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 Aug 2015 Quinn
ErithVert
Balloons
 Aug 2015 Quinn
ErithVert
There is something about them
Isn’t there?
There is love and tension at the same time
Harnessed and so vulnerable,
Like wings, like music.

There are so many things
That can bury,
That can bruise you
But not them.

In fact it is like they never touch you
Even when your hands are touching them.
Something so soft it can only be held
But never hold.

But they are never really there,
Are they?
Even when you have it with you
It’s only a replica, a reincarnation
Like wings, like music.

And it too will die soon,
Cause only death can hurt it.
And then it shall be gone forever.
Except for its fragments,
That harnessed what we loved about it so much.
Those pieces live ignored,
The colored open shell-
Splatters in landfills,
No one thinks about that,
 Aug 2015 Quinn
MegAnne McNally
When I talk about suicide it isn't for attention,
this is not my exit sign, no easy way out.
This is me seeing sky for the first time after minutes of drowning,
this is survival mode kicking in,
a need to taste the air again with water filled lungs.
A feeling so familiar to me,
it is the closest thing I know to home.

I wear trinkets around my neck,
memories of all the reasons I cannot leave yet.
My necklace holds the smile of a young boy who knows exactly what I need and how to get a laugh from my lips without words.
On the same chain lies the spirit of a girl who with heartfelt conversation and the conviction of God reminded me what life tasted like.
I keep these things close to my heart,
praying to always be reminded of what good life holds.

But so easily do we forget, and how often we are forgotten.
Some days I worry that my reasons could never be enough.

I'm staring down the barrel of a loaded gun,
and the weapon strangely looks a lot like my two hands.
There is sunshine on one shoulder, a cyanide pill strapped to the other.
Now I don't know which one sounds more beautiful,
but a blind decision could make it my last.
 Aug 2015 Quinn
Sammy Whitelaw
11:44 PM // do you remember the first time we met? i do.

12:02 AM // i remember the first time we locked eyes like it was yesterday

12:09 AM // i remember the swirl of green and brown all in one mesmerising gaze taunting me like a bad dream

12:57 AM // you were never just a stranger to me, you were never a face that didn’t matter  

1:18 AM // from the moment i laid eyes on you i knew you’d break my heart

1:32 AM // i can't stop thinking about the last time you told me you loved me

1:55 AM // you called me up after weeks of nothing and told me you'd never love anyone like you loved me

2:07 AM // you were saying goodbye, weren't you?

2:50 AM //  i could have forgiven you if it was only a kiss, but you fell in love with her

3:49 AM // i've kissed lots of people since you, but none of them pulled my hair and tasted like fanta

4:27 AM // my god i loved you with everything i had

5:01 AM // it still wasn't enough, was it?

5:55 AM // it was always meant to be her.
S.W
 Jul 2015 Quinn
grace
toofulltoofull
 Jul 2015 Quinn
grace
I'm the cup
floating [on the surface of the water]
being pushed down
[I] keep coming up
but a cup can only go so deep
until it starts to [fill up and sink]
[now I'm] overflowing and too heavy
too full [too full]
to float
drowning
 Jul 2015 Quinn
Poetic T
I inhaled upon it
like above,
It filled my lungs,
Washing over breath and
I felt calm,
As life exhaled upon the surface .
 Jul 2015 Quinn
Vamika Sinha
Seaside
 Jul 2015 Quinn
Vamika Sinha
Little girl in a blue
snow globe.
Pressed white shirt and tartan skirt.
Hair slipping
out of a ponytail or braid or something
like that.
Laughter like a current
to be lost in by a boatman.
Her first time at the beach.
Writing
childish saltwater sonnets
in the sand with her toes.

Paper-plane sky
kisses
sea brimming
out of its seams.
Singing, on-off key,
school choir tone,
'Never Let Me Go'.
Who needs, she needs
nothing
but
the horizon
cupped
in outstretched palms.
Innocence stored
in jagged-shiny shells
waiting to be
buried
in hot, bare sand.

Time comes to shore, oceans
grow warmer,
shallow.
No more of kid braids
but a woman in
azure.
Her whole life having been
a half-moon run
out of deep, dry wells
in search of,
in search of...
in search of
what, but
hope.
Cracking oyster shells
looking for
pearls.

Time again comes to shore.
Cigarette pants for tartan skirt,
in a blue-almost-black.
Staring out
at water lapping before her,
before her, after the sky.
Before,
after.
The horizon is a pretty picture
she wants to hang
on the wall of her heart.
But she, schoolgirl trapped in snow globe,
remembers
textbook phrases like
'Humans are made up of 75%
water.'
So we are drowning every moment,
she thinks dryly.

Water within,
inevitable.
Maybe her skin or nerves or vocal cords
sensed it all those years ago
in the schoolgirl's snow globe.
Like crying, like love,
like fearing, like dying.
Shifting, receding, flowing in
and out.

Could emotions be tides she dares,
dares not
row, row,
row through?

Where did it all leak away?
Was it in the salt
running down her face?
If she is 75% water,
where has it drained
to leave the heart parched,
and her tartan days a distant drought
of memory?

Snow globe melts away.
Wade in, wade in,
have your fill,
until skin is slick
with better pain.
You told the ocean years ago,
you sang in schoolgirl choir tones,
never,
never,
never let me go.

Now it never will.
 Jul 2015 Quinn
Brittany Ryan
Oh who am I kidding, life doesn't work that way
There are no happy endings or prince charmings
More like heartbreak and self-harming
You cut your wrists just to see them bleed
It's such a rush, the blade becomes your noble steed
you watch the blood flow down the drain
Along with your hopes and dreams of love and fame
You feel the life draining out of you
But no, oh no, you don't want it to end
even though your dog is your only friend,
even though you've been depressed for more days than you can count
Deep down you still had hope that someway, somehow you'd amount
To something
The black spots are clouding your vision
You panic, you cry,
And you realize that you don't want to die
You pray to God, begging to survive
Promising to do anything, in exchange for a second chance at life
But life, you see, is not a game
When it's your time to go, you go:
No excuses and hopefully no pain
All you see now is blackness
It's taking you under, out of consciousness
Your life doesn't flash before your eyes
You don't see the "light"
You're lost, alone
And now...
You're gone
 Jul 2015 Quinn
Alistair
Dirty
 Jul 2015 Quinn
Alistair
That girl over there isn't clean
but not in the way that you'd expect

yes, she showers on the daily
yes, she brushes her teeth in the morning
yes, she wears a clean set of clothes every day--

but if you take the time
to look her in the eyes
and possibly even care enough
to try to see through her lies of
"I'm alright, I'm just tired"
and "Sorry, it's just one of those days"
you'd see that the way she pulls down her sleeves
and makes the excuse that she's "just cold"
is really a defense mechanism.

You see, that girl really isn't clean
and she hasn't been since just a few days ago

and all the dirt
all the filth
that covers her body
covers her thoughts
lies in the places that you can't see--
the places she doesn't let you see.
Trigger warning: self-harm; depression (nothing overly explicit)
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