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  May 23, 2017
K G

The basin drains her polluted blood as wine envelopes morose
Every minute is a memory, onset of her blanketed comatose
Vying in a fog of icons and myths, words always fail them
From every misread evil that is disposed of improperly
From every neighbor or friend eternally mute again
From every gilded pattern that leaves a cuff for the eyes
From every fetching barroom, where all such nadir lies

KG
  May 22, 2017
Gaby Comprés

the magic of poetry.
is that it makes everything
beautiful.
it fills your lungs
like air.
it turns your soul
into a sky full of stars.
your heart
a field of wildflowers.
you.
into a poem.

  May 21, 2017
mrmonst3r

This bed is like a coffin
With a burial each
night.
I could tell you where
it all went wrong
But it wouldn't make it right.
I'm never worth
Remembering
You each showed me that.
With your pretentious self obsession
Words that always fell flat.
Each day is long and empty.
I cannot find my way,
So forgive me
Graciously
While I slowly fade away.

  May 20, 2017
Ryan Holden

As sun rises into your eyes,
So does your flaming soul,
Your declaration of love,
Veins full,
As saccharine as sangria.

It's erstwhile worth it,
Heavenly,
Opened hearts or palms,
Clenched fists would be fine,
As her soul quickly burns,
Like whisky on a bonfire.

Aspersions of guilt pointed,
At my head like the barrel of a gun,
Whilst she stains sheets of another,
But I know secrets,
Of which I discover.

Beautiful, calm and wonderful,
But I've been rinsed,
In a tsunami of her breathing.

I can't help it,
Heavenly,
I feel this deep down sometimes,

Despite her Jack Frost persona,
Here house is fiery hell,
But it's worth it,
Some of the time.

Hanging on by a thread,
Holding her fiery soul,
In my clenched fists,
But her blood is unique,
Saccharine sangria.

Story about a toxic relationship I was in and foolishly stayed in for much longer than I should have.
  May 19, 2017
Jessie Taylor H

Don't be scared, Love;
Show me your scars.
Give me a piece of your soul,
And maybe a glimpse of your mind.

I could show you beauty,
Without a field of flowers.
And an amazing high,
Without the foul aftertaste.

Just let me in,
Let me feel your pain.
I'll touch your soul,
And make you go insane.

2/19/2017
  May 18, 2017
Joshua Haines

I approach most desires
like a competition; can I
fuck better than him;
can I be famous at twenty-
-three since he was famous at
twenty-four -- I must be able
to sink better than him.

God, it is exhausting. I
feel like I'm dancing with
a machine; a phantom that
I can never catch, for it runs
on my blood; my insecurities;
my passion -- and, boy, oh boy,
can I attest to having plenty of
  that stuff, ladies and germs.

I think, truly, that I am
encompassing the American Dream
I think is utterly flawed; that I think
is futile in nature; that I am sure of
is the closest thing to Hell, in this
Godless, spiritually motherless
dark shoebox of sudden collisions;
this space of useful and useless
results, splayed onto and into
our hearts, asking for reverence.

There is nothing  I want more
than to be sure that my importance
is not illusory. I am not sure if
I am real.

  May 17, 2017
Poetic T

Her scent was ambrosia on his lips,
swimming within oceans
hearing the waters calling.

Waves gently lapped upon features.
As the ripples settled, he could taste
the essence of her, drowning in pleasure.

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