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The world is trapped in a thick haze,
which is why no one wants to be themselves these days.
They are watching; circling like vultures,
while slowly washing away my colors.

Bandages and "sorry" don’t fix bullet holes,
decaying people have decaying goals.
Do not dare to dream of something bigger,
when your friend is shaking with their finger on the trigger.

Childhood songs are stored within,
like ink is etched into my skin.
My youth they stole; they left me plain,
with venom quickly crashing through my veins.

We are all but pilot episodes,
failing to ever make it as we go.
Like lost souls we flourish through the night,
searching for originality to make us shine bright.

Society; your cage is officially suffocating,
our lives you so ruthless is dominating.
The truth I speak is so loud you can not ignore,
because this is not another harmless metaphor.*

I declare war.
One
Thing he knew's when he found
love... he wasn't going to lose it again... for his second would but
be his last... the one who'd give
him a chance would find forever.
He seldom loved, he seldom
trusted but when he did...
it was once and forever...
forever and for always.
When he loved... he
loved obsessively...
He loved like it
was a matter
of life and
death.
 Jul 2016 Ellentelligence
taia
i'm a broken mess
this pile of flesh and bones
doesn't feel like home
Don't wanna be ur
3 rd option
Make me just
Priority just once
I'll love u
No one else had
Before
Your words flourish like a flower before my eyes
Oh, poet, dear poet, is there an end to the sweetness you bring forth
Now share those endless rhymes with me
Let the essence of your heart through your words live on in my head forever
I've been reading some awesome poems on here and they inspired this spontaneous piece. This is dedicated to all the poets on this site. Keep writing!
Weep for me
And for all I could have been
And wanted to be
But please don't waste your tears
Weeping for someone
That I never wished was me
Much adored is the dead poet

Within the glass case
Away from dirt
Amongst the books pressed
Rests his heart


Such was the silence he dreamed
When words streamed
Like riverine flow
In all might arose
Seeking the order in chaos

Orderly bound now his name
In peace standing behind wooden frame
Yet with the ceaseless commotion of wait...

Much adored rests the dead poet.
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