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Carlo C Gomez May 31
~
The day was orange
The word is yellow
Out like a light switch
Teeth a steady glow

The projectile's
Crisscross trajectory
Is no kindness

In the catacombs of this mine
Watch it leak
Watch it settle

What remains is
Subterranea, urania
Built to last
A moment to inhale
Before fade to black

~
Zywa May 25
His hands hovering

above me like birds of prey --


Lamps in his glasses.
Surgery

Poem "The Egg" - 2 (1967, Louise Glück)

Collection "Stream"
Cadmus May 15
~ 💋 ~

She speaks in silk,
moves like sin,
Draws grown men like moths within.

A kiss,
a sigh,
a flash of thigh
And just like that, they’re begging why.

She toys with hearts,
delights in screams,
Turns pride to dust,
and love to dreams.

No blood,
no blade,
just one slow lean…

And down it falls,
- the Velvet Guillotine -

~ 💋 ~
A tribute to the femme fatale archetype, sensual, untamed, and devastating by design. Not every execution needs a sword; some wear satin.
Nyxa Thorne May 14
Danger skitters in, like a ghost—
tap.
tap.
soft soles on hard pavement—
every shadow a question,
every echo a warning.

I walk alone, flanked by fear,
adrenaline roaring,
my heart thundering in my ears.
One hand in my purse,
the other wrapped around cold metal keys,
eyes sweeping,
ears tuned to the night’s breath.

The shadows shift—
predators seeking prey,
hatred and hunger in their eyes,
searching for someone
to unleash it on.

This is survival in staccato steps—
not prey,
a lioness cloaked in silence,
not waiting,
but ready.

A woman.
On the edge.
After dark.
Mariah Apr 25
A box outside
A box for my
Heart in its varied size

A box inside
A box for my
Mind and all it's eyes

6 steps away
Enough to embrace
Safety without the pain

Steel but rusted spine
Guts that can't decide
Faults in my design

Pieces of me
Trying to find recovery
In a place where you won't
Judge me

Intimidating
The world is lately
So I try to give it time
Hoping it won't ruin mine

A box of whine
A box divine
While I appempt to recombine
I'm sick. I can't sleep. I want to crawl inside a box.
Zywa Apr 24
Is the snake rustling

behind me, that lay sleeping --


between the pine cones?
Poem "Beweging" - 1 ("Movement" - 1, 1992, Maria van Daalen)

Collection "Unseen"
Airing out ***** laundry,
is in turn, walking on a thin line —  

The very line where those garments dangle;
but let a gentle breeze stir up, and suddenly,
That foul scent rushes back to you, and starts
to assault your nose,

Catching you off guard, and before
you know it!

Ian K Mar 27
Why I keep the fire alive, I don’t know.
It wasn’t particularly strong,
or explosive.
You couldn’t have used it to fight any wars,
or heat a city.
From the outside, it was nothing special.
Destined to flare, flicker, then fade.
But to me,
it was soft and warm.
Just enough to keep a hope alive.
But what if that hope burns brighter?
Brighter than I could dream?
Maybe it’s not a hearth, strangled in the crib,
but a wildfire, being nursed to devastating force.
I don’t know. I guess an arsonist
is more interested in the lick of the flame
than its bite.
It’s selfish then;
keeping these embers a glow.
…I’m fine with that
Jeremy Betts Mar 12
The monsters quickly collect under the bed
Graduating faster to free range demons roaming the head
Diabolical shadows lurking on the perimeter of the peripheral
Becoming a something far to real to think it still impossible
Unlike fear and loathing, fear and logic are seldomly seen traversing side by side
The unnatural occurrence of an unnecessary ride

By the time an oblivious mind realizes the kamikaze danger
The digits it controls are busy pulling out each heartbreak dagger
Those select few that came through the front from the  back
Create tallies in scar form that are starting to overlap as they stack
Teetering on life's edge as it dares me to take that final step over
Finding it impossible not to follow the devil when there's one on each shoulder
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