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Viseract Sep 2016
Bubbles and smoke
Wavering flames and twisting, spiralling water
Like two tornadoes of varying temperature and temperament,
And equal as different the opposing elements
Earth and air lay dormant as I lay,
Entranced,
By the visions that my very mind manipulates into my reality
SøułSurvivør Jul 2016
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flat bottom clouds pile like bubbles
on a bathtub sky!


[10W]
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/31/2016
Take me away!
kaycog Jun 2016
Bare wrists
Dressed in red
Bands wrap
Around uncovered skin

Choking on pain
Scarlet pools
Baby blues
Purple bruise

Canvas arms
Circling colors
Bubbles gurgling
Clean cut
Liam C Calhoun May 2016
I could still smell lavender, hinted
winds from the east I’d once caressed.
And I could still smell that Lavender
When I look down to watch the ants
scurry. Once more, I could still smell
Lavender come empty and my life In
a bubble atop the world. And at last,
the Lavender’s gone, when trees root

elsewhere.
Rooted, uprooted, rooted.
MJ May 2016
I'm beginning to believe
That happiness is just an illusion.
While in the moment you may smile,
When it fades, it leaves behind confusion.

Tell me, why do we blow bubbles
When they burst in seconds few?
You can't change the color of the sky, my dear.
It will always, always be blue.

And even while you're smiling,
There's this ever-rising flood.
Reminding you of your pain and despair
And that you'll always turn back to blood.

I'm hearing voices in my mind,
Replaying loved ones loving me.
But as I begin to find those thoughts,
They turn their backs and flee.

Why do we struggle at the top of the water?
Wouldn't it be easier to sink?
At least if the water consumes you,
Then you won't be forced to think.
There are different kinds
All the same
All different
Different sizes and colors
They make up parts of life

Soap bubbles
Cleaning, scrubbing
Washing dirt, grit
And all the bad
Away
Reflecting you
Your surroundings
In different colors
Different views

Word bubbles
Floating up from the heart
Trying to escape
Only a few make it
The rest
Broken inside
Choking you
Restricting you
Making you regret
Not opening your mouth
To let them out

The best kind of bubbles
Bubbles of laughter
Bubbles of joy
Bouncing out of your mouth
Tickling you until you let them out
The fun bubbles
That make that joy
Drawing the wand
Blowing the joy
Into the bubbles
Until they are ready
To go
And spread joy of their own

Bubbles reflect
Joy and sadness
The two polar opposites
That compliment each other
Completely
You cannot have one
Without the other
Sometimes the bubbles of joy
Will pop
Explode in your face
But you can take out your wand
And start all over again
Ekstyn Feb 2016
Perhaps it was easy to fall back
into what it was,
what we were...
An almost-friendship
acquaintance,
rather than what we could be-
like an almost-lover friendship...
no, that'll be a harder fall.
Because we never really had
any memories to forget, never had,
never will.

I am seeing 'this' for what it really is,
A fragile bubble too easy to pop
with single pin *****-
and the larger it gets,
the thinner it becomes-
as it goes untouched,
it will just vanish
into nothingness without any
trace of its prior existence.

And that's what it is, was...
a something sort of nothing.
It was one sided all along, and I had to break my own reverie to wake up from a beautiful nightmare. Because you can't, you won't.
Kate Ballalatak Feb 2016
he texted her.
and she waited for the jump,
the butterflies,
the weird flip her stomach
would do at the sight
of his name
on her phone.
he texted her.
she waited for a physical
reaction.
like a boiling *** of water
that overflows,
or an outlet that sparks
when someone carelessly
plugs something in.
where were the bubbles?
where were the sparks?
he texted her.
she picked up her phone.
she looked at it.
she got distracted by another
message from her friend.
he texted her.
the world kept spinning.
and that's how she knew.
Claire Jan 2016
sizzling; simmering
one by one,
air bubbles begin to rise
and then by 2s; 3s
they race to the top;
flocking to the surface
spinning; swarming;

stop.

boiling water.
that's what love is like;
the onset and duration of an anxiety attack;
it'll give you one, too, if you don't

stop.

because once it's begun,
once again,
you will stumble helplessly through a
self-inflicting battleground
of what can no longer be
peaceful independence,
but an inner war that you
know you will lose,
amidst the increasing rapidity of
your own shots fired;

please

stop.


the water will boil
until you rid your clutch
on that stove;
one hand on the gas,
the other on the burner.
its my birthday today
Sarah Michelle Jan 2016
My breath goes to you
Not my dying breath, but the
bubbles from this sigh
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