EmilyNotBronte - Hello Poetry

With blood exploring every inch, Trails of footsteps under my skin, Reminding themselves of the places they had been. As if they are waiting for a end that will never begin, All entered in a competition to the thought they'd never win, My mind an open ground for dumping. The raging heart hammer once again thumping, These soft inhales, my chest lifting and jumping, Thick polluted air failing to contaminate, The stars in your heart illuminate. Dark dull spacious eyes hoping to duplicate, Breathing a universe back of love to a abyss of hate , Reaching the victory only to contemplate Maybe I'll live not to survive. I think I am alive.

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Dec 18, 2016

Dec 18, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC

I am alive.

With blood exploring every inch, Trails of footsteps under my skin, Reminding themselves of the places they had been. As if they are waiting for a end that will never begin, All entered in a competition to the thought they'd never win, My mind an open ground for dumping. The raging heart hammer once again thumping, These soft inhales, my chest lifting and jumping, Thick polluted air failing to contaminate, The stars in your heart illuminate. Dark dull spacious eyes hoping to duplicate, Breathing a universe back of love to a abyss of hate , Reaching the victory only to contemplate Maybe I'll live not to survive. I think I am alive.

15

Sudden gasps. Deep breaths for air. A question. Do they really care? The thump. Hammering in my chest. A question. Who knows of me best? A shine. Glistening in my eye. A question. Can they make me cry? A smile. Widening on my face. A question. Is it out of place? A question. Should I dare ask? The happiness. Was it a mask? Everything, Stopping Gasping Thumping Shining Smiling A stop. Preventing me of breath. A question,

0

Aug 29, 2015

Aug 29, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC

Untitled

Sudden gasps. Deep breaths for air. A question. Do they really care? The thump. Hammering in my chest. A question. Who knows of me best? A shine. Glistening in my eye. A question. Can they make me cry? A smile. Widening on my face. A question. Is it out of place? A question. Should I dare ask? The happiness. Was it a mask? Everything, Stopping Gasping Thumping Shining Smiling A stop. Preventing me of breath. A question,

29

I hated the smell, yet I inhaled it willingly. It stuck to me like tar, yet I touched it voluntarily. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. I was once impenetrable, I was once indestructible. Now trapped in a paradox. An endless abyss of nothing. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. I couldn't find big enough words to make you love me. I didn't know how to phrase what I feel, I'm not a human dictionary. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. You walked my beaten path, you said you'd heal the pain. I should have known you'd make it worse, not make it go away. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. You walk it every day.

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Aug 4, 2015

Aug 4, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC

Beaten path

I hated the smell, yet I inhaled it willingly. It stuck to me like tar, yet I touched it voluntarily. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. I was once impenetrable, I was once indestructible. Now trapped in a paradox. An endless abyss of nothing. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. I couldn't find big enough words to make you love me. I didn't know how to phrase what I feel, I'm not a human dictionary. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. You walked my beaten path, you said you'd heal the pain. I should have known you'd make it worse, not make it go away. I'm the epitome of a beaten path. You walk it every day.

13

With blood cascading constantly, These narrow glim lines under my pale skin, I question, maybe I'm alive. That the raging hammer thumping, The hollow heart in my chest, Means I am simply existing. These soft inhales and exhales, Thick polluted air, It must mean something. Though it could be confusion, Simply too real to be illusion, Definitely not delusion. Maybe I've come to a conclusion. To end my manic mental drive, Maybe I'll live not to survive. I think I am alive.

0

Jul 26, 2015

Jul 26, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC

Maybe, I'm Alive.

With blood cascading constantly, These narrow glim lines under my pale skin, I question, maybe I'm alive. That the raging hammer thumping, The hollow heart in my chest, Means I am simply existing. These soft inhales and exhales, Thick polluted air, It must mean something. Though it could be confusion, Simply too real to be illusion, Definitely not delusion. Maybe I've come to a conclusion. To end my manic mental drive, Maybe I'll live not to survive. I think I am alive.

16