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JJ Inda 11m
Pale light
shines down
reveals the blank page.
Nothingness; an opporunity
- infinite.
the fool rushed in,
fiddled with some words,
adding up to nothing.
That’s the worst of it;
light wasted
and ink
and paper.
PART III: THE LOCKED DOOR

The straw that broke the camel’s back.
The lethal blow that made his resilience *****.
Think, analyse the commensurate reaction to his fate;
Paralysed and desperate, in his own words.

‘Asphyxiated’ seems like such a clean word;
‘He died of asphyxiation,’ that’s what the articles wrote.
What about dying of starvation? Let me elaborate on this note –
I meant, dying from being starved of hope.
I hardly think one ‘asphyxiating’ does this justice.
How about ‘a sense of debilitating hopelessness’, instead?
Or maybe ‘hopelessness that feels like all-encompassing dread?’

Because that’s what all of Gaza feels right now.
How? How the **** did we get here?
Year after year, Palestinians die and suffer.
Fear after fear, they come alive, one after the other.
‘We’re dead, already’ –
How does reading something like that not make you feel unsteady?

So, what do you do after suffering like that?
Nothing, except for lying down flat on your bed,
Crying, watching everybody around you dying.
And then, when you can’t cry anymore,
When you realise your entire country was treated like an eye sore,
When you can’t take it anymore,
That’s when you lock the ******* door.
That’s when Asma broke through that door,
To find her prodigal son dead, collapsed on the floor.
I finished it; Mohanad, I hope I have done your soul justice.
Qwn Nov 4
Don't say you love me,
And my ***, Don't say that you're sorry,
Cause what happened is the past,
But you can't take it back.
why does it feel this way
when I hear the songs you write

and why does it cut me so
to think of a lifetime of lost nights

by your side
by your side
by your side
bye
Roseanna Nov 3
The mere thought of reliance. Of getting myself addicted, kept me from buying it.




Often.

I'm very good with numbers; Always been inside my brain
They freely shift and move about; Allowed to dance and play
However, one equation baffles and confuses me
That one plus one will equal two; This is not what I see

It's people who must be confused; Wrong value they give "one"
Because the single integer alone can't have much fun
It's only with another "one" first one will come to life
With purpose, reason, starts to smile; Now feeling satisfied

The presence of the second one gives first one happiness
When one is standing all alone life has not much to give
Can not survive in a vacuum; It's dark and empty space
No digit there to interact; One's value just a waste

Some people disagree with me; Say one is fine alone
And doesn't need another one for value to be shown
I don't completely disagree but my experience
That I feel most fulfilled with life when I receive and give

The elegance of the exchange; Where miracles exist
Life's greatest gift is that of love but with it there's one twist
How it takes two to tango; Love is not a solo dance
To give another all your heart is taking a big chance

But can't compare risk to reward; The blissful ecstasy
Cause "one" is more like just a half but with love it's complete
Written: October 24, 2018

All rights reserved.
Sarah Oct 22
if i'm not falling i'm flying
if i'm not changing i'm dying

why can i only exist at extremes
instead of living in between?
this is really short but ya know. it is what it is i guess.
Isaac Oct 18
It may seem like you are lonely,
but you aren't.
Written 19 October 2018
jee Oct 18
the lights are buzzing
and my ears are stuffed with pollen
yet i can still hear the hive of bees in the ceiling.

the lights are buzzing
strobing against walls of alabaster and tiles of ***** white
neon and drunk off of the ticking of the clock.

the lights are buzzing
they carve out slivers of eyelashes
and slide flickering fingers to rest along the chin of despondency.

the lights are buzzing
their uneven beat is perfect melody
to the crying in the hall, outside waiting room 23.
they keep me numb, an empty shell with twitching fingers and vacant eyes.
jee Oct 18
there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears
and honey dancing off the tip of my tongue.

there are roses that tint my vision with petals of pink
and hyacinths dye my skin with a faint color between forget-me-not and periwinkle.

there are vines that creep up through the gaps in my ribs, soft limbs of green to curl a cage around the rice paper butterfly in my chest.



there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears,



and yet I can still hear every word you say.


every sting, every snarl, every bite until the line between humanity and bloodlust is blurred with the plague painted in the air.

your words hurt the thread and needle butterfly, beating its wings faintly against the thorns cracking my bones into splinters.

every

beat

is

weaker

and



weaker



until the flowers wither at the corners, mourning the loss of every leaf.

until the honey tastes of vinegar, acid burning at the walls of my mouth.

until the roses turn dusty and the hyacinths are more eggshell than cornflower.

until the spun glass butterfly beats its last fight against the growing infestation, shattering into a million pieces.





all that’s left for the flowers to do is drink up the leftover gasoline and feed off of the light of your apocalypse.
don't you know, flowers won't stop words. flowers don't stop much at all.
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