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 Nov 2020 Anonymous
M
Brush
 Nov 2020 Anonymous
M
Comb my hair as waves come crashing beneath us, locking us into time and space. Heart's closed but my mind's perceptive.
An endless, bottomless pit, starving for the unknown, or anything that remotely fills the void.
Dreading the silence of my own existence, I stare ahead.

Then- you ask blankly: "What are you thinking about?"
To which - I blink slowly, and say "The waves".
The ones that keep echoing in my mind.
So you keep combing my hair to quiet the sea.
A thought
 Dec 2019 Anonymous
Edward Coles
I waste myself for you, oh page.
I battle sleep and demons and
Face what I would otherwise
Curtail, for the simple act of
Filling you up.

I trap everything that I am
Within you, page. A web for my
Foggy thoughts, dew caught like
Tears, crystallising the opaque
Within my life.

You are the recipient in my mind,
Oh page. Brain chatter forced into
Structure, a soldier. Almost a child.
You **** me like an alpha, my borrowed
Pleas at your feet.

And so I tread you like infant snow.
Each print a scar, each word a brittle
**** stem. Your silence a truth beyond
My own and whatever I say
Will pollute it.

So I walk round in circles. Tiptoes
Like sparrows, piecrust shapes in
The snow. I walk in circles to not
Carve a path. To hide my meaning.

Don’t follow me home.
Seven shots with ****** knuckles,
four bottles of letting everyone down,
Eight hits from a disappointing life.

It only took me one trip to the rehab center called your touch. I used the medicine of your love to become sober.

now I am dependent on you, I need you every day and do not feel the same without you. I have an itch when I'm away and a warmth when I'm close. I became addicted to your love.

twelve tabs of compassion,
three pints of self-worth,
five pills of your warm embrace,
And one injection of beautiful passion.

I want you...

I need you...

I have you.

I love you.
One person can change your life in more ways than you could ever imagine.
 Dec 2019 Anonymous
Arlo Disarray
The cold so sharp
I see my breath
As I walk along
The land of death
Taking pictures
Of every grave
Trying to make sure
Each memory's saved

The frostbite blackens my soul
As I embrace the bitter cold
But this is love
Life
And perfection
I love these dreadful days

They make me smile
Such an evil smile
That the sun goes down
Causing the cold to grow
And the whole world frowns

The cemetery in December Something I'll always remember
It's a cold so fierce
That it shatters my life
And allows a fresh start
When the new year begins Defrosting my heart
So I may love again
I wrote this one year ago today, and I just came across it.
when i was ten i discovered these books about summer
it seemed all the chapterbooks were filled with strange stories of girls finding their destiny by the sea as their whole life changed between boardwalk adventures and family urgency, like melodrama in small increments with too much sunscreen
something about one of them specifically stayed with me for years
the cover was of the shore and the sand dollars lined in a row as if waiting to be picked up or maybe had just been put down
something about them gave me the impression that this could be my life
an eternal summer that i didn't have to abandon, the book i didn't have to close, look into the sun and not have to pick my body up from the water
it seemed agreed upon that i could live in a continuous day
nighttime didn't exist and the moon was a name given to my mother's friend
everything was promised warm, my feet would touch pavement while my hair was permanently bleached
but the sunset came and shook my shoulders

2.
i stand in my bathroom
cold and harmless
the window is fragmented so no one can look at your naked body but it makes everything outside look like when you didn't realize you needed glasses and once you did every memory was post foggy
i could be a dying star or a sun brushing its' rays and you'd never know
sometimes my hands are so clean my nails taste like soap and there's no way to go about it but accepting that

3.
there used to be a fire
and if i had to give it a name it would be Frederick
i don't know when it disappeared or how it even started existing
one day someone asked me if i knew how much wholesale toothpaste cost and my feet curled, i bit my lip so hard in fear i would scream until my throat bled
but that didn't happen instead something burst, not a vein but a sentiment
there were theories i used to develop while i went on dinner dates
i remember thinking of what i now reference as the sangria theory
while we sat and ate pasta and i could feel my head drifting while his eyes sank into the bottom of my shirt
i thought maybe all the people that you meet have no chance but a say
all circumstantial until you find something that harvests your attention
until you slip past the underwear and then nothing feels important anymore
was it ever?
you go separate ways, separate directions
as if in fear of finding something too close to whatever it is you're trying to find because then what would be the point of looking?
there was a fire and now there's a glow and i can't tell which one i like more
 Jan 2019 Anonymous
Zarah
Striking like a match or unforeseen jumpscares I feel it dull;
it bubbles and broils within the delicate dead cells of my skin

Sudden like when the sky opens up and cries on new pavement
the road begins to flood oil and water don't mix, and you wonder why your mind conflicts with every inch of you as if your soul is being stretched towards space but a body can only stretch so far —
noncompliant.

I flutter against gleaming windows and it feels heavy;
I dance around conclusion like a jester in merriment.
I evade like a thief within a crowd ever keen ever stupid;
I play amongst champions my hands mouth and heart dwell with them.

Tumbling I speak many things, and many things still yet fall on my ears.  I am suddenly deaf and many things become constant a neverending stream a verbatim.
Now I speak most silent —
I rip my teeth out
There is pain i feel it, it is dull like la croix
Us poets,
We perforate the darkness within us
with the light of the Sun.
Soak ourselves in melancholy
like a worn out sponge
and call it inspiration.
Spite like a trail of gunpowder
lit with mad passion
and fulminate onto a piece of paper
tranfused from the nooks of our hearts,
white turns red
coarse in red,
red with lingering passion.

Into
Something digestible
for discening eyes
thoroughly wayward among wilted leaves
vagrant souls with their mouths
stitched because of
the dolour of misunderstanding
hissing with the wind in search
of something or someone
to relate to.

We make it seem like we're not so alone in this world.
A tribute to all of us poets out there. Letting the world know that they are not the only ones who feel a particular emotion. To us! :)
 Mar 2016 Anonymous
Aditi
Maybe it is the death
That makes the life so much more beautiful .

The bright yet flickering light,
Around which you must be careful.

Don't go crashing too fast
For it will be blown away,

Stare a minute too longer
And it will start to Decay
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