Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 2019
TK
Why the **** can’t I stop playing this same track
Over and over,
Repeating a demonised past of thoughts
That inject my stomach with butterflies,
That scratch at my arms and legs like metal on a chalkboard,
That whoosh hot through my readily pumping blood
That results in nausea and tensed muscles.
A track that brings with it memory of a time
So thick with pain and too, confusion
That brings back memories of you,
Memories of then,
Memories of hurt,
Memories of destruction...

**So why does it feel so good to remember?
And why the **** do I kind of miss it?
 Jul 2019
Jack Jenkins
Collect washed out colors
To put in my pocket
As a keepsake with no value
Fenced in for safety
Peculiar things that I let in
Thoughts not my own
I resent them like the fireplace
Who's flames took my secrets
But I threw them in
It's the only thing in this house
To have changed in years
Why?
I hold the past for peace
Yet if I forget
There are ghosts that will avenge
//On living in the past//
 Jun 2019
Swastik mittal
I am a vulture
flying in the sky
eating up my problems
coming in my mind

I catch up my faults
in claws, I coil
and bury them in ground
to fertile my soil
 Jun 2019
Empire
Anything
Anything at all
To feel something
Anything at all...
I’ll compromise myself
My morals, my heart, my body
I don’t really care
I just... I just want to feel something
Anything
Pain, pleasure... it’s all the same...
 Mar 2019
Stephen S
This house lies in rubble.
A veritable pit.
Are there not more remains?
Is this all? Is this it?

My skin is damaged,
and stained with red blood.
Devastation comes
Like a torrential flood.

There was no sympathy.
We never had trust.
In the shadows of betrayal,
I fade into dust.
 Mar 2019
Syreena Phelps
As if everything around me didn't depress me already,
He wanted me, and i wasn't willing, nor ready.

His face made my teeth grind with hate,
I should've took his life, but now it's too late.

He held me down and I couldn't breathe,
It didn't matter what i said, he wouldn't leave.

It wasn't until he got what he wanted that I got away,
That was long ago, but I dream of it to this day.

One of the worst experiences of my life,
And when it's brought up, I strife.

For that man to die wouldn't be a shame,
Yet, I never told anyone, haven't even mentioned his name.

No one would believe me, no matter how hard i try,
So, I fold my hands, and pray that he dies.
                            *
I'm already insane. Yes, indeed I am mad,
So, perhaps another visit from him wouldn't be so bad.

I could show him my knife,
and cut off what ruined my life!
Just had to let it out. Poetry happens to be thee absolute best way to do so..

*Be Safe*
 Mar 2019
Emma-Jane
Insurrection upon closer inspection she craved a deeper recollection of life.
She carved up her wrists and so she insisted it helped the pain so she'd knife.
When the nights became longer, during the days she'd ponder her strife's.
Until the day that she'd cried, out to her parents she'd lied: Why didn't you see it. You can not be it! The monster that's killed me inside.
It's simply not meant to be.
She realized that wanting him
meant losing herself

She realized that she couldn’t
save her own soul
because her hands were too busy

Holding the hand of someone
who no longer deserved her energy..
Next page