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Sierra Collins Jan 2013
hazy smoke escapes your velvet lips,
and fire melts the snow in my lungs.
together, we begin to float.
your eyes turn into eclipses,
and the world turns into a carousel.
let’s go for a spin.
as we rotate around the sun, the air
turns into candy, and our breath
tastes like the universe.
we fall to the ground and laugh, and
i rest my head on your chest to listen
to your midnight heartbeat.
soon, our buzzing brains will lull
us into dreamland, and this night
spent among the heavens will
be nothing but a sweet memory.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
Every night,
When sleep eludes me and my thoughts turn dark,
I stare out my window at the blue moonlit street,
And in my mind I imagine myself walking
Down the sidewalk, across the road,
My hands shoved in my pockets and my collar up
To shield me against the cool wind of the night.

I can see myself walking for miles—
I know every twist and turn of the pavement by heart—
Until I’ve reached the edge of town,
This town that has ripped me to shreds and burned the pieces,
And I know that I’m so close to freedom…
Just one small step over the city limits,
Into no man’s land.

But it’s just a silly daydream, I tell myself,
Back in the prison I call reality. Yet
I can’t help but wonder what would happen
If I were to one day walk out the door, not just in my thoughts,
Without a word, without an intention of ever returning.
Would anyone look for me?
Would anyone cry or miss me?
Would anyone even care if I disappeared forever?
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
she was a little girl once,
playing with dolls and laughing at nothing,
wearing a dress her mother picked out
as she plays pretend in the backyard.
but that was an eternity ago—
now, she’s all grown up,
playing with fire and yelling at no one,
wearing whatever she wore the night before
as she walks home from a strange bed.
eyes that were once filled with hope
look to the ground in despair
sweet lullabies have been replaced
with broken whispers and bitter lies
dreams of a prince charming evolved
into dreams of someone, anyone,
who will love her, if only for a night.
what once was loving innocence
is now painful corruption
and as she raises a glass of *****
to her pale, cursing lips, she prays (in vain)
that she could one day know the happiness
of being six years old again.
I've wanted to write something like this for a while, but I could never get it right. I'm still not that happy with this so I might rewrite it later, but until then...
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
It’s drowning--
thrashing around in a cold, dark sea,
with no hope whatsoever of survival;
gasping for breath until the waves finally
invade your choking lungs and drag you
down to the ocean floor, to wither away and
rot, never to be found again.

Like being ****** into a black hole,
a vortex of the unknown,
constantly wondering whether you’ll ever
return to the safety of home, or if maybe
you’re already dead, lost in this black abyss,
a never-ending hell of confusion,
an eternal maze of nightmares and heartbreak.

