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Feelings are always there to
remind us
of what we enjoyed
of what we shared
not always wanted
or desired
Its bound to happen
its a song or smell
its seeing a picture
or stopping somewhere
Let it take a minute or two
then take a deep breath
and let it go
not always easy
for I know thats true
So keep it short
take a deep breath
its all you can do
Just don't let consume
you
..© Jennifer L DeLong 4/2021
Payton Mar 1
I'm the kind of girl who burns through guy friends like rubber on tiers, like sulfur on matches, like gasoline and kerosine and flameward moths.
But I don't want to burn through you.
We just go together so well—like puzzle pieces.
You and I are like day and night, sun and moon.
If you only knew how it eats me up inside, keeping my cool.
I feel this tiny spark dancing in my heart and it threatens to rake my body in flames, ready to pounce on me, licking and biting at the first sign that I'm falling for you.  
I'm really trying to hold my fuse right now, but one second we're joking and laughing and in the next you say something that tugs at me and I feel my hold on it slipping.
If I don't burn you first, this fire in my bones will certainly consume me.
what did I tell you?
only, I wasn't the one who did the burning this time. you burned yourself.
Payton Feb 24
You were the definition of
             Satisfaction.
You were the    blood
                                  in my veins, and
the smoke     in my lungs.  
I was addicted to you in the worst of ways.
It was you who could quench the eternal thirst at my lips. And it was you who could satisfy the ravenous hunger in my bones.
You were everything I needed all at once. And You gave me everything I ever wanted.
A love that
                  consumed  
                             me.
Check out the other poems in the "Addictions" series!
This poem was written in 2016.
Sara Feb 3
I could stare at myself in the  mirror for hours.

It starts in my extremities.
a chill creeps its way into my abdomen,
and cements my joints.

The bacteria residing in my intestines
dine on my organs for supper,
they blow up my stomach until I'm
pregnant with air, my non-existent baby
forcing thick liquid out every orifice.

It tickles,
when the flies visit my rotted skin.
Their steps light and playful,
turn sinister, and force their way into my
open mouth to lay their eggs.
I wait, as the larvae devour
my brain tissue.

When I have nothing left to give,
I'll pull down my lower eyelid
and let the maggots slide out.
Zywa Jan 25
A great vernissage:

the hall full of pedestals –


with empty glasses.
“Gezel in marmer” (“Journeyman in marble”, 2006, Anjet Daanje)

Collection "Stream"
Pale fading jaded moon
Echoes of the same old routes
Subconscious fed what we are read
Some consume such hazy fumes
Supposed repeats become belief
To each eye is dry and empty
When disorientation looms, Jesus
Our efforts count when only viewed

Hard to shake off the grey fog
As the pace of life seems lost
Host a place for creative minds
Build upon what you've been taught
Changing layers of further thought
When heavy clouds pull into view
Energy depletes inside over time
Should you stand affront or wait anew
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Zywa Dec 2020
Shows will ooze their slime

from the screen, until we're full –


no longer useful.
“I'm the Slime” on the album “Over-Nite Sensation” (1973, Frank Zappa)

For Valentina Bruno #3

Collection "Truder"
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2020
What you feed
So is the seat
Genre: Minimalist Abstract, Non-Clinical
Theme: Thinking Mind
Author's Note: It is simple, yet too deep. Everything in it.
But sometimes
the colors were
brighter
sounds were clear
her mind wandering
wherever it landed
light and colorful
beautiful thoughts
sometimes
these were the
thoughts
that consumed her
Zywa Jul 2019
A saint made of stone
has broken his neck
embraced by a boy

His head is in the middle
of the parvis, between the ribbons
red-white like the ambulance

for the wanton tourist
who wanted to present himself
with a unique background

without a notion of art
or an eye for the craftsmanship
of Bernardo Falconi

let alone some sense
of the religious meaning
of Sebastian's martyrdom

but attracted
by the divine beauty
of his naked body
“Grand Hotel Europa” (2018, Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, § 19-5)

Collection “Blown sand”
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