Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Apr 2018 · 376
post traumatic
Francis Rowell Apr 2018
when those eyes like ice meet mine, i look down
she snarls as i freeze
fight or flight
she has me trapped
words like knives into my anxious mind
who would have thought it would end up this way
Apr 2018 · 236
your torture
Francis Rowell Apr 2018
you have written your cruel words in scars on my wrists
your torture is verbal
turned physical
you’re gone, but it’s still there
i’m trapped in your endless cacophony of insults
Apr 2018 · 216
echoing emotions
Francis Rowell Apr 2018
you cannot wait
wait
wait for the sun
the sun
the sun will shine bright without me
without me
without me you will go on
go on
go on and find someone new
someone new
someone new will help you get better
better
better without me you are
you are
you are
Apr 2018 · 196
red and only red
Francis Rowell Apr 2018
red
only red
i see
red

white noise
but red
red surrounding me
it's spreading like a plague

i can't stop it

can't stop the flow of red, and only red

there's a pale tint to my skin

and it's almost over

red
Apr 2018 · 236
evil stepmothers
Francis Rowell Apr 2018
eyes narrowed down
slits
forever
i gaze and they're digging into my arms
teeth bared like poisonous snakes
a hiss and you're not human, no
you were never human
Apr 2018 · 182
only the best
Francis Rowell Apr 2018
a single drop of red into the pale white sink
and another
painting a disorderly picture onto a marble canvas
with a blade as your brush and the reddest pigment
only the best
for
you
Apr 2018 · 168
memories
Francis Rowell Apr 2018
you cry out into the
stars
but they never listen
to you
they never listen
you feel her teardrops on you shoulder like a
cold summer
rain
but she never listens
to your comforting
words
what would you do if those turquoise glass orbs had not met yours on a
humid
july
afternoon
you would not
exist
yet again
Mar 2018 · 289
have a good life
Francis Rowell Mar 2018
i tried to stay
but i couldn’t find your heart
it was buried
underneath your hoodie
sleeves pulled over your fingers
you couldn’t let me in
but i understand
what it’s like to have a wall

---

you left, you said, because you didn’t know me
but i was trying so hard to open up
i don’t blame you, i’m not worth it
but you could have kissed me goodbye
i got a construction crew yesterday
they’re reinforcing my protection
it’s either trapped in or out
there’s never another way

---

i guess it’s goodbye, then

--

have a

good

life
life
Mar 2018 · 215
story
Francis Rowell Mar 2018
i'll tell your story
i'll weave no lies into the silken thread of your life's quilt
someday
i'll show you
someday
you'll see
the story i wrote
is yours
love.
Feb 2018 · 247
never
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
never again
will I hear that sound
too beautiful it was
too beautiful for me
Feb 2018 · 184
Always
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
there is hope
There is love
There is someone there
Always
You don't have to feel alone
You're not
You're loved
Always
Always. No matter what.
Feb 2018 · 227
life
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
my time has come
to an end
some people
can't handle
the weight
of life
This poem isn't about me,  whoops.
Feb 2018 · 284
red
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
red
i broke the promise i made to myself
i turned myself into a type of art
but not the good kind,  you see
i'm a work dripping with ink
and i can't cover up the mistakes
because i used a red sharpie to color
Feb 2018 · 800
old sonnet
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
I cannot keep lying to myself
I find, though, that there is no other way
To keep myself from crying out for help
To make myself go on another day
I gaze upon the stars to search for love
Not within myself; it's not in there
I wonder why the symbol is a dove
If it will only be caught in a snare
'No matter what,' they say, 'it will not help'
But I find that I can't keep it inside
The pain makes me forget about myself
And all the terror that I try to hide
I cannot stop, can't keep my thoughts at bay
For if I do, my life will slip away
These are surprisingly hard to write.
Feb 2018 · 1.9k
siren
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
just follow me, don't worry
please don't run away from me
just listen to my beautiful voice
and lose all sense of thought and choice
just follow me into my cave
forever drowning, a siren's slave
i must go now, to lead more sailors in
don't scream when i **** you, you know you can't win
Feb 2018 · 906
felo-de-se
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
sleep now, my darling
it will be alright
you'll wake up in a land of butterflies and light
with no monsters to follow you
no need to rush through the night
just sleep now, my darling
don't bother to fight
A bit different than my normal style, I know. I quite like it, though.
Jan 2018 · 366
eight butterflies
Francis Rowell Jan 2018
eight butterflies instead of lines
instead of those painful repeating designs
eight butterflies, just drawings in any other person’s eyes
but to me they’re special
so i keep them alive
i’m starting to hate that red ink anyway
The butterfly project is quite a gift. I would recommend researching it for yourself.
Dec 2017 · 1.2k
just a doll
Francis Rowell Dec 2017
you treat me so sweetly,  your favorite doll

you always play so carefully

you put me away in the closet when you're done with me

and when i rip,  you gently sew me back

you always forget that dolls have feelings, too, though

and you just get mad so easily

you always are physically ever so soft,  but verbally you just destroy me

you always just put me back in my box

but can't you see i'm hurting?