It’s wandering through life,
a hollow body whose heart and soul have been
ripped out by the cruel, cold hands
of a violent world we helped create;
it’s being murdered by the one person
you thought you could always trust:
yourself.
what depression feels like, to me.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
Your eyes were red, as if you had coloured them with a crayon,
And they gazed into mine with such intensity that 
I felt I couldn't look away.
Words spilled apathetically from your drowsy lips,
And they crept all around the room, filling my nose
With the smell of mischief, and my ears with the sound of defeat.
You were hallucinogenic, and morbid, and giddy, all at once.
And you leaned down towards my ear, laughing 
At your own clumsy delirium. Your lips tickled my skin as you spoke,
And your words filled my heart with an aching sensation of hysteria.
You leaned down and murmured,
"I hate when people whisper sweet nothings to me."
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
My nights are haunted
by a ghost
that only I know exists.
He makes time
move too slow
He makes old
memories and regrets
return to my thoughts,
like foam surfacing
on sapphire ocean waves
after a hurricane.
He sits in the corner,
watching as I toss and turn
under his ruthless
control.
He is a puppet master,
I am a marionette.
I am broken, old,
useless;
but he plays with me,
manipulates me,
tortures me at night
for his own sick delights,
until at least, he will
toss me to the flames.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
I want to feel your silky hair tangled in my fingers when we kiss.
I want to feel the weight of your head resting on my shoulder when I hug you, or, even better, when you hug me.
I want to feel your nose barely brushing mine, because we’re standing close so that our faces don’t quite meet, but our breath has become synced.
I want to feel your warm lips dancing with my own, or gently touching my forehead right before we say goodnight.
I want to feel your arms holding me tight against you, in a way that makes me feel, for once, that I’m not alone in this cruel world.
I want to feel your hand, locked in mine and squeezing gently to remind me that you’re still there.
I want to feel your feathery fingertips, placing my hair behind my ear, or softly rubbing my arm when I feel anxious.
I want to feel your shoulders supporting me when we’re watching movies and I’m too tired to keep my head up.
I want to feel your stomach and your hips touching my own when we make love, or when we just stand in each other’s embrace for hours.
I want to feel your chest beneath me, slowly moving up and down as you dream, when I’m restless and using you as my pillow.
I want to feel your legs barely touching me as you move in your sleep, and your feet getting tangled up with mine when we lie side by side in bed at night.
I want to feel all of you, anywhere in the world, anytime of day or night.
I want you.
Not sure how I feel about this one, but oh well, it basically sums up how I'm feeling right about now... Hopelessly lonely and angsty.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
She watched the clock and traced the bruises that peppered her pale skin
She counted the days till the end and kept track of her every sin
When the sun was up, she was a lamb: lovely, kind, polite
At night she was a lioness, with a quick and vengeful bite
She drowned in wine and whiskey, and a cigarette here or there
She wasted her time with silly boys, but to love, she wouldn’t dare
Her life was short and meaningless, but she refused to give up control
Until that tragic midnight hour when the sadness took its toll
So that night she finished her drink, and with God, she made a truce
And without looking back, she gave herself to the loving embrace of a noose
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
My eyes are red
My limbs are dead
I am so incredibly
Unbelievably
Impossibly
Exhausted
Yet sleep eludes me,
And why, you ask?
I honestly can't tell you,
But I probably deserve it.
Wrote this at three a.m. last night. I'm not sure if I'm that proud of it, but thought I should share.
Sierra Collins Jan 2014
Let me mend your wounds, my dear,
Let me see your scars.
I’ll brush the dust off of you,
Peer inside and count your stars.
Read me your sins and
Let me hold your tears;
Give me your hand, darling,
Lend to me your fears.
When you kiss me, whisper
Into my mouth your dreams.
Give me a needle and
Let me sew up your broken seams.
I know you’re fractured,
But I am too.
All I ask, my dear,
Is that you let me love you.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
Paint a picture, little artist,
And put it in a frame.
Pin it up on the wall and
At the bottom, sign your name.
Convince yourself it means something,
That your hard work wasn't in vain.
Try not to notice that 
Every artist is the same.
You try to change the world
With brushstrokes on a page;
You try to create some beauty
In this dark and violent age.
But so does everyone else-
We're just like you, my dear,
And so, just like all the rest of us,
You'll eventually disappear.
Everyone's creating things,
And everyone's taking stands;
But originality has been killed,
And the blood is on our hands.
Don't get me wrong. I don't completely believe that originality is dead, or that art is bad, because obviously, I love art and poetry and other things like that. I just believe that with everyone trying to be "different", a lot of us end up being the same, and I really hate that about our world.
Sierra Collins Mar 2013
When my lips are dry and my eyes yearn
For the enticing illusion of sleep,
When thoughts drip from my mind like a leaky faucet
Until I am drowning in my own worries,
When the clock on my wall starts to sound more like
A bomb ticking down to zero—
These are the nights that I long for you.
I always write the most when insomnia gets the best of me.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
i light up a cigarette and watch the smoke take shapes
they disappear into the twilight, completely dark,
except for the ghostly glow of the embers,
blazing in the black emptiness.
my breath turns to fire and my veins to ice
my heart pounds violently against its ribcage prison,
proving that, despite the cancer stick between my
chapped lips, i am (unfortunately) alive.
with every drag, reality melts into fantasy
and with every burning inhale,
i fall further and further
into the universe of my creation.
here, there is no emotion, no feeling,
no colour, no words, no existence
and that’s the way i like it.
Sierra Collins Jan 2014
Broken mirrors
Shattered lives
Words like bullets
Thoughts like knives
Sinister lies
Twisted dreams
No one hears
My muted screams
Sold my soul
Lost my breath
Take my life
Give me death
A poem about my battle with an eating disorder. Part one of two.
Sierra Collins Jan 2014
Words of wisdom
Battle scars
Finding hope
Watching stars
Warm embraces
Sweat and tears
A beating heart
Conquered fears
Look how much
That I have grown
I’m not afraid
I’m not alone
A poem about my recovery from an eating disorder. Part 2 of 2.
Sierra Collins Mar 2013
Will you still love me when my silent tears fall?
When I lie in bed all day, curled up in a ball?

If I cry on your shoulder, how long will you stay?
Will my sorrows and worries just scare you away?

