Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
She built her house
in tattered papers of
broken dreams and
expectation of people
around her.

Why is it that everytime
she open her eyes
all she can see is
the lone star
pretending to blend with
other stars around it?

Why insist?

Why is it that it is trying to hide her brightness with other stars?

Afraid of rejection?

She built her home
in thunderstorm of madness.
The idea of being put
in the sea of people
and you have a enochlophobia, swimming in fire
and flying to the ground.

I don't know where it lead her
but all I can see is the destruction.

Her destruction.
 Mar 2020
chris
even when the morning comes,
you're still in my bed, but

it's so cold
 Feb 2020
Little Bear
a tempestuous storm
blows through
the hollows
of her eyes

whining on the wind
as if a wolf,
howling it's sorrow
in cries of loss.
bereft,
it calls
into
the blackened sky

between the gaps
in her fingers  
the dust consumes
her skin
to bone

where brittle
wedding bands
slip
from her fingers
into the sodden grass
full of
mourning dew

dropping like cymbals
clattering
upon uneven ground.

thundering gales
tear through her ribs
borne of heartbeats
that roar misery

her bones
excavated marrow
bleaches white
in the sun,
dries to dust
and gladly falls
to nothing

her sorrow leaks
into her veins.
while
unrequited love
bristles
impatiently
at her torment


that ebb and flow
wither and die
gives her
solace
in her isolation


an eternal grounding

as loves tempest
mindlessly
wreaks utter
sorrow.

she hears the
wolves cry
  and she is too empty
to reply
smol edit, i hope it reads better now :)
 Feb 2020
Christina
i met you
as the leaves fell
and the sky turned grey

the world grew cold
as my heart turned warm

i missed you
as the leaves grew back
and the sky turned blue

the world grew warm
as my heart turned cold
 Feb 2020
bess goldstein
I know the lingerie is meant to be taken off, but
my nakedness makes my eyes dart quick and
count every hair on my skin.
picking scabs turns into scars that
I have yet to tell you about.
without permission, I close my eyes
as you love me in the dark and
I wonder if you’re counting too.
scared of showing my torn skin
 Feb 2020
saige
No wonder each tickle is seismic
There are mountains in your fingerprints
Tiny topographic maps
I want to sculpt a range of them
All peaks, plateaus and lowest points
All jades and pines and shades of you
And epoxy brooks will pool
Where swirls of myself etch the plaster
For if I touch you,
I thirst to water you
I thirst to water you
 Feb 2020
cosmo naught
Please don’t leave those bruises on my thighs,
for me to look on fondly when you’re gone.
 Feb 2020
Inmemoratus
The hardest goodbye are the ones,
you never got to say
Bye.
Next page