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Anonymous Jul 2014
I fell into the ocean of your eyes
Oh how alluring you were
You washed me in serenity
More peaceful than a sunrise
And more beautiful than
The night sky
But I must have forgotten
No matter how beautiful the ocean is
It swallows thousands of people whole
Every year
Another person lost beneath it’s waves
Their identity fading in reality
As quickly as it fades beneath the surface
Anonymous Jul 2014
I think I fell in love with her
Although I have never spoken to her
I read every line  she wrote
And pictured her pale fingers
Dancing along her keyboard
Every word a small piece of her-
I fell in love with
The way she writes,
Nothing has captivated me so much
I will never speak to her,
We will just continue to follow each other
On a site dedicated to only poetry
Filled with many others like her and I
But I thought her soul was so beautiful
That I had to write about her
Anonymous Jul 2014
She told me I couldn’t stop
She said it was in my veins,
I didn’t believe her but it’s true
I’ve tried so hard to stop picking up my pen
I’ve tried to ignore the withdrawal from my notebook
But she was right, like always
And when I came back to my abandoned journals
She said
I knew you’d be back
Because words are not just words to you
I think that’s when I realized how damaging it can be
I wish my soul wasn’t drenched in words
It’s a disease, once you start it’s impossible to stop
For writers that is
Writing, it’s a disease;
Its incurable
Anonymous Jul 2014
Society tries to convince me fireworks are beautiful
But I really just taste a little of heaven and hell on holidays
I still have some terrible image of the ball dropping three years ago on New Years
The same sickening, nauseous, gut feeling Like the one I have now
It’s the same feeling I had when I took the plan B pill after celebrating the new year too hard
The thing is-
It isn’t any different now;
I can hear the fireworks explode in tiny pockets of my mind
And I can see the sky burst with life for two or three seconds
Before the color flickers and dies
But I can also taste the salt of your fingertips on my lips
And I can feel your rough hand close around my throat
I can still feel myself cough ‘no’ through your fingers
And in my mind I’m still praying to god that I’m dreaming
Holidays are supposed to be a little slice of heaven; a break from the chains of this world,
But I just taste hell;
This isn’t anything like three years ago, it isn’t hell-
I’m sitting next to my sister listening to the fireworks
I can smell the ***** on my breath and
Taste all the delicious food we made
The thing about holidays is that they aren’t made to be forgotten;
We celebrate because the triumphs of the past-
Only when everyone is celebrating
I’m trapped in some claustrophobic prison because of the past
Every firework sends chills down my spine
And I can taste your hands shoving my mouth closed
And feel your hands close around my throat so tight you leave bruises
I don’t like to remember but it’s impossible
Some things never change; they just sort of fade
I mean look at us;
We’re all here celebrating something that happened years ago -
Anonymous Jun 2014
The thing about writers is that they’ll win you over with words
It’s enthralling when somebody writes about how your lips are the collision of soft pastels coming together
And how your hair is a waterfall cascading down a masterpiece
Or how your freckles are as beautiful as constellations in the sky
Or how your eyes demand truth in the slivers of honey
caught in a whirlwind of the ocean in your eyes
Isn’t it intriguing the way a writer captures you in words?
Everybody wishes to be scribbled into journals and etched into the back of somebodies mind
After all “If a writer falls in love with you, you’ll never die”
But nobody likes being in the forced silence a writer presses upon a room
Nobody likes waking up at 3am wondering why their lover is scribbling into a journal with furrowed brows
Most of all nobody wants to be loved by somebody whose pen can speak more clearly than their own lips
Being loved by a writer is endearing, yes…
But nobody actually wants to live forever in some tattered old notebook that just collects dust as years go by
Everyone wants a lover who shows as much passion through actions
As they show in their words-
Most writers can’t offer that,
and I’m afraid that’s why everyone and no one would like to be loved by a writer
Anonymous Jun 2014
I bathe in a bath of blood
(metaphorically of course)
The ****** crimson red is all I know;
It covers all the white in my eyes
Hiding any part of me that looks human
I look hungry; primal almost
I guess you could say the way I'd look at you
Is in pure starvation
Something that stems from my toes
and pulsates through my body until it reaches my mind
It's the lack of sleep that makes me look like an animal
It's the fact that I can run on no sleep for three days straight
I am not an animal, but I'm not exactly human either
Anonymous Jun 2014
It feels like a dream, only this time it’s not;
I can’t will myself awake and sit in the forced
silence my four walls ‘scream’ until the nightmare fades
no;
There is no uncontrollable shaking and cold sweat
I can close my eyes and open them a thousand times but nothing changes;
The nightmare doesn't just disappear…
My sister still sits in the next room crying hysterically
As her boyfriend screams “Give me my **** keys Kaela, why can’t you trust me?!”
The paper thin walls make it feel as if i’m in the same room as them-
Just hiding in the closet or corner watching in on their lovers quarrel
But flashbacks of my ex crowd my mind,
They’re too prevalent, impossible to ignore
Their loud voices dissipate into the background and become as soft as whisper
The only noise I can clearly hear is the man in most of my nightmares
His hand around my mouth so tight I can taste the salt of his skin
His other on my throat so he can play God, determining when I get to breathe
It now marks three hours since I've sat in bed just listening to them argue-
My arms wrapped tightly around my legs pulling my knees into my chest and hanging my head low
The nightmare won’t stop…
Because there is no waking up from reality.
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