Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Mar 2012 bethany boy
My Sica.
 Mar 2012 bethany boy
She's beautiful,
but she doesn't see it.
She's beautiful,
But she can't see it.
These thoughts that consume her mind
Drown out every compliment
This girl ever receives.
It's sad to see.
Never has she noticed
The amount of people around her
That love and respect her.
She can't see it
And that's what sad.
The most beautiful soul
I have ever met
But she's letting these voices
Get to her head.

I can't stand it.
She can't see it.

She's so beautiful.
 Mar 2012 bethany boy
Ben Taylor
The man gazed at the weathered sheet of paper held listlessly between finger and thumb, its edges slightly ripped and not a little yellowed. The list was printed in varying shades of ink, the older entries significantly faded. The words were his life transcribed: a list of all he had accomplished. The list included both trivial and monumental achievements and covered the page from back to front.
His expression was not one of pride or satisfaction, however. It was instead one of deep unsettlement, despair. No joy was to be had from his successes; no reprieve from the sense of ubiquitous uselessness was found in the work he finished.
The feeling was dampened when active, but at night with only his list as company the weight of his utter lack of meaning tore his lungs from their cage and his heart from its socket.
He took a lighter from his pocket and resolutely held the flame to the parchment. The flame, however, merely curled round the edges and left the frayed paper unharmed; his life was so lackluster as to be absolutely inflammable, untouchable by any strong desire or emotion.
The apathy clogged his throat but forced him to breathe.
He sat down heavily and tried to remember how to cry.
 Mar 2012 bethany boy
Ryan Nash
I met him
And we became friends.
I met her
And we became friends.
They met each other
And now I have none.
She wears three masks,  idiosyncratic
(are there four?  not sure)
each mask beguiles,
*but who knows what is behind?
Paltry people project putrid opinions, propelled from puny pinpoint brains, in their pint-sized prickly pineapple pulp heads.

If they stopped and stayed silent, stood still and listened, stuff some significant people said would seep in, and seem simply superb when seen with acceptance and socially sensitive skills
When I first see you
My soul is frozen, somewhere in the heavens
The beauty of your eyes beckons,
There you are

Standing in the light.

Once again my mouth is sealed like nothing is there
I'm speechless around your air,
The soft and subtle breeze flowing through your hair
Once more. You are there, to my delight

Standing in the light.
 Mar 2012 bethany boy
And when that fire in your eyes burns out
I will try my hardest not to breathe in the smoke.
And even though without that flame
Your flesh will rot, morphing colours from pink to black
I will love you all the same.
Ideas to add on to it?
Next page