Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dark are the days
Bright are the nights
I can't stay awake
I cannot sleep tight
I lie here and wonder
How it's going to be like
When the dawn breaks

My head's in a maze
Oh, how I hate the light
I'm learning to bake
At eleven at night
I sit here and ponder
How it's going to be like
When the night wakes
 Feb 2012 Holly Anderson
JL
Its gonna hurt tommorow
The light will hurt tommorow
The sun too bright tommorow

But tonight
My feet haven't touched the ground once

I bent down
And looked down at the lost people
Ill have to walk with them again
but not until tommorow
 Feb 2012 Holly Anderson
Isobel G
I want to  starve myself
and   watch   the   bones
push  through  my  skin
until   it  breaks.  I  want
my  veins   to   settle  on
the    surface    and    the
muscles    to     protrude.
I   can   feel   the   *****
rising    in    my    mouth
when  I  swallow.   I  can
taste  the  blood  and the
acid. I  can  almost  see it
burning    through     my
teeth.  I  want  to  fill  my
stomach  with  lilacs  and
watch­     them    dissolve.
©Nicola-Isobel H.       16.02.2012
 Feb 2012 Holly Anderson
Isobel G
Tell me where I'm going,
I feel like I could fit into this song,
Like we're all adjacent and descending,
And falling without cognition
©Nicola-Isobel H.          11.02.2012
 Feb 2012 Holly Anderson
T R H
I'm slowly unraveling
leaving bits and pieces of me
everywhere that I go
and I'm trying to back track
to pick myself  up
but each time I try
the pieces disintegrate.

If only I can find a way
to get back my heart
which I left in your bed
(which I'm sure by now
you've kicked to the floor)
I could possibly
stitch myself up
But when I look into your eyes
and see only indifference
I realized, to my dismay
that I'll never get it back.
So I'll live out my life
waiting,
for the rest of me to decay.
 Feb 2012 Holly Anderson
Wuji
She's a freak,
She's quite meek,
And her cheeks,
Are divine.
Not sure,
If it's love,
But is that a crime?
To like,
A little crush,
On a girl so cute.
I barely know,
Much about her,
But I'd gladly,
Change that truth.
So let's sit,
On a couch,
And watch some movies.
Get to know each other better,
Or maybe you might,
Just slip me some roofies.
I guess that works too,
But if you go,
That route,
May I say,
No need,
To drug me,
I won't complain.
I want,
To be,
Awake,
For you.
Twisted love poem? Yes.
Does my voice look at itself in the mirror
and see eyes lost in a desert
where butterflies
welcome one drop of rain,
or eyes that dance
inside a cup full of yesterdays
I cannot get back again?

Are there words my voice hears
that capture my heart
like music
and make me learn
my own path to walk,
existing inside of the joy
I find on a blank page
where my ink whispers to talk?

Could my voice be beautiful as a picture
painted inside a quiet heart
reaching out to be heard
time and time again
as if it walks seeking peace
inside of my every single word?

My voice looks at itself in the mirror
and sees that time is precious
in these eyes daring to look back
the same,
it picks up my pen
like a long lost friend
who never forgets my name.

My voice is not lost in a desert
bound eternally
to seek out the rain
nor does it dance
inside a cup full of yesterday.  
It sings across these blank pages
whispering
in the ink of my ways.
Dedicated to my Poetic Mentor Gary Pegoda
I love the pen and pad
But I don't think I can use it
It really makes me quite sad
That I can't seem to work it

You see, it's my confession to make
That I love to write
But it's sort of fake
What I really feel
Doesn't rhyme
So I change it's form
So it can fit the time

The pen and pad
So beautiful it feels
The sign of an intellect
Of a writer to be feared
J can't explain the reverance
For the pen and pad I posess
But surely it isn't natural
To find a workman's tool
My mind's only nest

I have found that there is a problem
The dilemma is this:
I can't really use these tools
Even though they're my mind's nest
I can't truly navigate them
With the words great writers heft
I can't form them
Into works of art
Like all the artists I envy
With words nor picture
Not short nor lengthy

You see, it's quite clear
The pen and pad
The paper and ink
They work so well together
It makes my heart sink
They inspire joy
From my hollowed throat
They are too beautiful
For words to provoke
But still I try my hand
At writing with paper and ink
Because all I can do
Is think
But all I write
Feels fake
Next page