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 May 2015
grace elle
I loved the walls I told my story to every night, they were so very, very white. They ended up with holes and cracks in them but they taught me how to love, they taught me French was a language of passion, and they showed me your reflection in five years, they showed me your foreboding fears and drug laced tears.

It didn't look too good for you.

I wrote my poems along the cracks, I tried to fill the cracks in with pieces of my heart but it wasn't big enough to fill them and we all knew it from the start.
Now my chest is empty and I'm growing a new one and watering it with things that don't try to **** me.

I'd rather shoot myself in the head and end up dead than end up with a hollow soul again.

The paper I sleep on has leaks from where my chest and my mind try to meet up in between and I just end up throwing up black ink at 3 a.m.

I would rather drink bleach than end up back in this town after I've been released.
There are footprints all over this little cage from everyone we used to hate and all the people you wanted to date and now I just lie awake and awake and awake and it's all fake.

The rhythm from the rhyme is satisfying when you remember why we tried to rhyme, how we taught ourselves to survive off of empty pens and shredded paper, and I remember how many times I told my mom I wanted to die that night.

The walls know my secrets, I tore them down, my heart leaked out like the tears from my sieve-eyes on all of those tragedy filled nights, my best kept secrets are long gone now and I'm sure I'll get asked once or twice about those secrets that float through the shadows of past, but I look at them as more than sand in an hour glass, something like the sand on the shore that the sea eats when it gets sore.

The welcome sign has our names on the back of it but you can cross mine out or cover it up with someone new because my heart isn't here and my heart isn't through and I'm feeding it a hopeful story about a girl that once knew you.

I forgive, I forgive, and you'll probably never forgive me for how easy I can forget.
 Apr 2015
Chloe
5.
And I wish the words grew out of my skin
Not from my head to my mouth to my hands to a pen
Blurred thoughts taste better in dark ink
Than in spirals blooming from my head
writing doodles
(don't like this one too much but oh well)
 Apr 2015
Callum Hutchings
Feeling sober in a drunk world
Contact to the unseen
Crowds oblivious
Things lurk in eye corners

Upsets and pain coat the streets
Like Graffiti of fear
My eyelids like glass
Consciousness more a nightmare

Panic in a busy town
To those who wear masks
Fake people
The modern monsters

Conversations like banshees
The sound resonates my head
Left numb to life
Body fatigued from the brain.
 Mar 2015
K
Painted scrolls in my hand
Painting brushes in my palm
Coloured hands and coloured faces?
Never filled my empty spaces

Took the blue from the sky?
Took the hazel from her eyes
Lover’s dreams colour my mind?
Fading treasures I can’t find

It’s all fading away
Different strokes of blackened ash

I know when you’re not here
‘Cause life turns old and grey
I know when you’re not here
I’m left empty with nothing to say
 Feb 2015
Olivia Rose
I have nothing to offer you,
I’m just a pyromaniac,
An empty girl,
Trying to find my way back,
After I burned my hands
On the matches I light in the bathroom,
Before I drop them in the sink,
Letting the water discourage the flames.
(Only the burns remain.)
 Jan 2015
loisa fenichell
my stomach in the bathtub
folded over and wrinkling
like the skeleton of my grandmother

hands that look too much like my father’s
blanketing my stomach like those of a cruel mother

on the best days the window next to the bathtub
is uncovered and I can see out but nobody can see in

on the best days I look down at a body
that is nothing but a pile of snow leftover
a week after the storm has past
somebody has forgotten to shovel me whole

there is a damp hole in my stomach and I am
staring at it unsure if I want it to melt
wondering who might fit shoveled inside
 Jan 2015
Beebz The Queen
I tune the radio to a station I know won't come in.
Because it sounds just like the ocean to me.
And a fake ocean is far better than no ocean at all.
It sounds like a place so far away from here, so free.

I place blankets over my curtains, which are over my windows.
Because it makes me feel safe when I sleep.
And a bit of sleep is a lot better than none at all.
It seems this new habit I've formed, I'll keep.

I run outside every single time it rains.
Because the cold jars my lifeless body awake.
And some feeling is nicer than no feeling at all.
It hopefully cleanses me, for I know my soul's at stake.
 Jan 2015
RC
I don't recall truly living the past
2 or 3
years.
I concede only to you
that I used to be found just floating by
and out the window
along with the film of smoke
folding out of my lungs.
It's strange really
how tight I've held time
viewed it and rolled it in my palms
for hours on end
and when I reminisce on the details
they make sense
but the fabric itself has stretched so far
months had passed like weeks
days like hours.
The amount accomplished
when gazing eagerly over the threads
is depressing.
I soothe myself with friends
but still stay tacit
because my thoughts are too loud
too deafening
too self absorbed.
 Jan 2015
alxndra
too far ahead or left behind
it seems I can never keep the color
inside the lines
instead my colors bleed
right off the page
either staining the future - yet to be
or tainting the past - already made
 Jan 2015
darling iridescence
I fall in love
with bits of people,
rarely a whole person.
Like crooked smiles on subway stations
or untied shoelaces
or favorite books
or eyes that look like blinking galaxies--
I see the puzzle laid at my feet,
your collarbones, your self-hatred, your bitten down fingernails, your detachment, the wars of your mind, the curve of your spine, the way you scrawl your name with indifference--
All these broken fragments that
shatter and surround me
like the wine glass I dropped,
Shards of glass,
your eyes
reflect me
the deep blood red wine
Drops like crystalline desire--
I might romanticize your flaws
and I might make walls of disillusionment,
but I swear I'll love you like you're whole.
Love unselfish
 Jan 2015
Chloe
Maybe the reason we spend night after night
staring at a blank paper
is because the words we so desperately need to write,
are words that have not yet been created.
I have so many things I don't know how to say.
 Jan 2015
hallucinations
and suddenly my throat runs
dry and
my hands still their typing,
the mask finally falls.

and underneath it all i am just
    m e .
the girl who forgets words
and doesn't finish her sentences,
the girl who finds catharsis in
words of sadness and the
sound of glass shattering .

i am just me, the girl who bleeds
in ink and cries with words.
the brave girl who never sheds tears
but silently dies inside,
because she understands that
all of this means nothing.

underneath it all
I am
just
bones.

nothing   m o r e ,
nothing   l e s s.
(C)hallucinations | 2015
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