you only see the outside

never the tears

i'm just a doll
good dollies don't cry,  good dollies can't cry
i'm just a doll

so you leave without a second thought

i've been in your closet for so long

i'm all but a forgotten toy now

it's so cold in here

why have you left me to rot?

i cannot move,  you must know this

i can only sit and stare

i'm just a doll,  can't you remember?
i'm just a doll
i'm just a doll
I actually spent quite a while revising this, which is pretty abnormal for me. I normally don’t communicate like a normal human, but I guess I am, now. If I’m doing this, I might as well say— this is most likely going to become a song.
Francis Rowell Nov 2017
Your eyes are like hazel,  your words are like cyanide

Those chocolate oceans drowning me

You build me up and draw me in, traps baited with sugar

Then all the same tear me to shambles with your poison
I can't escape, caught up in your web
Nov 2017 · 301
Be quiet.
Francis Rowell Nov 2017
I swallow my words,  but I'm allergic and it's all I can do not to ***** them back up.
"Do not go gentle into that good night." -Dylan Thomas
Francis Rowell Aug 2017
“And to his surprise, there were butterflies coming out of his mouth.”

--- --- --- ---

Quite literally, nothing is literal. Everything is a grain of salt in itself, and therefore no matter what we do or say or read or hear or exist, we all die of sodium poisoning. Is that a possible thing to do? Can we live, breathe, exist even if we ourselves are but a single grain of salt to be taken with other infinite grains of salt? Can a grain of salt itself die in general, let alone die of sodium poisoning?

Ah, sand, then? No, that can’t be any better. What about sugar? Absolutely not. What is everything, then, if not a grain of salt to be taken with another grain of salt, and another, and another?

An extended metaphor, maybe. How many grains of salt does it even take to create an extended metaphor, though? How does one measure such a strange volume? Would the measurements even be cubic? Volume? Area? What does an extended metaphor look like? A paragraph, I suppose, so that would be area. But how big would this paragraph be? Average? How big is the average paragraph, and how would anyone ever count the endless amount of paragraphs being written everywhere and everywhen? Further research is required.

I find myself wishing much more than I ever have, or ever should, that there existed any kind of salt-to-paragraphs conversion chart.
If I could, I would. But I can't, and never will. "Que sera sera," Said I, with my head hanging and my eyes holding back a storm. "Que sera sera."
Francis Rowell Jul 2017
Your mouth is full of endless butterflies
Your lungs are full of roses
Your eyes hide the city of Atlantis in their depths
Your hair is loosely woven silk
Your skin is unblemished porcelain

Or so I thought

Your mouth spews hornets, wasps, and bees
You cough up thorns and brambles
Your pupils are slits, irises bleeding red
Your hair is rope, tangled into nooses
Your broken porcelain cuts open my chest

You were so beautiful
You were so kind
Your whispers were magical chants into my ears
But then you tried to **** me with your words
Beauty is pain for the eye of the beholder
Jul 2017 · 389
Music for the Deaf
Francis Rowell Jul 2017
your lips are a magnificent instrument
beautiful symphonies escape them
i'm in the front row,
lovingly observing your one woman orchestra
staring into your eyes.

i wish i had the ability to hear
an endless world of nothing is quite a ponder-inducing concept
Jul 2017 · 427
Comfort at its Best
Francis Rowell Jul 2017
I unravel in your arms,
no more than a tattered baby blanket
in your eyes.
I'm back, the sky grey upon my return as the gods cry.
Jul 2017 · 312
Liebestraume, My Dream
Francis Rowell Jul 2017
I hear the music,  the musician gently caressing her one true love to help her cope. I can feel the emotion through my hopelessly edgy headphones,  and I know when she is stressed, happy. sad,  heartbroken,  confused.

  I feel a wetness on my face,  and I envy her.
I'm only human,  so some nonexistent god, please help me.
Oct 2016 · 358
The End
Francis Rowell Oct 2016
No one wants to say goodbye.
To read the last page,
To reach the conclusion.

No one wants to see the end,
They want it to go on forever

But that's where they're wrong,
For if it went on,
They'd never move on
They'd never remember

Why it was over,
The troubles now gone
The reason it now was over.

— The End —