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KM Hanslik Nov 2018
There are flowers springing from my bones
in places they were never planted
fracture my skull and call it apathy
I say pain is a better road than dying alone;
can't you see the way my vision is blurred,
squinted too long at the sun now I think I've done damage
burned holes in my corneas before the age of 21, but those are just
surface things, right?
the road feels a lot longer when the cold air hits all my soft spots, like my neck so I cover it up
pooling all my efforts into growing thicker blood that will keep my skin warm
;keep kissing bruises on my arms, thinking that love will heal each new halfhearted attempt at self-sabotage
or manage the leftover evidence;
did somebody forget their brakelights on?
I'm trying to figure out how to get these needles out of my head
rocket science, learning to reverse detonate what might be left
in my system
system check, leaving sticky residue
behind me in my heavy concave tracks
softly trailing back
gotta learn to do it right the first time before I backtrack
my ears ringing like a sound clap;
bringing up old war wounds like we've lost gives us some sense of entitlement
things we don't want to lack,
leave the last stack
where I can mull over the aftermath
digging graves for those who are still alive,
burn my skin tonight
burn it right off my bones so I'll know I'm alive
still kicking like the second round
the afterthought that realizes what went down the first time
don't let me out of the house tonight,
god knows what I might find.
Tasneem Anjum Sep 2018
You trust so easily, Fragile Heart
When you know it's when you let them in
That they break you, and tear you apart.

You believe everything you want to hear
Fill yourself up with empty hope
That's recycled out as salty tears.

You tie yourself to the ground with scars
Like a balloon secured on a windy day
So they remind you of who you are.

"I'm not going to be staying here."
You wanted so bad to fly away
But Love, just know, you're not going anywhere.
And here I am again
melanie Jun 2018
I am an afterthought
A second hand emotion
A distant memory that is just out of reach and leaves you vacant

I am the second lover who can never live up to the the first
A lukewarm cup of coffee that you'll drink but never enjoy

I am chipped in the major places of my heart
But you keep coming back to see if you can fix me

Yet neither of us enjoy my anguish
Yeah, I agree with you,
So why you got to yell?
Yeah, I said your right,
What else can I do?
You just wanna fight!
Oh whatever, what the hell?
Did you just say we're through?
That's fine I'll walk that line!
No, plz believe I can walk,
Yeah, there's no reason to
reasonably talk,
Here's your ring,
Your castle is all your's my king!

Now halfway to the road,
You take me into hold?
Hold up, this is enough!
I'm tired of this ****,
Tomorrow you'll apologize & say it was because you were lit!
Happens every time, getting tired
of this same rhyme,
Go ahead & just **** me this time,
Keep choking me until I'm past passed out!
Do what you're always bragging about!

Great just what I thought,
I'm still going to wake up,
like the morning afterthought!
Written 04/232018
When you can't escape neither by life nor death. Fiction.
Julian Revà Apr 2018
There's a gap between what
I fear and what I think
to fear; there's a night, sure,
between those tiny things

Because to fear is to live,
as the leaf
in the burning forest
still breathing, fearing
not the death, but leaving the living

I do not fear the death
I just fear the night falling over
my sholder, my head; my integrity
what it means being me

I fear those things I'm not certain of
(as the rest of living things I think)
But scarier is to know
that we truely do not know
the certainty of all
the things we say we know

And of all those nocturnal dreads
there are a few that keep me awake
waiting for an answer that will never come
as the lost remembrance of an ancient love
as the farther forefather of a forgotten folk
as the man watching through my window
in a windy storm passing by the city

There's a lot of dreads at the midnight
that keep me awake thinking
about things that I should not
but I think all the condamned
are bound to write about nightmares
and imaginariums that does not belong to us
but yet, they're ours to transform

And maybe one day the dreads will go
far away from our city, as the storm
maybe one day we will burn as the leaf
and then we will stop fearing
what we do not really know
Skye Mar 2018
shuffling papers together into a pile,
you look like you’ve run a mile.
in such a hurry of what you’re looking for
that you forget what you’re pushing ashore.
papers strewn across the table
gathered in a fit of labor;
you’re in a hurry to chase the next high
but are you really? or are you really just chasing flies?

i am the paper that slips out of your grip.
i am the paper that hangs off the tip.
the floor beckons my fall,
the drop becomes a call.
a call for help, yet a call ignored
as you left me on the side as though i am nothing more.

(maybe its because i mention death like a prayer.)

i am the paper that idles by.
i am the paper that was hung out to dry.
you’ve purposely left me behind.
you’ve shoved me aside blind.
i trusted in you therefore i am blind.
when you confided in me, i was kind.

(maybe you were hurt by my actions.)

i am the paper sitting silently.
i am the paper binging on anxiety.
pick me up again and i’d be useful.
use me again although it may be cruel.
i don’t like the feeling of being abandoned.
it makes me feel like i’m a loose cannon.

(maybe your dead stares makes me ill.)  

i am the paper that flew with the wind
i am the paper you seem to have skimmed
i am an afterthought, i think to myself a lot.
i am being overlooked like a blind spot.
i am forgotten just as easily.
you’ve gotten rid of me, finally!

(maybe i should scratch until i bleed today.)

i am the paper that is facing down.
i am the paper that is close to breaking down.
i wear a mask that is always cracking.
because i am done pretending.
pretending that everything is okay.
pretending that i am sane when i’m being put on display.

(maybe i should be punished for thinking this way.)

i am the paper that flew into the mud.
i am the paper that is drenched in my own blood.
i am weak but i am not.
i am strong but i think not.
i am tired but i am trying.
i am trying but i am dying.

(maybe my death will prove that i am right.)

i am an afterthought that is being forgotten
and i know its a lot for you
but if you ever think me rotten,
tell me now because i am not willing to be the paper
that was made out of spun cotton:
valuable until deemed unimportant,
helpful until easily forgotten.

(maybe I can finally sleep tonight.)

i am an afterthought that is being forgotten
and i know its a lot for you
but its a lot for me too.
you left me behind for greener pastures, so i wrote about you on paper and then burned it to ashes.
Lauren Leal Sep 2017
Without you I'm content with life
All you did was brandish a knife
And named it love, but the hilt was made of self-deception
That you'd go for like an interception
Just like you'd intercept my feelings
With playing the victim and all your dealings
With the demons you swore to never be
We'll see who you become when you can't leech off me
Crimsyy Jul 2017
Your name tastes sour
in my mouth,
I should be breathing you in,
but I want to spit you out,
cause I'm just an afterthought,
an occasional roundabout.

You surround me
but never close enough,
we keep arguing in circles
and I've had too much

Sick of nursing
this brick in my chest,
wonder why I haven't left yet,
sick of feeding
the doubts in my head,
I think you'll be my next regret.

You let snowflakes
fall on my tongue,
am I supposed to
think that's sweet,
when your love is built
on nothing concrete
and you seem to be
a one end street?

You seem to be one for the road,
but you still haunt my sleep
and so while I toss
and turn for you,
your mind is devoid of me.
Bethany G Blicq Apr 2017
I am Love.
Not chasing Love;
being Love.
To make another feel Loved,
and for them to feel their own Love
is the goal.
To be made to feel like
an afterthought,
like an option only chosen
when all others fall through,
that is something I wish upon nobody.
Not a single person.
You are not an afterthought.
You are Love.
Written in 2017.
Bethany G. Blicq
Racquel Davis Jul 2014
In short: you're a protist.

©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
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