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unnamed Jun 2017
Home is an idea;
feeling.
House is a noun;
thing.

I haven't had home in a while.
I've had a house.
Four walls, a roof,
windows, doors,
but not home.

The feeling of home evades me.
I seek and cannot find.
I dream of home,
or what it was.

Home is an idea;
feeling.
Home is a fire;
ash.
Virginia Kasmi Jun 2017
Inhale furiously, exhale softly
the burning lust of a cigarette.
Smoking the toxic memories
From the first one you lit up,
to the red-hot one between your fingers.
Addicted to the flaming feelings that simply faded,
from red to grey,
from glowing to ash.
3 minutes of calm
and the never ending space left between them..
haley Jun 2017
it's no wonder
people like you end up in hell

the flames will melt your

cold
cruel
heart

into the tears
of those you've made cry

the ashy smoke
will make your eyes

swell
with
water

just the same
The Dybbuk Jun 2017
The world is burning,
Black snowflakes twirl through the air.
This is more magical than any childhood flurry,
This is destruction, beautiful and complete.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I can hear them sinking into pits of tar.
"Please, please, please" they cry.
Only I can hear them.
I will do nothing.
Devin May 2017
Intoxicated duality and
The bipolar mirror in your heart

You want that taste
Vapors lingering to your tongue

Spark up insanity with
Roman candles

But mask the smell
Spill the ash, deny

Afraid of what to be
Can’t figure me out

Only dust, dancing
In a wave of ember

For hell’s sake
We’re pretending Heaven

Habits of solace
Vices in revolve
Apoorv Shandilya May 2017
I am made of the ash
that gets left behind
with burned cigarettes
like hollowed pasts.
Platinum silver.
Just like starlight.
Brett Palmero Jun 2017
Fire woken by the spark
Burns gentle and true
Ashes falling, leaving mark
Away the old, in the new

Bright is this flame
That rages into the night
Though we all die the same
A fire does not go without fight

The fuel for such passion
Is not found alone
Rather with friends of compassion
With whom we find ourselves at home
Crimsyy Apr 2017
Six
I'm currently evacuating,
currently changing,
no longer lingering
in lullaby-scented halls
and too big shoes.

The walls have changed, you see,
coated in posters of
people I try to be
but the walls know my
real estate, my anxious being.

They know my exterior
is scared to invite you in,
because not everyone can handle
the mess within.

They know on the inside,
I'm dripping blood, ink,
my mind, like an overflowing sink,
saturated with love,
sunset pink.
Zero Nine Apr 2017
This is how we go
how it goes where
it goes, why, though?
Why, though?

Could be any reason.
Smoke all day.
Could be, could be.
**** keeps thought
coming open on it
honest in a beautiful
way. Could be any
reason. Then what of
the stressed breath
exhalation, my others?
What of the imprint
apathy? I alone live in
fear, with so many
fearful near. It must be
most of us but if it's only
some, then where's the
map to you, lonely? Puff
and cough and deliver
words we want in ear at
the close of any day. I
could picture myself dying
every night, go from dance
to stand to sit, to bone from
clay to sand from grasping
in embrace with you.

This is how we go
how it goes where
it goes, why, though?
Why, though?

Could be any reason.
Could be, could be.
...
Crimsyy Apr 2017
One
Tea stains ever present,
my anesthetic,
tasted by an older tongue,
sedating an even older mind.
Little one,
you were happy
and naive,
but I'll have to
leave you behind.
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