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Erian Rose Apr 2019
As the door closes upon the night
I keep myself hidden
Lost of sight
Something's been different
Like the world's not right
"It's me, isn't it?"
I spoke in my head as a shiver shot through
When I moved my hand, I flicked off the light
Bullet Apr 2019
They don't want me too be the same
They want me to color them
But I would draw them in grey
Outline as deep as the shade of black
Light we see in deep color, we're high measured in
With all the paint
Curves filling in tight spaces
Eyes can determine purpose
I don't have to color me
I don't have to color me
I'm in the same
I'm in the same
Plane I was drawing on
Boxes connecting grids
Checks but with what in the ink
Green is looking a lot of funny
Given is a grade of dark yellow
To sit in the shade wallowing in an out
Enjoying bitter and sweetness
I'm in the same kind of mind
I'm in the same kind of mind
Color all on the walls
Vivid even in the void of the blind
Sketches of foot wears bringing buries
Tripping off baby blues takes us back to the distant
Life graduates into darker shades
Into falling from darker beings
Being neutral is normal
I'm insane
I'm insane

Still no Hue
Erian Rose Apr 2019
Without you
I'd be shattered
With you
I'd still be broken
If we hadn't met
The world would feel different
For me
And I don't know
How to change that
Jordan Stanley Mar 2019
A different shoe for
Me and You
and it gets me every time

what brings a smile
to my face
would make some others
cry

love is confuse
thought cloud so blue
circling my head

I am amazed
that I am here
and I can't wait
to be
dead
Luna Jay Mar 2019
My sixth sense slips
Through parted lips.
I started swaying my hips
To the melodic motion
Of my words.
Moving to my meaning-
Standing here, silently screaming.
I am gleaming
With tears that run down my cheeks-
Vulnerable to anyone
Doing the dance of my inner freak.
I leak compassion and
Become myself.
Oskar Erikson Mar 2019
the taps rusted over
but i'm yet to know if the beer tastes any more bitter
than trying it as a child.
sat in a dingy leather seat
with the ribbons of cowhide at my feet
after some animal had
its way.
where the people perspire through conversations
about the weather
and the tax man
and the never changing politic.
staff and regular alike
do not remember my mothers name
like the stint she pulled was lost to myth, my name
meant nothing.
maybe that's why i sat in the pub my mother used to work
once upon a time,
to see if the atmosphere could conjure her
like the football brought fleeting happiness
five rounds in.
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