back to bed the three of us went
And we lie awake pondering -
All the things, minuscule and big-
That I can not, will not ever change  
Until it reached the point of futility
My body ready and willing, begging
The machine resisting, pulling itself apart
"Just wait for the collapse" I told myself
Then and only then, will this machine-
Release it's grip on me
Then and only then,
Will I be allowed to sleep
Wait, what's that sound?
What's that sound?
It's must be the sound
of the answering machine
Please leave your message after the...


Becca DeMateo
Becca DeMateo
Dec 6, 2013

You're beauty
I'm the beast
I wish you would come save me...

I don't know this has been rewriting itself in my head for 3days now I figured I'd I didn't get it wrote down now then I never would
raw with love
raw with love
Apr 23, 2014      Apr 24, 2014

in the end,
we're all
                                                                           "time of death"

#suicide   #sad   #depression   #life   #pain   #death   #dead   #hurt   #equality  
bucky barnes
bucky barnes
Oct 1, 2014

Show me, you say, show me the hallway.
                         Show me the bedroom, show me where we used to live. That tree, over there, with the apples.
                                                               You, and then not you.
You, crossed out.
                                                            ­                          You, in the windowsill
                                                   with your hair pulled back.
Take me, I say, take me like we're already dead.
                                                                ­                  You know how this ends.
              My hands, your hands, harmony.
A lit match, maybe. And death itself, there beside us.
                                        Fuck me, you know how,
              you've done this before, I say, panic and soap that smells a bit too much like your brother's wake.
                                                           ­                     Play me a funeral song. Impress me, and you say,
                                                            ­        what's left to impress?
And maybe I'm not the antichrist, but it's not like you are, either.
           This, our hands, you, the radio stuck on one station, crossed out.
Red pen.
                                                                ­        This isn't a temporary solution.
            You're singing, I say, and you just keep on, say,
                                                     this isn't a funeral,
like it's none of my business.
                                 The radio again, playing the only way it knows how.
The mountains, over there in the distance,
                                                       ­                                               spying on us.
Your hands, my hands, tied up like knots, like
                                       this is the only way we can love. But it’s not, is it,
             don't you remember the treehouse?
Three blocks down the road a man has blood on his hands, and you are the man and you aren't, all at once.
                                                  You, me, clockwork.
A bell, tolling in the distance.
                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                                                                                            Repeat.

i don't know how to write poetry
#beep   #boop  
bucky barnes
bucky barnes
Sep 1, 2014

guess you shouldve thought about that
before you broke your mothers back,huh,sweetheart?

in my anthology that will probably never be published this and vol 1 go right next to each other so people see the contrasting lengths (~841 words vs 14. yes)
#beep   #bop   #boop  
Nat Yonce
Sep 2, 2010

Soul of dew

Dried by midday.
‘Tis a sensible hour.

He is the one who is called
I am the one who is called
Soul of dew.
I am the one who is now
Into an evanescent being,

Only to dry
Much too soon.

Forgot soul of dew, hurled.
Soul of dew
Hurled, Forgot was too late.

M Clement
M Clement
Dec 2, 2012

My fingers
My wrists

I can feel the energy leaving my arms
As if there's nothing left to write.
It can't be true; however,
that there's nothing left to write

There's got to be something

That got dark fast.

I could write something,
I think I have the energy
But what to write about?

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