Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
It's a cliche to stare from the window, but I do.
Slipping through time without thinking.
The flowers are indulging the ground with life.

I am not so candid as to tell you why.
Voices ruminate outside my prison.
I wouldn't be so sad if this was the end.

I'm not calling to say I love you or I've moved on.
But that when the knife in my heart twists.
The pain doesn't really move me as it used to.

I might give up, I might give in.
But the calls from another world, they beckon me to"Keep smiling".
Perhaps I never should have reached out.

So here I write and release to the world.
So that the death grip on my soul will be just released a little.
As this poem has seemed to do.

I realize this isn't the ideal scenario, being so torn up about nothing it doesn't reflect on me quite well. But time will march on without me. And the stars will reflect our pie in the sky hopes and dreams. And the knife will stay in my heart to remind me of you and your betrayal all those years ago. And the poison will reach the earth I walk on. And all those nice kind loving things you say, the beauty of it all will one day be lost on me. But for today, thank you for reminding me that I can resist the pain that's meant to make me human. Until the dawn comes, I beg you to sleep. And not look at my face.

Please, don't see my tears. They are only per-cursors to that knife being twisted again. And yet, part of me desires it be twisted again so that I may see just how long it will take before I destroy this thing called "Friendship."
It is as it is written. Irritating to write it in tho, poems really shouldn't be written selfishly. It's just an experiment.
lua Nov 2019
the sun rose high in the sky and burned the land beneath it
and i watched a thousand ants
crawling on a butterfly's dying figure
claiming its wings
as it frantically *****, erratic
desperate
but ultimately
devoured.
Elle Sep 2019
i crave your silken skin
like silk itself

smooth and gentle
to the touch

your gooey choc chip
centre of cookie
smile

that a part of me

(a whole lot of me)

wants nothing
more to devour.

i want your blowdried
half burnt - half curled hair
admire it
run my fingers across it

(a photo does it no justice)
i really want a homemade cookie.
tree Jul 2019
the sun
shines bright
warm hues explode from the center
but the beauty of the sun was so enticing
that the moon wanted to reach out
but as soon as she touched the blazing star
she was burnt

in the same way, i tried to reach out to you
but all you did was burn me
what did i do?
burn alive, in the hope that you would notice me
and you wept next to my ashes as if you cared
if only that was true
i was devoured by your fire ,, yet you didn't bat an eye until i was gone
She
dripped across my lips
leaving a taste of lust and sin
a hunger I couldn’t control
wanting to devour her from
within
Canis Latrans Feb 2019
You took the beasts among us,
and made them gods.
Hungry,
ravenous gods.
Canis Latrans Mar 2019
"Do not worry I will be gentle," said the wolf.

"You mean to tell me, a beast as monstrous as you, is capable of mercy," said the traveler.

"No, not mercy," said the wolf. “Gentleness, there is a difference. I will devour you tenderly.”
Ed C Mar 2019
Why does the moon hum a warm tint
in the darkest, coldest, empty night?

The frosty walk home is lonelier with its glow.
I am devoured by the cold and the lack of sound.

My exhale, like a ghost, tries to find a way home also.
Nighttime thoughts
Next page