Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Sep 2023 zh
Tegan
Oh what a privilege,
to have known you.
I will carry a piece of you,
in my heart forever.
 Sep 2023 zh
gabrielle
the wonderful world
would cover up my affection

the sky's gradient in every dusk
would cover my colorless self

the earth's mighty wind
would blow my tears away

the night's luminous stars
would outshine my endless love

the land's languid flowers
would bloom before me -
while i withered of your love

in the latter time,
i will be forgotten
caused by the pain of the unrequited

the world's grace
and the universe' elegance
will conceal every agony i have

but in every fantastic disguise
it is not sure to obscure
my love, my lies and goodbyes
we have an amazing world,
it can keep out of sight the things we are not capable of hiding.

and as for the truth, it can never be hidden.
 Dec 2017 zh
xShadows Are Comingx
Depression is a war
A battle against yourself
Every thought is a bullet
Every movement is a punch
Every word is a stab in the heart
Depression is a thief
It steals everything you once had
Everything left behind are the things that keep you trapped
Depression is a ******
It killed the girl I used to be
I look in the mirror
And I see this thing
Depression is a zombie
You are alive but dead
You are unaware of what is happening
You are the walking dead
Depression is a nightmare
You wake up into a Hell
You are afraid of living
Everything seems impossible to hear
Depression is an ocean
A sea of emotions
You are drowning everyday
However you are never saved
Depression is a bottomless pit
Never ending pain
Never ending struggles
There is no light
There is no escape
Depression is a war
You either win
Or you die trying
And I am afraid to say that I am losing
 Dec 2017 zh
AJ
At the age of 16, I promised myself I’d never get addicted.
I swore to myself that not one thing could drown me in the ocean that is addiction, but at age 18, I shattered the promise into pieces.

Growing up, the smell of cigarette smoke escaping my mom’s sweaters always made me sick to my stomach,
but as soon as sadness found me at the age of 16, it whispered in my ear to find the addiction in nicotine.
I found myself sneaking into the garage to steal cigarettes out of half full packs,
blowing smoke out of my window at the Devil’s hour.
And at age 18 I replaced the stolen packs of cigarettes with bought packs of Marlboro Blues.
The packs sit at the bottom of my purse, the smell masked by over usage of perfume,
the addiction hidden by me telling everyone who loves me “I don’t like it anyway.”

Growing up with an alcoholic father, full of terrifying nights wondering whether or not I’d see him come home after the bar,
I swore to myself I’d never drink any sort of alcohol,
but that was soon broken when I found the bottle of wine no one wanted to drink,
and the forgotten beer cans nobody from my family drank at a birthday party.
I drowned it all, and for that second I understood why my father could want this addiction so much.
The burn was a numbing experience, and I found more relief in shots of mixed liquor and blackouts than any therapy session.

There’s no “growing up” story with the blade, with the cutting, with the self harm.
Maybe I was always fascinated with blades. Maybe I was drawn to it. Maybe I liked the idea of it,
but becoming addicted to dragging a blade across my skin was never something I could imagine.
When the knife first drew blood,
a part of me thought the waterfall of crimson was beautiful,
trailing down my arm in a river of red,
dropping into a puddle like raindrops on a stormy day.
The blade cut through skin as easy as pen on paper,
and I promised myself I would never become addicted,
but the faded white lines on my arms tell a different story.

I remember meeting you,
I remember telling myself,
“****, you’re *******,”
because even if I did promise myself never to become addicted to anything,
I easily became addicted to you.
But you,
you weren’t toxic like every other thing in my life.
You were the sunshine through storm clouds,
hazel eyes sparkling when you talked about something you love.
But it wasn’t how you talked about the items in your life that made me become addicted,
it’s how you light up when talking about me.
It’s how your eyes look before I kiss you,
full of not only lust but so much love,
a love that is so foreign to me I can’t find myself to ever want to stop kissing you.
It’s how you kiss my hand, or my forehead,
or sing in the car when I’m not okay.
It’s how at home I feel in your arms,
and maybe that’s cliche,
but if this is addiction,
then I never want to be in rehab.
(original:http://hellopoetry.com/poem/977081/i-swore-id-never-get-addicted/)
It's been almost two years since I wrote the first one, and I thought it needed a rewrite about how things can change in a couple years. Maybe it didn't change a lot, but I'm happy with how it is.
 Oct 2017 zh
Victoria Queen
Hurt
 Oct 2017 zh
Victoria Queen
They say that over time, it dissipates -
it will drain from you, evaporate like smoke.
It will descend upon you, destroy you;
but will soon release you, and fade.

But with time it instead grows stronger,
demanding to be felt.
It knocks on the doors of my soul,
its urgency to be let inside unrelenting and ruthless.

Like an unpredictable storm, it lands and ravages,
leaving just fragments of a heart already rebuilt.
What is gone is the will;
the resiliency dulled, the courage spent.

It's a deep-rooted ****, an unrivaled opponent;
It's a malevolent fire that refuses to be smothered.
The Hurt:
a wound that permeates, and remains.
 Oct 2017 zh
lerato
hurt
 Oct 2017 zh
lerato
Its sad really
Because the only reason I haven't killed myself yet
Is because I don't want to hurt anyone
But the reason I want to **** myself is because everyone is hurting me
 Oct 2017 zh
Styles
Touch
 Oct 2017 zh
Styles
Touched you in many ways
The feelings last for many days
Left you shaking like a page
The thoughts still amaze
Momeries come in waves
My stomach churns
as my body graves

— The End —