When I wish I were dead, when I can’t stand the pain,
Will you still stand beside me? Will your love still remain?
Haven't written in a while.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
Last night I had a dream
that I was running across the ocean,
my bare feet against the waves
and the taste of salt on my lips.
I ran until I reached the end of the world
The sea became a celestial waterfall
as it spilled over the edge and into space,
staining the stars turquoise and
letting the moon go for a swim.
I stood on the edge and looked behind me
You were right behind me,
running like your life depended on it,
and maybe it did.
“I’ve been chasing you all day”
you said. And your skin was
white as snow, your lips red
as blood, and in your eyes I saw
a fire that was beautiful
and terrifying at the same time.
No more words were spoken
Instead, you grabbed my hand
and we jumped off the edge of the world
with the waterfall, and we fell
through the empty void of space
and I wasn’t afraid.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
A few months ago, I saw you for the first time, and
I’ll probably never see you again.
I was at the mall with the friends who aren’t friends at all;
I think that day was the last time I saw them, too.
I walked into the food court and up to the stand where you were working,
And the first thing I noticed was that you were very pretty
Golden hair, bright amber eyes, and a smile
More sincere than what I was used to.
You were older than me, but couldn’t have been
More than eighteen,
And when I ordered a drink, you spoke in a kind voice
That sounded like music.
But this is what really made me remember you:
You reached your pale arm out to take the money from my hands,
And stretching from the base of your palm up to your elbow
Were rows upon rows of scars—some faded with time, but others
Red and scabbed, having been placed on your skin recently
By the burning kiss of a blade.
And so many things went through my mind at that moment, and
I still think them to this day.
I wonder if you noticed my gaze, trailing up your arm and into your
Eyes that shone like mirrors.
I wonder if you wanted to say something to me, but didn’t.
I wonder if you had finished that chapter in your life,
Or if you were already anticipating the next time you could open another vein,
And let the blood fall with your tears.
I wonder if you even remember me, or anything about that day.
Am I crazy for holding onto this memory?
I wish I had read your nametag, so I could’ve known the
Name behind the pretty face and untold story.
I wish I knew the reason behind your sadness;
The truth behind those rust-coloured eyes.
But mostly, I wish that I hadn’t been wearing a jacket, or that
I would’ve rolled up my sleeves, so that you could have seen
The rows upon rows of scars that lined my own arms—permanent reminders
Of the days that life wasn’t worth living—
Because they reflected yours almost perfectly.
And I wish you could have seen them, so that you could have known
That you’re not alone.
And I hope you’re still alive,
That this poem didn’t reach you too late,
Because I want you to know
I care.
This actually happened to me, and has been bothering me for a while...
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
The apocalypse was coming
I could hear it in the wind
You were my own personal hell
Waiting to rip me apart
I knew from the beginning
Why didn’t I run?

You were all lies and lust
But still I held on tight
Addicted to the feeling of
Your anger on my skin
It was better to feel pain
Than to feel nothing at all

There were moons in your eyes
Your touch got me high
The whiskey on your lips
Tasted like a flash of lightning
And you set me on fire
With every lonely kiss

And in the morning, I knew
I’d be bruised and scarred
Permanent reminders of our
Confused, twisted love
They represented your cruelty
And my ignorance

Then with delusional conviction
I would tell myself that even though
You’d ripped me to pieces and
Thrown me to the ground,
I love you in a twisted way
And you love me the same
Sierra Collins Jan 2014
I am no longer
the hollow of my collarbone
or the skin on my thighs
I am no longer
the frailty of my bones
or the space between my legs
I am the words
that flow from my lips,
and the way they curl and disappear
into the lungs of strangers
like smoke from a cigarette
I am the warmth I feel
when I hold you in my arms
I am the way I sing when
I’m afraid, attempting to find
light in a world full of dark
I am not my body, for it is
just a shell that holds my true
self; I am me,
and I am beautiful.
This isn't my best work, but I haven't written in a while so whatever. This is about my struggle with an eating disorder. It's lame but I hope you like it.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
a broken promise,
or two, or three
when i look at you,
that’s all i see.
        ghostly whispers
        and silent tears
        when you speak to me,
        that’s all i hear.
                a child’s nightmare
                now is real
                when you touch my face,
                that’s all i feel.
                        a broken promise
                        or two, or three
                        is all you will ever
                        be to me.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
Have another drink, darling,
Light up and have a smoke.
Don’t think about the future
Or your lonely heart that broke.
The alcohol will numb your brain,
The nicotine will make you choke.
But don’t worry, dear; in fact, have a laugh,
‘Cause in the end, you’re just a joke.
Sierra Collins Feb 2013
You’re bitter like beer and strong like wine
You burn like whiskey but I like it just fine
Sweet like brandy but harsh like gin
With just one taste, you make my world spin
I know in the morning I’ll wish I was dead
I’ll cry over you until my tears run red
But still I want more, just one last sip
Cause I’m addicted to your liquor-stained lips

— The End —