manny-2
English
Name's Maniba, 18, student :) / A pen and a piece of paper is all I need in life to keep me going - everything I write is from the heart... / / Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take...but by the number of moments that take our breath away... / / / © All rights reserved to Maniba Kiani
Worrying comes as second nature to some people,
Do not tell them to stop, if they knew how - don't you think they would have saved themselves from the heartache's that would ensue?
Worrying is inevitable;
The only difference is, it comes more naturally to some rather than others.
If you cross paths with a worrier - take my advice,
Leave them be.
One woman's worry can be another woman's sanctum.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
the past i've lived
in tomorrow's arms it rests
my paper wings
arrayed in flames to brave the test
a goodly sort of ghost
a wraith of salt
my core of clay
a collapsed ******* ~ halt
of reasoning lax
a cipher sea ~ a sequence black
a great metaphor of fool
a mine of lack
oh! brave young innocence is lost!
heaven earth and hell
traversed at such a cost!
the seeds the weeds
have grown tall glass construction
i bless the first
and leave last to corruption
however have the
bitter tears turned hands to rust
how do the dregs of past
turn holy wine to
dust
soulsurvivor
catherine jarvis
(C) october 14, 2014
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Your bloodshot eyes
your heart wrenching cries
your terrified screams
your suicidal dreams
your uncontrollable gasps for air
your stringy, limp strands of hair
The arched movement of your vertebrate
The silent, lonely corners where you go to contemplate
Your weak and feeble stance
Your affectionate romance
Your odour of camouflaged sadness
Your fear of your own madness
Your electric shock waves making you jolt
Your denial of sugar and of salt
The panic rise in your brain you sense
The moment of relapse, for the pain to cease and the calm to commence.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Isn't it funny how I need you,
But you don't need me?
Without you, I cannot glow.
Without you, my colors will not show.
Why are you so selfish?
Why is it that
When you go down
You take me below with you?
When you don't shine, you dim the stage
So no one shines but you.
But why not let the stargazers
See some other colors too?
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
If I was dead,
And my bones adrift
Like dropped oars
In the deep, turning earth;
Or drowned,
And my skull
A listening shell
On the dark ocean bed;
If I was dead,
And my heart
Soft mulch
For a red, red rose;
Or burned,
And my body
A fistful of grit, thrown
In the face of the wind;
If I was dead,
And my eyes,
Blind at the roots of flowers
Wept into nothing,
I swear your love
Would raise me
Out of my grave,
In my flesh and blood,
Like Lazarus;
Hungry for this,
And this, and this,
Your living kiss.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
*Time hath ceased.
All clocks stopped.
Where you passed by
in dew kissed meadow,
void of thy presence.
We hear no more
at our door
thy gentle knock.
After thy passing
and before
persistent loud cry
of Whip-poor-will.
Now that is still.
Silence.*
~Hilda~
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
Your a
memory I
want tattooed in to my mind....
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
I don't understand it.
I am not a anxious person.
But lately, I've been catching myself on the edge of a break down --
not necessarily a destructive breakdown,
more like a breakdown of happiness.
Thinking about how much I love her...
It's almost pathetic.
Wanting her in my arms holds a physical ache.
Thoughts of her have formed an almost meditative mantra.
Her presence calms my mind like the shoreline does the sea.
Revelation.
She's become my anchor.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
I feel your gaze, piercing my own stare
Your yellow, gaunt face
Hollow
Lifeless
Your eyes - no longer hold the dancing light
- even when you smile
Your fire is burning out.
When our cheeks touch and our bodies meet, (to embrace),
I can feel your collar bones poking my neck,
as you hold on tighter
I'm scared to exert the same force -
In case you lose the balance that you're hardly maintaining.
My hand traces your spine
How feeble and weak you are under those baggy clothes.
Your hips are like guns -
They're triggers
Mounted and transfixed on either side of you.
Feeding on air and water
How long will you last?
How long till you collapse?
I feel you weakening a little more - everyday
From a stick to a twig
Oh, so fragile
My china doll.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
Her heart is a broken record
Constantly being scratched by knives and scissors
Lost in their quest to find a spot still intact
When put in the old phonograph
It plays a soft melody filled with piano notes
That sound like rain on a gray day
The strings of the violin echoes in the background
Along with the lower tones of the cellos
The solitary saxophone cries;
The flutes and clarinets follow its lead,
Desperately letting out their high notes of agony
Drums emerge blasting anger
Encouraging the rest of the instruments to go along
And when it is about to hit its ******
Another scratch – a deep crooked scratch.
It takes a while before the song starts over.
It’s hard to imagine
This was once a beautiful, shiny vinyl
That stood up in the wooden shelf
Now it is filled with dust
Making company – only – to the Merlot sitting by the desk
And to the ears that can hear nothing
But the harmony of the broken hearted.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC