Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2020 mel
misha
drunk on you
 Jun 2020 mel
misha
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that
 Oct 2018 mel
The Masked Sleepyz
It's raining,
Ambulance sirens drown the,
Silent slumber,
No one is on the road,
A mobile maddance,
Mad chanced,
Or mild happenstance,
No change,
But the toll keeper keeps,
Jingling coins,
What have you got to pay?
The windowless hospital waits,
With a unacknowledged anxiety,
No one is on the road,
Will this be the last time or,
Are you trying to make,
Every one stare longer,
The rain wont stop,
Shot, shot, shot,
Drip, drip, drip,
It'll be a few days,
Till the rain,
Decides to quit,
The toll keeper has better things to do.
And the ambulance rolls on.
 Oct 2018 mel
Crystal Peterson
Love is Poison to Logic
The Heart a Murderer of the Mind
Inspired by InkTober 2018 #1: Poisonous
(Companion Illustration on DeviantArt)
Italicization is malfunctioning right now.
 Oct 2018 mel
Skye Marshmallow
Youth
 Oct 2018 mel
Skye Marshmallow
We are all silhouettes
Wrapped in the tapestry
Of a blooming night
Outlines etched messily
Into a cotton wool sky
Beautifully imperfect
A stray wisp illuminates
Sings sweet like our
Honey bee laughs
We smile, always
Endlessly sunshine yellow
For here we are youth
Wild like dandelions
Rebelling against being
A common flower
We paint the word ****
In shining glitter
Send it to outer space in
A paper airplane
Then dance on crazily
Like the night is infinite
Dreaming for a forever
Something a bit different
 Oct 2018 mel
Jade
Momento Mori
 Oct 2018 mel
Jade
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm and suicide ⚠
____________________
­The envelope
(delivered just this morning)
splits in his attempt
to tear away its wax seal
where her very breath still wanders.

Inside,
he finds a razor blade--
upon being removed
from its paper hostel,
it glints prismatically
in the Autumn sun--
and a neatly-pressed letter
accompanied by an overwhelming
medley of scents--
parchment;
mint lip balm;
*****;
it still smelled like her.

With butterflies rising like bile
up his throat,
he unfolds the letter,
reading over her
spidery handwriting
several times before
her words fully percolate:

"Do not return to sender--
she's already dead."
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer for an optimal experience)
 Oct 2018 mel
HTR Stevens
We who have touched the heights of ecstasy,
See fantasies become reality,
Swimming out to sea as far as we dare,
Have to experience the depths of despair,
Living on the edge of a nightmare,
Not knowing what can be lurking there.

Such is our lot – the souls that climb the heights!
Shall we call it a blessing or a blight?
Living near the edge of insanity…
Joy is heaven – sorrow the bitter sea.
Between ecstasy and agony,
Our dreams become our reality.
 Oct 2018 mel
Xallan
hypocrisy
 Oct 2018 mel
Xallan
I don't see any poetry in death
The last exhalations
are not prose, nor hallelujahs
The rattling of limbs
are not conductions of orchestral tunes
The rolling of eyes is not in ecstasy.
Pain is never beautiful, unless it is your own-
twisted, life is.
Let me drown in my ink, a true poetic death.
Next page