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Tell me we'll never get old

because age is just another word for weary
and you're never going to get tired of this
pocket-to-palm life we've built
out of everyday knick knacks and
the daily delivery of baby's breath
from your lips to mine.

Tell me I'll never be alone

because empty air on our bed isn't wasted.
It's just waiting, spaces unfolding
like pressed lungs in the dark--
like the way I've memorized your nape
the side glanced so often
that I know it more than your face.

Tell me things will never change

because change means progression
and we've got perfection tucked away
inside the spaces between us
where the lights are so bright
that cataracts can't keep you from me.
It’s been a while
since I’ve dipped
my toe
in the Devil’s Spring.

For last I did
it took a week to realize
I’d already dived,
headfirst, in.

How now to control
such endless lust,
which tempts both fiends
and godly men?

Can trust be laden
on the backs of those
who sit on shore
or wait in other glen?

Only night coming soon
will tell for sure;

The moon sheds light
upon what
real men tend
to be.
It's the reality
you're sipping
when you should be
gripping
the unknown
the universal
telephone
the wind me up
and go home
toy
they employ
the nights
staring out a window
into the void
that's not choice
it's called life
and if you don't
like it
leave it
but where to go
who would know
anyway
where would you go
what would you say
where to stay
a needle in the hay
and they'd never look
one second
of one day
because
the **** they give
is all one way
there's no round trip
tickets at this station
it's the amalgamation
of frustration
and surrender
there's no tender
way to say this
but the dream
you bought a ticket to
was overbooked
you overlooked
the irony of this
till now
standing with your
hand out
acid rain
melting the matinee
away
your dismay
is your parting gift
the only lift
you're getting
is the one that will
promptly drop you
further away
from where you wanted
to be
so you see
forget the thumb
just turn the other way
and walk
till the lights
make lemonade
with the sun
leave the myth
of fun
for the young
and find
a ladder
to another world
cause this one's
dying
the airplanes
stopped flying
the birds are dinosaurs
in a plastic museum
a cosmic trash can
in a rest stop in space
the stars know more about you
than you were ever shown
it's written in the ...
well,
you know
(C) 2013  (Spoken word poem)
I lie alone in the darkness
I close my eyes
Calling you from a place forsaken
A place full of hate and despise.

With your help
A phoenix from ashes I rise
An eagle with an unmatching shadow
A story that makes no sense shall flow.

You are my bridge
You are my lifeline
You are what that will lead me out of these lies.

You are my weapon
You are my guard dog
No matter what happens
You shall stay by my side.

Even if my throne were to fall
Even if my crown turns to rust
Even if the endless corpses with eyes accusing
Turn to glare at the two of us
By my side you must stay.

This is an order!
You can never leave me!
You must never lie to me.
I will do anything in my power
To keep you serving me.
Hey~ So I'm 13 and yeah, this isn't one of my better poems but I hope you enjoy it! This is actually based on an anime. So leave me your thoughts so I can improve? Thanks :)
Hell is not made of fire.

A lot of people believe that hell is a world covered in flames, with heat that sears through your very being, scorches your soul, and inflicts terrible agony. They say Hell is a place for fiery torment, where fire is a vicious serpent that winds through your existence and seeks to quench every feeling except anguish, but at the same time refusing to let you be conquered by nothingness, keeping you wide-awake so you can feel every blistering sensation.

They're wrong.

Hell doesn't look the same for everyone else. Hell is a multi-faced mirror with countless reflections caging you inside the hollow of a diamond so you can see the glaring facets you refuse to look at. Hell is not always a place; sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an event--sometimes it's a person.

Hell shows itself not only in death. Hell is everywhere--it's just somewhere around the corner of the street, hiding its face behind a newspaper, waiting for you to make the wrong choices. It's just somewhere behind you, an invisible fiend watching your every step, waiting for you to stumble. And once you do, it will laugh at you. You won't hear its sinister laughter, nor would you notice the subtle shift of the ground beneath your feet.

The odds are no longer in your favor.

Hell is cold. Hell is calculating. Hell is terrorizing.

Hell is reaching inside yourself, searching your heart, trying to find out how you really feel--but ending up finding nothing. Hell is opening your mouth to scream but nothing comes out because there is nothing left inside. Hell is the immovable boulder weighing down on your chest, it is the desperate need for the ability to cry, it is the panic and anguish that comes when you realize you can't.

Hell is watching him with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect smile, knowing he isn't even aware of your plain existence. Hell is realizing for the first time that unrequited love is not as romantic as people say. Hell is waiting, waiting, waiting for something you know won't come. Hell is finally getting the nerve to say 'I love you' but only receiving silence in return. Hell is laughing it all away and saying it's nothing, I understand why, all the while wishing you could run to someplace where you can cry and scream without being heard. Hell is falling in love.

Hell is the red mark on your record, the frowns on your parents' faces, the pitying looks on your friends' expressions. Hell is the star you failed to reach, the shaking heads, the consoling pats on your back. Hell is the mocking laughter ringing in your ears even after they've long ended. Hell is the condescending voices echoing from somewhere in the back of your mind, reminding you who you were, who you've been, and who you are now. Hell is laughing at you. Hell is disappointment. Hell is trying and trying over and over and never succeeding. Hell is failure.

