Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
SOS
Empty eyes
Scan the room
For a solvent

To dissolve
The boarding sadness
Feeling at home in my truth

Hiding behind honest lips
Despair coats
My throat

Tricking me into believing
That it’s going down
Like water

Voices chanting
In bonds
Made by weakened spirits

Shot
Shot
Shot,


I take.

Chuuug
Guuulp
Sluuug,


I fade.

Eyes wander,
Looking in my skull,
For a brain

Before Answering
a knock
at my lips

Peck
Peck
Smooch.


The blur
Drags us
Away

My eyes
Disillusioned with romance
Scan the room

Hollowly thankful
No one heard my
Signal

Wondering
If he can taste
How raw

My voice has become.
As I see your texts flash across my scene,
I notice how those letters
don’t look like they’re holding up your world.
They don’t look like they’re trapped on a single page of a hometown small atlas,
far away from any oceans.
As the first leashed fish I’ve ever seen,
I can see you tearing at your shrinking collar,
never having needed claws before.
Finding yourself belly up,
Accustomed to suffocating
On behalf of the guppies running from
Their own sharks.
I wonder if they know that they put their blood on you,
Making you smell like a prime target
For demons and sharks alike.
Hoping if you swim this way
And that
You’ll create a whirlpool,
Big enough, small enough,
Enough,
In your longer than expected attention span,
Hoping that the funnel might drag away their sharks,
But now you find it was not the demons,
But they who didn’t know how to swim,
And you
Struggling to teach what is innate to you,
Finding you’ve made your own endless funnel,
Drowning in the water that taught you to breathe.
My points aren’t touching ground.
Plucked up by a spine
Holding my pages together
When the library is going up in smoke
Paper doesn’t need to breathe
It just needs to be the channel
The background of the universe
Bleeding itself into reality
She listened to music that sung out her vacancy,
Allowing only those chords to be felt,
Keeping the emptiness
To ensure the sacredness of
Her ritual.
She wears a sterling silver lie on her finger,

A Christmas gift, unintentionally leading her into Fraud,
months after the wrapping paper had been torn away.

Never gifted with piano fingers, hers pulsated with words waiting to pour through her pen

Having passed faith tests with flying colors,  she looked at the rounded Christ less crucifix, Jesus replaced with fashionable jewels,

She believed it was a medal for coming out alive and in faith

Little did she know that the test was a mere three months away

Not unfamiliar with temptation,

She knew her weakness,

Knowing herself only to be human,

Seeing the ins and outs of her fragility,

Still pushing onward into hope,

Bordering on the suburban developed atheism, but always landing on the grassy faith.

But as one who was too old to be young forever, there was one whose failure

Would drag her out to the desert littered in nihilism.

She feared how at home she felt there,

Seeing her reflections not in any oasis, but in the land that once held such promise

But had been drained of breath and water

The dry ground being undistinguishable from her feet,

too tired to keep going, too broken to stay,

Ignoring that lone piece of metal, glaring from her fingers,

Being covered in the dried and drained land,

Hiding away the lie that was stuck to her,

Fingers swollen with the untapped sap,

Too thickened with sorrow to be drained easily,

Growing into her skin, scarring over,

Ingrown faith, digging itself under her skin,

Unavoidable metal in a desert so bleak,

A Medal that brought prior pride

Now a blood clot in vain of surviving.
I would believe in god if nobody hurt

If nobody hurt we'd all be gods
When people say “rekindle an old flame,”
I find it very misleading.
That flowery wording
Makes it sound so
Musical
So Promising

What it really is
Is that *** lighter
That you sparked
And resparked
And swore wasn’t empty
Before leaving in your pocket
Sometime ago.

When you found it,
you lit up,
Friction flicked that
Wheel
And watched that
Flame dance once more,
Enough to ignite one more
Toxic thought

Getting you high from the
Smoke
Clouding the past
Leaving you
Staggered
When your fingers
Bleed
Begging for
Fire

And you crack it open,
Look for what’s more
Not even smelling
Butane

Just smelling
Nothing.

It’s empty.
Next page