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Memories
t w i r l i n g              
w r a p p i n g
around my
            i n s a n i t y
Why did you have to leave me
Why couldn't you give this a try
Why do I still care, cause I certainly shouldn't
After all you have done
After all the tears Ive cryed
Why do I still love you, the one person in this world that continues to hurt me, starve me, abuse me, use me
Just give me a reason
A glimmer of hope
But the question lies in the answer
and my thoughts continue to lie in the word
       Why
               After
Every
Little thing we ever were    
Should I still love you.
 Jun 2013 Isabelle
Jake Bentley
How could I ever know the thoughts in my head,
Pursuing for the sake of sanity, Vanity's own identity.
But I've never been one for superficiality,
An Honest Abe down to the top of my hat.

I keep fighting, making friends, making fears
After all, I feel better having just one than lost
Hiding from my loneliness, from solitude and anxiety
I keep seeking, searching for the man inside of me.

Just the King of Paranoia, afraid of his throne,
And the hounds bound to the courtyard floor.
Use those diaphragmatic breaths to calm your panic,
Therapist may teach you her magic when you seek medicine.

Sleepless nights alone with those thoughts,
The person in the mirror is ambiguous,
A fanatic for The Game, a Worshiper all the same
The twilight shade comes through the window
The King's cape catches the light of the dusk
The King's crown glistens in the dark of dawn.
I wrote this while listening to Eyedea & Abilities.
Content inspired by my own personal experiences, therapy sessions, psychological problems and concepts in IJ (written by David Foster Wallace)
 Jun 2013 Isabelle
Tim Knight
Catch her before she lies,
twist her back over and tell her not to lie,
face her and plead with her not to lie,
forget what they said and listen to her lie,
hear her odes peppered with lies,
hear the static between her lies,
hear those terminal marks stop that lie.

Run for the terminal, wait to fly.
submit your poetry to CoffeeShopPoems.com!
 Jun 2013 Isabelle
Reilly Nicole
With a knife in my hand
Blood drips to the floor
My mind is screaming
Begging for more

With a slash of a blade
Crimson stains my pale skin
A scream parts my lips
Someone please make this end

My head just feels cloudy
Nothing feels right
I want this to end
On this depressing, dark night

Everything hurts
I scream with the pain
Someone please help me
Make me happy again

My eyelids grow heavy
But I won't die tonight
My whole body aches
This starts to feel right

I drift off to sleep
Darkness surrounding my mind
Maybe, just maybe 
There's a chance I'll be fine
Maybe I loved you.
Maybe I still do.
Maybe I hurt you.
Maybe I had to.

Maybe...

Like brazenly eating the
breadcrumbs to your heart-
Cuz I want to be lost in your love, forever.
Like shading light on the thought of darkness-
Trying to lighten the pain in , 'we're over'.

Maybe you are a good muse.
Maybe you were mine to use-
And not to look at and abuse,
Like I did. Maybe I did choose.

Maybe we could have lasted-
Longer than the road, way passed it.
Maybe I should have stayed-
To love you, 'fore our love was wasted.

Maybe... Maybe... or Maybe...
You weren't only my baby,
But my heaven sent lady.
Maybe you're not gone already.

Maybe...

I sorta tried too hard-
To let loose of my guard-
That everything we planned-
Couldn't find grips in my hand.

Maybe I did not know-
Just how to take it slow.
Maybe I should have been,
Some stupid freak unseen!

Maybe our start was our end.
Maybe I was never your friend.
Maybe I'm not the type to love.
Maybe I'm not the one to have.

Maybe you belong to me,-
To love this selfishly.
Maybe you should have waited-
To fight. But you forfeited.

Maybe I'm freaking one sided,
But I can't be open minded-
With no you, my mind is planted-
Like a mine! Not the growth I wanted!

Maybe you miss me too.
Maybe this piece is for you.
Maybe I'm talking, so listen!
Don't just read, try to listen!

Maybe I seem desperate.
Maybe the record's now straight.
Maybe that's what I need;
To tear up our love; to bleed.

Maybe I'd make it right.
Maybe I'm trying to fight-
For us, for our love tonight,
On a page, in a pitch-black night.

Maybe I've said enough.
Maybe it's right, it's rough.
Maybe I was right to let go.
But 'Maybe' means I don't know.

So Maybe you're my Ms. Right.
And my only right's to fight.
But I pray that past tonight.
I'll have the chance and might.

Maybe we both don't know.
But maybe it's good its so.
So please lets just try to let it-
Be. Bad but it's life, I admit!

Keep Smiling
misers gather coins at the gate
collecting for the grand empire gone to dust
each coin taken in is caressed with greasy fingers
before being gently placed in the old tin cup
like a band of beggars and a sack full of lies
they are grateful for their small fortunes

outside a stranger passes slowly by
in the heavy rain
a light in his angry fist
that shines out dully with his agony's of doubt
to illuminate the shadows where his love has fled
he spends his days pounding on the doors of every home
seeking the room where he locked away his dreams
leaving no stone unturned he treads softly in the boneyard
seeking the places he may have buried his hope
he will hunt thru the night for a dry fingernail to chew
for a small place to hide and a reason to  bear the unbearable
and wait for the rain to end

the fallen leaves gathered like a tide at his feet
like a spreading death shroud for the days we called our own
the air tasted like blood and wine
the ***** wind gripped our eyes long into the night
carries on it the tears we wept falling from grace
the ones with hope laid it down and took up the faces of fear
we are the ones who gather up such hope
re-sell it in the border towns and dark soulless motels

fools celebrated in the shadows of the hearts crying out
but they fashion tools to carve new lives out of the old
a veritable army of a hundred lackluster minds
as one they commence to make the mountain into a mole hill
when they are done it will be no bigger to anyone except them
so proud of their wares as seen on tv
they buy stock in the ideal that less is more
and its more or less the end of all things
misers gather coins at the gate of this obscene theater
laughing at the ease of it all
its more or less the story of it all
so ends the poem to end all poems
a dark little ditty for a far too quiet night in a spooky motel
 Jun 2013 Isabelle
Noli Dhludhlu
I can hear the clock ticking
Life is too fast
I don't know what I'm thinking
But my memory there beholds my past.
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