Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 2021
Brett
Where hides my creator? All these open doors only lead me to nowhere.
Outlines of memories, like furniture that once sat at the center of this empty, dusty room.
Sun-soaked curtains project shadows, of all I once knew.
With each gust of wind, the projection rewinds back
to places I had forgotten I had ever been.
A twinkle through the glass presents her ring, but before an answer,
I become the shadow of a kid again.
Sitting alone with my only friend, a pen, playing pretend.
Lucid dreams of my past being viewed from the future.
I place a quiet hand on the shoulder of this passing shadow.
A silent gesture,
for all the wrong turns and cloudy climates awaiting ahead.
My frigid touch only feels a crumbling wall, and the one building up
inside the child of this past life. Never blind to hindsight,
I trace the wounds life has left me.
Self-inflicted regrets trapped inside this dingy room.
I burn it down and leave no semblance of remembrance.
Memory lane is just a pastel retell of an empty shell.
Be yourself.
Lucid dreaming to grant me the power to defeat these past demons.
 Jul 2021
Brett
Everybody passes the buck. We pass it to politicians
They pass it to private owners
Who pass it right on down back to us.
We’re too lazy, nobody wants to work.
Flippin’ burgers at McDonald’s isn’t worth
More than a couple bucks. Give us your life
Give us your labor
We’ll give you death; once we finish
Using you up.
Condemned in the womb of your windowless room.
Attached at the brain, phone chargers like chains
Keeping you lame.
Double click for your fame, lay to sleep all the sane
As they point fingers of blame away from their face.
 Jul 2021
Brett
Feeling used up.
It all started as a way,
To suture oozing wounds and band-aid this pain.

Caught in the middle,
Of abuse and feeling myself again.
I create and I shake, like an earthquake of two dueling fates.

An artist and dearly departed.
Both tugging and pulling,
For a monopoly of my mind.

I quit and I writhe. I take and I shine,
Like a princess diamond set high upon the sky.
Sunshine from the outside; always setting in his eyes
I am sorry for the recent darkness that has overtaken my work. I understand if it is too much for some. I share in hopes of shining however dim a light on the darker side of life. Thank you.
 Jul 2021
Brett
Swimming through my blood again
The same soulless feeling
A boy found at ten

Empty silhouettes haunt my bed
Strands of blonde
Like a noose tied around my neck

Choking me slow
But what is pain to a portrait
Caught in the fire of a burning home
Rest in peace to all the fallen musicians who left far too soon. I could never count the inspirations. Thank You.
 Jul 2021
Thomas W Case
By the time I was 23
Mom and Dad were
both dead.
I know it sounds
strange, but I felt
like an orphan;
like Oliver Twist.
Real love has
eluded me ever since.
like the goldfish in
the tank
at the Chinese restaurant,
when I reach in and
try to grab one.
Growing up, I thought
my parents would live
forever; of course that's
absurd, but even back then
I was a dreamer.
 Jul 2021
Ovi-Odiete
There lies within the hills of perdition, the ☀ and the symbol of evil
The nuance of the desperate woman and the rants of her deeds
There lies within the crevices of the rock, a shallow breathing thing
Magically bound and hollowed to the hands of time,
The sunken shadows of night,
The depths of her soul
There lies her endless yearnings
And call for death
Her ripping moments and colorless nights
For when the night comes
Her moon beckons the wind
Her wind calls deep after deep..
Her nights mourn the sorrow of her endless days
And she searches, roaming the abode for an end,  but finds none
And then she comes out,  screaming and dancing to the voices of the night
Sorrow looms within her shores
But within the night, lies the SYMBOL of her love
Ovi Odiete
2018
All rights reserved
 Jul 2021
Brett
Hope here is dead. Man in a box, Cobain in my head.
Court me some love and spin on my throne,
Of brittle remorse.

Sick in the womb, the silver spoon pollutes.
Tiny tadpole in the pool, grows to patrol the Black Lagoon.
Devouring the newt it once knew.

Fearful men, conceal their worries, in tall tales of courage.
Ironclad, Iconoclast. Kings and heroes alike,
Plant their flags in fields of ash.
 Jul 2021
Glenn Currier
Piano and violins
in the hands of artists
string me along
in a peaceful stream of joy
their delicate threads
wrapped around my heart
on a gray morning
to quince my loneliness.
 Jul 2021
Benzene
ART
Creating art
is like letting your soul breathe
that once choked by doubt
that came to life after one verse .
"Art is just the image of your  soul"

Maybe that's why when I looked at you
your eyes looked like meteors showers
and your iris like moon ,
body barely holds
millions of shattered galaxies
beauty is in the shattered soul
which balancing its sanity .

Sometimes you looked  like a saddest yet beautiful piece of art
which lie at the corner of museum
having a thousand  of tales to tell
yet no soul to listen
maybe they know they won't able to bear it
perhaps it's meant to be that
not everyone is an artist
who can feel your soul .
.
.
" Not everyone can understand you because not everyone is an Artist "
find a soul and fall in love with it . which is ageless and Shapeless.
Next page