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I’ve seen too much from behind these lids.
I've learned that the dark is no place I can rest.
It shows me everything that hides, or is hid,
Inside every pulse within others foul heads.

I flinch at any kindness like it's going to bite.
For not every smile is given to me to stay.
I keep my room the brightest at night—
So, when I see me, I won't look away.

My body is here, I think. Maybe in part.
But rest is somewhere I left, unclaimed.
I built shrines of silence inside my heart,
Where I hid my echo and gave it a name.

When I am asked, why I never sleep,
A version of me steps in front just to lie.
Cause sleep is a place that's way too deep,
For someone who feels like they already died.

I’ve felt myself moving under my skin—
I'm an actor mouthing some borrowed truth.
I close up and break. The thoughts swarm in.
As I choke on even their quietest proof.

I stay wide awake thinking pain will pass.
It doesn't. It stayed here and laid in my bed.
My comfort is a window of shattered glass—
It never begs me to fix my fractured head.

I taught myself how to speak under pause,
And how not to feel, with blood and meds.
You know love exists? Then show me the clause,
Stating “nothing that lives, is punished when dead.”

I almost opened my heart once. And It burned.
Not with fire—just light I knew I shouldn’t touch.
You say your worth trust? Well see if it returns,
If you abandon it like faith and leave it untouched.

I wish I knew how not to leave my own trail.
But my presence cuts the air, and I can’t pretend.
I stitch it back together, each time I inhale,
My own conscious effort to draw my next breath.

These eyes must stay open. That’s the only rule.
So I count every crack in the wall and the door.
My heartbeats break open. My bloods in a pool.
Not so much now, but that used to mean more.

Might as well be the door, I will not unseal.
Or the me in the mirror would start turning away.
Cause to truly open up, would make it too real.
And nothing that's real in my life, ever stayed.

So never again, will I close my eyes.
Keep your strong skin. And I’ll keep the scars.
I swallowed a lock; in my chest it resides.
And never again, will I open my heart.
Jay May 30
You
I crave every part of her, not just the smile she wears in daylight for the world, but the silence between her sobs when the night presses too heavy on her chest. I want the rawness in her breath when pain steals her voice, the anger she keeps caged behind her ribs, the secrets buried beneath her insistence that she’s “fine.” I want the scars she won’t name, the ones my fingers trace like prayers. The shame others turn away from when it begs to be held. The flicker of old memories in the mirror that still make her flinch. I want the parts of her even she’s afraid to love. Because real love doesn’t live on the surface, it digs deep, waits patiently in the shadows, learns the shape of locked doors and kisses bruises no one else knows exist. She’s been told she’s too much, but they only ever saw the outline of her being. I’ve memorized the weight in her voice when she lies and says, “I’m fine.” And I believe her, not the words, but the weight of the burden she carries behind them. If she let me, I’d carry it all. They love her like a still photograph, pretty, posed, and flat. But I love her like a novel, long-winded and tangled, pages missing, ink running into the margins. What I feel isn’t fleeting infatuation; it’s a quiet knowing, a deep-rooted truth. She was etched into the marrow of me long before fate ever brought us face to face. And if she runs, I’ll be sure to follow, not to catch her, but to remind her that she’s already home.
Lance Remir May 28
If I am not rage, then what am I?

I tried love, trust, patience, empathy

They were accepted out of courtesy

But discarded like an inconvenience

If I am not anger, then what am I?

I tried so very hard, so much time

Just to receive little effort and no time

Just to be abandoned and misled

If I am not anger, nor am I rage itself

Then I am the pain you gave to me
I have the fondest one with you
May it be as refreshing as your cup of coffee in the morning
Or as painful as when your favorite pet died
We met again after long years
You wore the brightest smile, as always.
You held my hand as if it's the first time holding it
We talked for hours, reminiscing we could have been if we stayed
bee careful May 23
WHAT WILL IT TAKE
TO MAKE YOUR TOUCH GO AWAY
I CANNOT SHED MY RUINED SKIN
IS THIS THE END OR DID YOU JUST BEGIN?

I WANT MY BODY BACK
I WANT MY LIFE
I WANT MY HEART BACK
I WANT MY KNIFE

MEMORIES AND SCARS
DECORATE MY BRAIN
REGRET AND STARS
CALM THE PAIN

SNAKES FEAR ME
DOGS LOVE ME
I AM NOT ME
YOU HAVE RUINED ME

I AM ROTTING INSIDE AND OUT
I PEEL MY SKIN AND BURN MY TONGUE
JUST TO FILL THE HOLE THAT YOU DUG
JUST TO FORGET WHAT YOU HAVE DONE
you deserve to rot.
MetaVerse May 23

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            Robatic,
crisscrOssing
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            T
             Ightrope
acrostiC

Limes Carma May 22
You stood beneath the station light,
the kind that softens into blue.
Your hair was damp from rising rain,
your hands unsure of what to do.

I watched you move but not let go,
a breath away, yet far from home.
There’s something cruel in parting slow—
we lost the words, we left alone.

The train exhaled, the silence stayed,
You turned your face, but you never waved.

© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
froM HeaRt and hand
Cheyenne Apr 25
I feel Hollow.
Barren.
Empty.

That hollowness erodes my body,
leaving a trail of decay.
Cracks crawl through my brittle bones,
shattering my skull,
fragmenting my thoughts.

A carmine-colored river floods into my caving lungs,
before dragging itself up my throat.
The metallic taste slowly overwhelms my mouth,
and seeps through my gapped teeth.
My glass smile falls and shatters.

Terror grips what was once my voice,
holding sound captive-
my call for help erased by despair.
Only strangled sobs exist.
I'm left choking on my own life force.

Each sob collects upon my face;
a veil of tears cover my broken visage.
Shrouding me from prying eyes that encompass judgemental gazes.

Without even seeing,
their stares spear my soul and blacken my heart.
The forgotten, grayed ash
smothers out all that remains.

My rotted husk: a void, a dismal skeleton.
A vast emptiness that nothing can fill.

Broken.
Decayed.
Hollow.

It's what I am.
Nick May 21
I am not broken; the world is.
Every day, it’s a new trend, whether worthless or rich,
Whether Black or white, dull or bright.
Every day is a new battle, a storm in a sea of dreams.
Dreams which get lost among the crowd of mindless bees.

The unfortunate truth is, the world favours aesthetics.
Whether in your work or in your deary beak.
Each day it’s a new goal, whether money, happiness, or ******,
But I ask, where is the genuine, the giddy, and the fulfilled?
Lost in the wildfire of fleeting faces and smoke-choked dreams?

Where are the joyful, the dreamers, and the poets?
Lost in the world of the weary, the cynic, and the skeptics?
But finally, I see the truth, the infallible truth—
Hidden behind the layers, lies, buzz, and noise,
That I am not broken; the world is.
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