Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Sep 2013 Ben
Eliza
Bleed
 Sep 2013 Ben
Eliza
I've made myself bleed.
The thought of doing it never occurred to me.
But I was curious.
I wanted to know what it was like to slice open your skin.
To play with knives and blades.
To have blood dripping.
And now that I've done it,
I promised to never do it again.
But the thought of doing it is addicting.
I like the pain.
I like the endorphins released.
I like the feel of it.
I like how it takes away my pain for a moment.
I might do it again.
I might never stop.
Here's to hoping I will be saved.

*(n.d.)
 Sep 2013 Ben
Sharina Saad
Tears of the seven dwarfs
Drowned the casket made of glass
Where Snow White lies lifeless...

Prayers of the seven dwarfs
Ordered god to stop the time
Be it a hundred years
They'd wait for Snow to open her eyes..

Patience of the seven dwarfs
endless prayers, tears, wishes and hopes
In a  casket made of glass
lies the most beautiful princess
who gently moves her fingers
her hand slowly touches a dwarf...

Tears, Prayers and Patience of the seven dwarfs
Snow White comes back to life...
 Sep 2013 Ben
Edgar Whitman Wilde
what is this love
for I have beheld it
cast in metamorphosis
a love that makes
transformations on the mind
permissible transformations
improvisations of the self
in ****** intensity
which emphasises the drama
of sometimes, dark, violent
and repressive potentials
vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment
of intense and exhausting experience
of vigorous vertiginous chaos
indomitable in its desires
what is this love
is it a registered predicament
made memorable by vivid language
that would butcher in ritual
gratuitous memories and testify
to an urgency of unwisely relinquished emotion
what is this love
does it flourish in flawed
and unreasonable understandings
accumulated upon the mind
in vicarious thrill of sympathy
where traits are highly exaggerated
and eagerly anticipates
the oppressive weight of the past
that functions upon a common collapse
of distinctions
or does it manufacture artificial precepts
pretending in attractive collaboration
to associate fiction rather than fact
what is this love
is it that by treaty or inheritance
with loving ferocity would embalm all tears
and hide all those collaborations
in flared conflagrations of the heart
and yes create a turmoil in the mind
hotter than a thousand summers
and vividly stamp upon a twisted body
a moral viciousness of fathomless malice
that wouldst close its ears
to the admonitions of conscious
and thus through an improbable
incantatory verbal rite
touch the hidden order of all things
in disassembling nature
what is this love
if only it was known
 Sep 2013 Ben
Seán Mac Falls
In sorrows' garden,
Out of clear blue sky— omen,
Small floating feather.
 Sep 2013 Ben
Seán Mac Falls
Falcon roams the sky—
A poet has come and gone,
  .  .  .  Even moon searches.
Next page