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KM Hanslik Jun 14
Semi comfortable thing
Orange breast, black wings
She is my mother (I think)
The one who birthed me left a long time-ago
Protracted sunlight through the leaves
Oak, maple, sycamore
All the ones she told me about
And I am home in a basement
Concrete walls, concrete floor.
The air breathes sweat
Throwing damp into my nest

Styrofoam lungs
Starry fractal eyes
I can do anything, she says,
And falls to her knees
Semi-fragile thing
Assured by her head
Knowing better by heart

A window is broken
The house is silent but
She remembers exactly why
Exactly when
Hair chopped off a long time ago
I think my mother is coming home
Keys on the table
Sound of closing doors
Too soft but I can hear her footsteps
I am home in a basement
Concrete walls, concrete home
Conversation is on mute
But I hear everything.
J B Moore May 22
There's a monster in the basement
In the shadows of the stairs.
There's a monster in the basement
And I'm sure he's covered in hair.

I have never seen him
But he smells like ***** socks.
His breath is just as stinky
And his skin is hard as rocks.

There's a monster in my closet
Behind my toys and all my books.
There's a monster in my closet
Daddy, take a look.

“There’s nothing in your closet,
Take a look for yourself,
Just clothes hanging from a hanger
And some books upon a shelf.”

There’s a monster under my bed
In the darkness behind my shoes
There’s a monster under my bed
I can hear him as he moves.

“There’s nothing there, it’s getting late
Sweet dreams, sleep tight, good night.
You don’t need to be afraid,
I won’t turn out the lights.”

There's a monster here beside me
Turns out he's just scared too
Of thunderstorms and dark, dark rooms
And even me and you.

Scott Apr 1
Wishful, wistful
Careless and restless
Forgotten things whisper
From under basement stairs
Mildewed carpets
Water-damaged cardboard boxes
The smell of spiders
Something buried is at the door
Phi Kenzie Sep 2018
I hid my old bed in the basement
of the last place I lived
sitting with the box spring and frame

It’s a great, full set
I had to let it go
roaming back home
which is nowhere near close
b Aug 2018
it is so still here.
until the planes
fly over heard. they dont
scare me like they did
when i was a boy.

but boy could they
put fear in the heart
of a youngster.
i never thought
id miss cowering
in the basement.

home will
spit me out again,
freshly chewed.
still staring at the buildings
like they might topple right over.

i will make the world love me
if its the last thing i do.
i dont care how
but it will.

i refuse to be the boy
in the basement.
scared of noise.
there is no crown fit
for noise.
it wears victory
like a python around
its neck.

and if noise could
die i would **** the
poison from
noise until it is but
a snake for the garden.
harmless and certainly
to go cower
in the basement for.
liv grace Jul 2018
i am becoming whole with a cause and he made me believe that there was a reason for everything. i met him in this life, two weeks after i couldn’t fasten the rope in my basement, two desks to the left, one back. quiet boy with soft smile, head down, leg tapping. picture me one desk up, two desks to the right unknowingly sitting metres away from the truest human being i would experience thus far. the human being who would introduce me to new genres of music, run through sprinklers with me, sit talking for hours smoking full packs of cigarettes, walk through forests, introduce me to genuinely hilarious people and help me experience the true beauty of not being okay. the human being jealous of music and the broken people that made it. the boy like his father; or so he tells me every time he’s drunk. stop looking in the mirror, trying to find darkness where there is none. light another cigarette, we’re all going to die someday. drown in your own self hatred, the water’s warmer in the deep end and i’ll help you keep your head above the water if you promise to float beside me when the sun rises again. once he said he’d **** himself in every universe he experiences without me and yes maybe so but even with me in his universe i wonder if he means it when he agrees that we should stay. i hope he stays. sweaty-palmed handshakes, aching and aching he is as soft as the skin beside his eyes when he smiles. why try to act so sharp edged when your heart is made from all things gentle? passionately broken record boy, repeating the same things over and over again under the influence with undertones of love for others. the love he’s unable to show towards himself. i see the way his shoulders curve downwards on the worst days, trying to make himself smaller to fit inside some new definition of “lovable”. the only person to ever tell me i was easy to love and prove it. i don’t know if i’ve ever thanked him for that. passionately broken record boy, appreciating my art and leaving me to wonder if the words we’ve shared after midnight had the same effect on his heartbeats as they have had on mine. sometimes he looks at me innocently but not so innocently because i’m sure he’s held my gaze long enough to see everything i’ve been hiding. i’m never really sure if he’s joking or not. about life and love and wanting to die. i want to tell him i love him in the way i love every person i’ve ever lost, like i sleep with my shoes on in case there comes a night i have to chase after him. he is the sum of everyone he has ever loved minus the drug addictions and prostitutes and stab wounds. it scares me that despite cold skin his presence keeps me warm and i am warm, i am warm, i am warm. i have never felt so warm and secure and void of anxiety within a friendship before and maybe him entering my life as carelessly and beautifully as he did was one of the reasons for everything. i genuinely believe it was.

