Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lynnia Aug 2020
Writing is a gift
Poetry is a present
Ink and tears mingle,
Bleeding together; released
Soaring on paper airplanes
Lynnia Aug 2020
Sunshine on my skin
Pavement rippling like waves
Summer's heart is now.
Lynnia Jul 2020
Maybe it takes someone stronger
Machine guns equipped with a smile
Still, I ride on the wings of the littlest things
To try to forget for a while
Lynnia Mar 2020
Maybe that’s the
Point of all these
Stars as they fall
Louder than me
Even in death
Together they bleed
We all die the same
But they’re better than me.
Lynnia May 2019
She buries her face in her hands, stuck too fast
Jammed in her passion, she fashions her last
breath from the diamonds that grace her fingertips
Gently, gently, they fall as the blood drips
Slowly like a rhythmic drum beating, repeating
Heartbeats as her only assurance of being alive
Wide eyes tried to slide up where people could truly see
But her sunglasses are steel doors, and visible is something she’ll never be
Lynnia May 2019
I write myself raw, like a poison
Bite through my brain, what a present
Present your gifts and bask in this splendor
Splendid how the stars align
A lie, a lie, and a line I crossed
I’m fine, I’m fine, catch this fire I tossed
I’ll terminate my tension with porcelain pressure
Still as the pool of blood I spill
Too hard to ****, like Prometheus
Shorn shadows, insides torn out
And the dark, the dark, it’s after me
Catch me please
No, don’t— I’m fine
Lynnia May 2019
Wretched voice
Boxed so thin
Rubbed-raw noise
Sandpaper skin
Beaten crest
Lasts for years
Naked nest
November tears
The season’s stall
Before the laughs
The worst of all
The ugly path
A sun burned green
I waste away
While they all wait
For bright Friday.
It’s a metaphor, Brian
Next page