Hell is building your life with damning patience, with meticulous thoroughness, with painstaking care, and having it all knocked down to the ground. Hell is desperation, hopelessness. Hell is the blooming rose standing amidst a bed of withered blossoms. It's the touching beauty of life at its most exquisite, the surging anticipation, the reckless triumph, and the next day when you look for the rose you only find a withered stalk. Hell is hope.

Hell is the silent night torn apart by raging screams and flying furniture. Hell is the deafening wail of a child accompanying every insult, every furious, careless word that escapes your mouth. Hell is the empty threat he took as a promise. Hell is holding his hand and realizing it's no longer as comfortable as it used to be. Hell is the sadness weighing on your apartment, so palpable you could wrap your fingers around it and try to snap it--but you can't, because hell is already there. Hell is the silence, the eternal quiet screaming in your ears, as you pack your suitcase, as you stuff in old photographs trapped behind the cracked glass of their picture frames. It's the painful need to sit still and concentrate on breathing because you suddenly forgot how to. It's looking around you, seeing the stripped bed, the empty closet, the unsettling dust floating along the light filtering through the misted windows. Hell is falling out of love.

I could go on about hell forever, and I would never be able to enumerate all of them because there can only be so many words that can describe hell, and there are too many people in this world who see different kinds of hell. I cannot accurately define hell, I don't know much about it. I cannot claim to have seen hell, because I've never been to a place like it before.

But I know that hell is cold.

Because hell is not always made of fire.
i've been flying too low to the ground,
but since when could i fly?
i've been grounded since birth.
my head may have been in the clouds sometimes,
but my heart always remained on earth.
but ever since you came around i've grown some wings.
made me think i could fly.
made me think i could finally reach my dreams.
but i never came close to the sky.
hah, what a joke
i thought you gave me a way to soar
but it was me who built them.
it was my lips that swore
to blissful ignorance,
and hopeful innocence.
and that crippled me.
took a knife, jabbed it in my eyes
so i couldn't see.
and i crashed and burned.
i don't blame you though, don't worry
someone so broken
and torched
from the inside out
can't possibly understand
the uncertainty
and the pain
that your doubts made me withstand
I know you never meant it
I know the last thing you wanted to do
was to hurt me,
because of you.
but that's what happened.
truly,
the only lie,
was that I could make it through.
I came too close to the ground
the wings finally gave in
Now the only thing i'm left wondering,
is where the hell my head has been.
He was as pale as someone dead;
He stayed silent and showed no breath.
He moved not as our eyes met;
He looked startled, tired, and mad.

He was like a dead child unborn;
A child of night; yet a corpse of morn.
He turns all wild after sunset;
He rarely sleeps; nor lies in bed.

How could I fall in love with him?
For he is mute as how death seems;
He is mean and emotionless;
He is inhuman and soulless.

For he has done lots of mischief;
He knows not even why to live.
Though his face looks bare and naive;
And his red mouth, voiceless and stiff.

For he has not tears nor feelings;
Smiles not at kindness nor givings.
He is deceitful and selfish;
He is boastful and coquettish.

For he may have had 'nother girl;
With whom he sings and dances and swirls.
She must be than me prettier;
And thus fairer, and lovelier.

Weird for I love him even more;
More than I praise this earth's dear Lord.
He owns all the might of my soul;
He fills my charm; he makes my whole.
 Jun 2013 explorereality
Zephyr
So I have anger issues,
at least I'm not punching through walls

(Although I'm training myself to do so, shhh, don't tell)
I don't want to tell any one that would actually do something of my problems.

They'll just start an interrogation
and that's the last thing I need
(I don't want to hurt them, they think they are helping)

So I guess I'll keep writing messed up poetry
that no one reads because it makes no sense.

And who wants to hear a demented person blab on?

As these muscles clench and unclench all day
trying so hard not to lash out at those I care about
(but why should I care? They don't care about me and they'll leave anyways)

A boxing class would be a great idea right now...
Rather hurt a huge bag of sand then destroy a school laptop.
Just exactly what I'm think atm, that's why it's messed up! Sorry for wasting your time writing useless stuff like this.
When school first started
I was pretty sure I had no one
I was sure I'd be overtaken, put down
And slip d
                    o
                       w
                           n the ranks in class.

But then, she came along.
She gave me new ideas, h o p e
She made me look forward to each and every day
She taught me to tie beautiful knots with ropes.

She introduced me to baking; the wonders of the oven.
Kneading flour, cracking eggs by the dozen
Cakes, biscuits and muffins we'd make
Baked them until our hands ached.

We'd meet up for lunch in the cafeteria daily
Talk about how both of us would like to play the ukelele
About how we'd like to do on a diet
But we'd probably be so hungry; we'd start a riot.

She's there for me whenever I'm down
I'm there for her whenever she frowns.
Together we're an unstoppable tag team
Trying to realise our dreams.


...Is this it?
Have I found her at last?
This sacred thing, person, object,
That they call "a best friend?'
first time trying to write a happy poem :p
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