passionately broken record boy. i didn’t meet him in the past life, two weeks after i fastened the rope in my basement, two desks to the left, one back. quiet boy with soft smile, head down, leg tapping. picture an empty chair. one desk up, two desks to the right, never having the chance to know the truest human being i would’ve experienced thus far. an empty space of a person he knew of but never knew.

but in this life i did have the chance. i got to know HIM, not just a tragic biography. not just a tragic suicide told enthusiastically by those who ached to follow. i knew him. i know him. five months after i couldn’t fasten the rope in my basement we were staring into the stars in comfortable silence and i finally believed that there was a reason for everything. i am becoming whole with a cause and the cause is him.
the person who this is about knows its about him. to you : i love you. please stay.
Greg Jones Jun 2018
When I found you on the rooftop
Crumbling at the knees,
You confessed to me the air
Made it hard to breathe.
You felt complacent
But knew you had somewhere you had to be,
Just getting harder to leave.

We found some solace
In the undergrounds of Charm City.
You said “These basement shows relieve the angst inside of me.”
I said “It’s gonna get better, love, just wait and see.”
It’s getting hard to believe.

Wandering hearts.
We were lost in the Art Space, the soul of the city.
Looking for answers
All we found were strangers and bands bonding over riffs.

She’s still waiting for the air to be breathable again.

There we were, sardine packed,
Shouting out for the band.
Vibes of Old Bay Punk echoed off the walls.
Jimmy’s worried the neighbors might call a noise complaint.
Tommy’s laughing as he turns up the stereo.

After the show
We stumbled out of the basement
Off balanced and content.
Smelling like sweat and Natty Boh.
The high wore off and we were back to where we began,
Wandering the streets with shattered lungs and dreams.

On Charm City rooftops
You broke down all around me
Along with the railings in the basement of Art Space.
By one or two we wandered into the Ale House.
We were just in time before they had last call.

Somewhere on Pratt street
We ran into Remy.
He was looking for Megan and a taco truck.
Found our way, unwinding on a bench by the harbor.
I swear there was magic in your midnight eyes.
You held my hand, and breathed a bit lighter.

The air is not so bad...
Shadow Dragon Apr 2018
He's a puzzled man.
One that I can't understand.
Frightened deep down.
Fellow inmate I wish to be enlightened.
Walking down the stairs faintly.
I'm in the basement mainly.
It's dark all around me.
Some days he won't let me free.
I want him to hear my screams?.  
Then maybe he wouldn't get in my jeans.
Vexren4000 Apr 2018
Small silver keys,
For lock boxes,
Chests of drawers,
And forgotten doors,
Hidden in attics and basements,
These little keys,
Can hold the passage,
To secrets long past.

Lila Timberwolf Dec 2017
Don't go in the basement
Don't sit in the dark
For what is down there
Is no horror film
They are real
You may see them skim past you
Fast and quick
Their bodies
Little shadows with tails
They are real
You may not see them
But you will hear them
Hear them fight
Hear them eat what little is there
There eyes glowing red in the dark
Because of your flashlight

Don't go in the basement
Don't wait in the dark
Cause when you hear them
When you see them
It may be too late

So don't go in the basement
This is no horror film
Cause they are real
And they are more than you can imagine.
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