jul 16h
"aren't we fools,"
she asked him.
“yes, indeed we are,”
he replied.

they did not try to control
what they felt, but let it be.
they did not talk further,
but let the wind speak.
they did not even look at each other,
but let their hands hold one another.
they did not acknowledge the time,
but let it carry them further.

in the darkness of the night,
their hearts were silent,
beating as
this is an excerpt from a story i wrote. i honestly find it so poetic so i decided to post it. a little background: she's talking about how they're fools desperately hoping to be loved.
No love lost, No love found.
All I hear is the beating sound, My own heart burning away. Wanting to come again, but not this day.

                                  With love,  
Robert Mar 3
You're such a manly man
We all get it by now
You're strong and brave
Fighting those who bow
Before your manly arms
Too scared to look up
Does it make you feel good
Is your father proud
Did he beat you too
Wicked Mar 1
As an artist I should love all colors.
As a boy I cannot love them all.
are colors I know too well.
They're the colors of bad days
And long nights.
They lead to tear stained pillows
and sleepless nights.
They’re the imprints of his rings against my skin
and his slurred words in my ears.
They’re a reminder that my father
isn’t a dad.
our hearts keep beating
as long as they can

that's the sound of life
Quote from a source no longer remembered
A free portrait! Imagine that,
At no charge this troglodyte
Decided that I deserved a rendition in pulsing crimson, me!
He effortlessly sliced the curve of my face,
And then holding true to brute form,
Let his fists do the rest of the painting.
In a breath’s thought I fought the idea
That this strong browed man was a fan of
Yves klein, but then he caringly guided my sight
Floor-bound and I noticed that he was a
Monochromatic Pollock.

Now, I wasn’t expecting Monet,
But in truth the elegance of the lazy red river
Careening down my cheek and neck got my hopes up.

And then further was impressed by his liberalness
With bottomless black crimson
Where he’d only previously flirt with young pinot noir
As he took a break to wash and massage his stained hands
I clutched at the hope that perhaps he was done with the
Onslaught with such blunt tools,
As such methods could ruin the whole piece
Unfortunately, he returned
And his care for each swipe was becoming more

More impassioned, but less precise,
I asked if he perhaps needed a second break?
Perhaps I could assist him,
I wanted to give it a try myself, but my hands were

In vain,
I tried to tell him that,
His bearish skills and appearance,
Would be better suited to a life of leather, whips, and Oedipus Complexes,
But his response was,

You should never laugh at an artist
Especially the bad ones
Because then their work some how finds a way to get worse

I asked if he’d learned how to work from his father,
And whether his father had worked him in any
Manner, and that’s when I became dizzy
I think.
Apparently struck a nerve.
Britney Lyn Jan 31
Cannot sleep, all these memories are haunting me; purple and blue, a gift from you.
Will they stay? When will they fade?
To die like the happiness that seems to have left me, oh so heavy.
Take this heart, stomp out all the little pieces you created, all the pieces that you hated.
Hide my face away from the hidden, show my to only the blind.
Trust is not something that is easily given, especially from this heart of mine.
Lying on the ground, where you stuck me down; battered, betrayed, I pray for the day.
Someone save me, for I am too shattered to do so myself, someone save me from this life that is my hell.
I wrote this piece 6 years ago today.
Lydia Dec 2017
I can not give you a good reason why some days my heart races into infinity
and other days it chooses to leave me hollow

that would be like asking me to rip open my chest
to expect something wild and free to do anything except what it wants just for you

my soul simply wanders into the direction my arrow chooses to go

I cannot tell you why sometimes my heart allows me to overflow my veins with happiness
while at the same time pumping anxiety into my sternum

I have spent my years searching
desperately trying to figure out an organ that was never meant to be explained to the owner of it's shell

I have been asked what I am doing with my life
and my answer is always the same
listening to my heart when it's disagreeing with my brain
Maria Etre Nov 2017
Put your heart
on hold
take a break

it beats
for the
Juniper Zarlengo Aug 2017
Dust berths from the depths of my lungs
And with it, the serum of my being
I am a metal machine whose cogs have rusted
And once doused in water wishes never to have trusted

I now see the light which melts the shame away
Misery and angst heed my love another day
Although the blood is fresh at the tip of the spade
My heart beats again, I am no longer dismayed
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