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Arianna Feb 6
Blank walls.

Behind me
The city happens
In whitenoise and progressive greyscale.

"'Tis but a day",
Bustling away,
Sliding down the gradient of hours,
Flipping listlessly through the chapters of daylight,

Settling at last in two orange rectangles
On the wall opposite my bed:
A glowing proof, a sign of life.

Of someone's life,
Humming away
Frame by frame,
Through lace curtains in antique windowpanes,
Around half-eaten dinners
And paper-strewn desks.

Ah, yes.

Yes, it's a curious thing
To observe: the slow close of day
In shadowplay
Flitting across the bedroom wall.

           For "I am half-sick of shadows"...
My bed faces away from the window. I've been lying here for a few hours now, and it struck me how easily the world faded away these past few hours, and how little things like the change in light, the rumble of cars passing in the street, or the occasional sound of a voice registered in my awareness these past few hours. I looked up at one point, and noticed the light shining through my window from across the street.

"Hmm, wonder whose window that's coming from?"

Between that brief return to consciousness of the surrounding world, and the arrangement of the room, the realization reminded me a bit of Plato's Cave: sitting facing the wall, hearing the sounds and watching the shadows of the world dance across the wall in front of you, and yet the existence of the objects behind the shadows does not register.
"i wanna be in the company of people i love
and just like chill
playing smash
or just sleeping and napping
laughing together
watching movies together
something that doesn't involve too much movement"
- a text from a friend
big mood
Chilling, like a cold
Winter breeze, as it rustles
Sound through pine trees
Circling in repeated motions
Swaying and reflecting
Different angles, and
Different emotions

Gradually moving from side to side
Not faltering, but continuing stride
Against the current
Against the waves
Against the runner

Pushing him back
Almost forcing him to fall
And beckon in the tracks of another
But wait...

How will he get back up?

That's the question we always
Ask ourselves, looking at
Others from a third person
View, but from the eyes
Of wind, nothing else exists

Think about that for a moment
Invisible, yet so strong
Something to put our lives
In full perspective
The thought of a force
That can break us down
In a moment's notice
And just like that
Suddenly, it's gone
Nowhere to be
Found...
This poem originally had a different ending, but then I wrote the ending shown above. It's one of my more personal favorite poems.
Tiana Marie Oct 2018
I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It was so red and so dark
and so pure that I feared
one simple touch from my unclean
hands would contaminate it.

I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It was the richest thing I had
ever seen and if I could've
I would've ****** it up
and kept in a locket.

I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It ran from your bald head
out onto the cement floor
and I cried over your body
laying there cold and dead.

I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
I cried over you while I
watched you die but my
tears were not from your loss
of life but from the fact that I was
not the one to cause it.
AD Snail Sep 2016
Counting off regret’s,
And crossing off dreams,
As I sit and rot away in this prison of the past.

Just a spec of light shines in through the bars,
As I keep myself hidden in the darkest corner of my cage.

A smile appears once and a while,
On my dull express less face,
And some day’s I’m too tired to try.

As I have isolated myself once again,
I feel incomplete but I will always feel this way,
Because even when I surround myself with good and bad people, I always still feel incomplete.

So I sit in my empty, hollow cell,
And wait for the day when I feel somewhat complete.
Reading all my poems on PoetFreak and finding the one's a kind of liked the best and the one's others liked a lot, so I shall never forget them.
Andrew T May 2016
We sat in deck chairs, our feet entrenched in the sand,
as the water crept up the shore
and splashed gently on our toy sailboats.
The fire pit roared and rose with flames
under the moonlight. Our friendship was anchored
in the beach for years, since second grade.
I kept watch on your sailboat,
knowing it would soon cast out into the sea of adulthood.
We spent hours talking about our dreams,
as though the sandman truly existed
apart from
our imagination.

Remember when we dropped our textbooks in the trash compactor?
Because we believed in the Lost Generation and The Beats, and not some phonies from academia.  
We even sprinted away from the security guards after we used our slingshots and shot rocks at the The Verizon Center's Marquee.

Smoke and drink.
Smoke and drink.
Smoke and drink.

We lounged in the dugout while the sky poured buckets of rain on the baseball diamond, as our lighters ran out of fluid.

*

By accident, you shot me in the mouth with an air-soft gun. The beady plastic pellet zinged through the air, and sawed off half of my front tooth. Frantically, you sprinted inside and came back out with a glass of whole milk. You snagged the chipped up tooth from the lush lawn, and dropped it into glass. The tooth got swallowed up by the milk, leaving a trace of ripples.

But you had pure intentions, only lukewarm aim. On a porch chair, I sat bent over with my upper lip bundled with wet paper towels. There was no blood, no flesh wound; just a clean shot. I dabbed my tender gum gently with the damp towel.

You walked up to me and slapped me on the back. I shook my head, rolled the towel into a paper *** and chucked it at your nose.

You caught the projectile in mid-air and threw the afternoon’s remnants over the pointy picket fence. You turned around and saw my back, as I walked on the neighborhood sidewalk away from your house.

Ten years later, in the summer of 2007, we stretched out our limbs on Rehoboth beach and smoked headies out of a papier-mâché-looking piece; we called her Old Glory. As we toked and held in the gray coughs, we took in the view. Small waves barreled over and flattened out onto the fine sand shore. Our toes were tangled in the snare of the ivy green seaweed.

We didn’t want to let go of this.

This picture frame memory, the wooden frame lacquered with fresh pine comb.

A peace pipe shared between each other to rekindle their friendship. I stared at the bright fire of the lighter, watching as red sparks turn into violent black. Light gray debris collected on my swim trunks. We both looked up at the starless sky, as if we were searching for twilight. The moon glow shrunk the longer an eyeball looks, you said.

I nodded, got up, and walked right into a tall wave. I took the full force of the water, standing my ground with a bird’s nest chest. You laughed and lolled your head back off; you were exhausted.
I walked back up the hilly shore, and treaded my finger along the ridges of my ceramic tooth. A replica embedded in my mouth. I felt the jagged edges, the flaws, and grinned a little.

Just enough, to feel like I was on the verge of epiphany, on the beginning of seeking out the correct approach of life.

We hit the piece again. And the sun began to rise.
Our eyes closed, breaths quiet, and our memories entwined
for days to come.
Iris Oct 2015
For some reason, the wind today feels unpleasantly cold.
Perhaps it is the by-product of my imagination but then again,
Perhaps the elements are trying to send me a message.  

With the chilling winds piercing through my bones,
I can’t stop the aching from my old wounds.
Danny Price Jun 2015
chilling, careless smile,
your eyes perambulate the
caverns of my soul
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