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 Mar 2018 Iris Madden
No name
Sitting* here as the tears haste down my cheeks on to the wooden floor
the frigid floor froze my tear
watching the tear drop reminded me of your hair
when it drops down to your back when you take your ponytail out
your long unending alluring hair.
I wonder what it feels like if my fingers are combing  through it
I ponder on what it will look like when i see you
if i ever  do.
The tears
still dripping down my face
When will they stop?
when i  see your  seductive smile  
when i see your seducing face in person
just my eyes and yours .
This moment will come
One day, i know it will...
Looking at your pictures i say how beautiful you are to myself
I told Jade i think i love you
but the think went away
I do.
You tell me you love me
I say it back.
I don't tell people i love them if I really don't
Love is a strong word
Just Like Hate.
but hate will never be towards you
your far from hate..
Our text messages.
I look over them ,
only you now why...

The meaning of your name:
a clear, brilliant glass
clear like your mind is on irrelevant things
or the negative words that i'm sure came at you .
Brilliant Glass ?
the brilliant glass of you is your personality.
its effervescent.
Your laugh .
I love the sound of it.
I make you laugh just  to hear the intonation of it.
Me still using up all my tears.
Oh wait there endless
so i can continue to cry everyday right?
Its nothing else i can really say but i really love you.
**-nlj
 Mar 2018 Iris Madden
Kasey
I asked what's a home?
And she said
"a place where we know how to turn on the water."
And I thought maybe it wasn't my home.
So I'll go get some midnight coffee down the street.
And pretend there's no one back there to yell at me
Maybe then I can keep these words in my head long enough to write them down
Or maybe I'll get drunk craning my neck to see the stars
And realizing it's the lights of on-coming cars.
The streetlights in this town are too dim.
I think that's why there's no hope here anymore.
 Mar 2018 Iris Madden
Bell McCabe
I panicked.

My brain attacked today.

It attacked my lungs,

Stupid sharp whistling sounds.

I looked out of control.

But I felt aware,

that I wasn’t breathing,

that I was attacking myself again.

It attacked my heart,

terrifying skipping stones in my chest.

Whipped one by one,

Muffled blows in my breast.

I panicked.

I looked out of control but I was aware,

of the guilt,

of what will drag along with me.

I can’t be freed from fault,

It’s not the way.

Because I panic;

is why I don’t relate,

is how I cleanse.

Fright being necessary,

like a dream

where you muscle tone fails you,

I was paralyzed.

My knuckles hit the laminate –

again, again, again.

But I don’t move.

Feeling my bicep twitch,

Feeling my throat raw,

My mouth wide open,

But I don’t make a sound.

Because I panic.

The power inside,

will never translate,

to the outside.

People may see flickers,

of insanity in my eyes.

They may see me tighten up.

They may seem me strain and ease.

But I will never translate.

Until it snaps,

Until I no longer attack myself.

Until I no longer panic.

Until I bellow,

Until I howl,

Until I wail,

Until I swing and connect.

Until it attacks outwardly,

Instead of inwardly.
Panic attacks are typically experienced by everyone at least once in their lifetime. They can last several minutes and can be very frightening. If you are experiencing panic attacks more often I urge you to reach out to a close friend or family member. You can seek free counselling in your community or speak to a trusted healthcare professional. For more information: http://www.anxietybc.com/resources/panic.php
 Mar 2018 Iris Madden
Bell McCabe
I seems I am here to write this out.

There are so many things I want to do.

But ill equipped to perform

Balancing on adjusting fault lines

It’s life at her greatest

Testing, moving, swinging

Beautifully aloof

Unaware of all the pain she causes

But happy just to touch it

Life

Itself.
 Mar 2018 Iris Madden
Sienna Duff
I’ll always be the poet but never the muse and very rarely is there an inkling for anybody to wonder about me as I splash ink across blank pages, amid the sheer chaos of sorrow and tranquil solitude.

For somebody to feel each character, pulsing through their veins, losing their breath as I run through their minds with heavy hands and fingers that twitch in the same way that mine do.

With emotions like an ocean that I can no longer mute or the sharp edge on the tip of my tongue that bleeds every last syllable that echoes silently, the ball-point tip that illustrates each pronunciation that slices through paper like a blade.

Nobody has ever twisted my name between metaphors in the same slight manner that I do theirs or felt the lyrics to a love song coursing through their body. I’m never the topic of choice but rather the broken genius behind hidden artifacts. Always the antagonist but never quite the protagonist.

She who shall not be named, the unmentionable mystery that crafts paragraphs from concepts, the storyteller but never the topic, building herself upon beginnings and endings.

I’ll always be the poet but never the muse, pouring out my guarded heart and offering a glass to whoever will listen.
 Jan 2018 Iris Madden
lX0st
I really am an excellent liar
But I can't seem to convince myself
That I'm no longer interested
In your quickening heartbeat
Or the taste of your tongue
Or how your mind works
When you're trying to fall asleep
At night.
I can't decide
If you're careless
Or clueless
But it drives me insane
Knowing that you're laying down
All alone.
 Jan 2018 Iris Madden
b for short
I have lost my place
between your warmth and your chill.
I think I'll stay lost.
© Bitsy Sanders, April 2015
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