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Magnetic
A ugly grin
Not of my canvas
Superman
To my kryptonite
If there’s no tomorrow
Life’s been
A hard pill
To swallow
After all I’m only human
Flesh and bone
Eventually ashes in a box
I’ve felt sick
But that doesn’t even begin to tell
The full story
Cringing in agony
Imaging an alternative universe
More times then not
Overwhelmed
Handicapped by my own mind
I’ve gone head
Too head with thee worst
This so called place has to offer
Thee violent
Mood swings can
Be so brutal
The highest of highs
Quickly become thee opposite
Where’s the middle ground at
A catatonic state leads to
Def con five moments
Straight down the rabbit hole
You begin to fall
Buckle up
Making life hard to navigate
It’s not right by any means of thee
Imagination
May wears off slowly,
and june nears,
holding just
a small bag.

June:
the sixth,
the middle,
the balance.

I ask myself,
where did
your dreams go?

She doesn't bother
looking back.

"who do you think,
crushed them,
ripped apart,
with teeth?"

i want to stay drunk
off this sudden balance
for just
a little while longer.
from may, to june, and now, july.
the cloak,
rips apart

the caste,
comes crumbling down

the marigold,
wilts away

you and i,
foreverbound

honesty,
in my every breath

a lie,
in each of yours

who are you really,
beneath whatever you pretend to be?
A bad one; yet still a poem
A fairy sits,
on your shoulders.
Wings, neatly folded.

You swat it away,
because you think
anything magical,
is never to be trusted.

I hated you a little for
the smallest moment, there.

One day, I'll learn,
to love you
unmagically, enough.
From: my Algebra textbook
(Someday, I'll also learn how to write maths in my books, not poems. For today, I'll let myself keep drowning).
starseeker Jun 9
Hold, hold—
keep holding your breath
keep biding your time.

Put your grief
back
in it's sheath

Abide—
there's been rules set
for a reason.

Who are you,
to unlock the cage
around your lungs?

How dare you wish? How dare you hope?

Silent warrior—
who begs to be loud
who begs to be violent.

Hold, hold—
not a sound.
because what is grief, if not a sword you learn to sheath before you learn to swing around?
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