Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
He hugged me
Tears running down his face
I felt him shudder
For the whole human race

Just who condemned him
Has always been clear
The righteous
The believers
The possessors
Of fear

Yet sympathy
I felt
For the Devil
Because forgiveness
   Runs through my veins...
Traveler Tim

We pay our debt sometimes.
I am odd
Some would say
But not to me
Living here in my own skin
In my castle of bones
Listening to words
Beating like my heart
Some would say
I am odd
But not to me
I finally washed my bed sheets.

But on Mondays,
I still water that ******* orchid.

That beautiful blue *******
blooms a new hue every week.

And every week, I am forced to remember
(how could I forget)
how I watered and waited
for a new you to bloom—

not one more beautiful,
not one more suave,
or more handsome, or clever—

but the one you assured me was ripening, quiet
like the beautiful ******* before me.
The one that would love me,
despite being lifeless
for giving you all that supports me.

I thought about throwing it out

but every week,
the orchid keeps its promise.

"Crime and punishment grow out of one stem. Punishment is a fruit that, unsuspected, ripens with the flower of the pleasure that concealed it."
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
I see a lot of glamorising of eating disorders

what is so glamorous about sticking your fingers down your throat
using laxatives because you cant cope
starving yourself

there is nothing glamorous about eating disorders
they're mental illnesses which need to be addressed

I have an eating disorder
and I can tell you this
there's nothing glamorous about this
not one little bit
I am memorizing

the shape of your teeth, the crater on the side of your right cheek
when you smile, resembling
the California coast

your concentrating face,
the way you dance like
the only other person in the room
has already returned home

how you wrap your arm
around my waist as if you already know
that I am going to fly far,


This is how I know

that no matter where I build my home,
mine will always reside
in the heart of the only man who has memorized
the way I eat my dinner with my fingers
and the way I will always pray
to love him
for as long
as we are given
mr death's blue eyed girl
night falls and she's in the bathroom
again with a pocket of pills and her will
to live faltering or shivering in the corner*

the vintage radio plays and she's
stuck in the sweltering heat alone
in the kitchen, hero left her the victim
and she's bending silver spoons with her mind

saying she knows what he's thinking
a psychic or an unbearable palm reader
and she's suddenly taking off again
perhaps some other guy will pick that will to live up

with his nimble fingers and lovely wrists
she was the victim, but she's feeling lifted
again into small fragile scopes of life
 Feb 2016 Cassidy Vautier
The only thing I want any more,
Isn't for me, or for anyone else,
But for you to be happy

Because when that happens,
Nothing else matters, even if it means
Being a little more alone, on a weekend
Meant to be so together.
Her body was motionless
and her face was supple and sweet
she was warm and tender


My lips, close, yet not quite touching
a whisper, my hand softly embracing her body
her hands and mine....

Sleep... a soft embrace....
If you let go for a moment
The magic is lost
But we held on all the way
Maybe the point of together
became useless when we lost sight
of important things that were not us
So now we’re gripping too hard
We’re holding too loose
We’ve forgotten how it feels
to be in the middle
If you close your eyes for a moment
The equilibrium is lost
it feels disjointed because it's part of something much, much longer written a while back. with everything, balance is the key to keeping things in sight.

entertain me, guys. let me see that yellow lightning
Next page