By. Lauren

The last gulp of air.
The last chance at life.
The kids of opportunity.
The lack of oxygen to the heart.
The last heart palpitation.
The only chance left.
No more opportunities to be found in the lonesome grave of death

By. Lauren

Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
This poem sounds like the rest of them.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
Am I repeating myself over and over again?
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
I feel like a leaky faucet of ideas.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
Is there any creativity left in me?
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
My ideas don't flow out like they use to.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
I think I'm done with poetry.

By. Lauren

Bones shatter under the pressure to be perfect.
No flaws in the marrow or bumps on the side.
Only the longing for perfection that will never be satisfied.

By. Lauren

Your wings wrapped around me.
Like a trapped fish I squirmed and gulped for air.
Your wingspan was larger than my chance of survival.
You suffocated me to no end.
I was trapped in your toxicity.
Like a viper you bit.
Thangs unwillingly of release.
No chance of escape was to be found in my desert of hopelessness.
Only a dripping of blood from which I shed.
The sorrow of my later life soon reached.
You had left me helpless.
Only a hopeless soul in the abandoned desert of life from which I am searching for an exit.

By. Lauren

The release of a scream was the most awaited part of my day.
An opportunity to release my pain.
No more feelings.
No more emotions.
Just an opportunity to feel normal.
The long awaited break.
The release of built up stress.
A simple scream that would change it all.
Just a scream that made my day normal once more.

By. Lauren

On that day it's like the bell didn't ring.
No buzz in the hall
Or message to convey.
Only the whisper of voices and echo of tears.
The dreaded news refusing to spread.
The blink of an eye was too much to handle.
The drop of a tear immediately followed.
She was gone.
What could be done?
No bell would change the fact only a ring of emotion would be released.
No buzz of white noise would bring back her laughter.
All that was left was a cathedral of empty lungs.
No air left to breathe.
No more tears to shed or news to spread.
She was gone.
That fact was all that followed.

By. Lauren

Swish.
Swash.
Swish
Swash.
Faster,
Swishidy.
Swashidy.
My mind is a washing machine gone rouge.
A high speed chase for sanity.
I've lost my own key to that of which I once owned.
A homeowner locked out for the 10th time in a day.
For now I will keep searching until the
Swishidy,
Swadiding,
Becomes a calm
Swish,
Swash,
Swish,
Swash,
Once more.