Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You pierce me.
You put me in the dark,
I can't move, and you take me and you pierce my flesh,
For your own beneift.

You use me.
You bleed me dry,
Wiping my blood onto your pages,
For a memento.

You discard me.
You tear me out, and toss me aside,
Ready for the next of us,
All for your goodness.

Ultimately, do we really mean so little?
You try and try, but you can't be rid of us, not really.
We're still here, our legacy, our "mementos",
And our shells, our plastic, blue shells.
This one's about my ink cartridges getting angry, because why not?
Anastasia Dec 2019
twisting
creeping
vines 'round my heart
thorns
piercing
tearing it apart
pressure
squeezing
dripping shards
paper skin
ripping softly
declaring love
absolutely falsely
dripping heat
blood falls
breaking hearts
an impressive feat
roses bloom
from seeds of shards
pure love
for you to discard
lua Nov 2019
there was a fire in his soul, i could see it through his eyes
how it burned and raged from deep within
a flaming pyre for what he lost
what he gave up
what he chose to discard
he let it burn
he let him burn.
Bhill Aug 2019
There are times to live
There are times enjoy life
There are times of stress

There are times to learn new things
There are times to discard things

There are times to love
There are times to remember
There are times to sleep

There are times to laugh out loud
There are times to sing praises

Take time to make time...
Take time to gather laughter
Take time for today...

Brian Hill - 2019 # 203
Are you enjoying your time here?
Salmabanu Hatim Mar 2018
He came into my life,
He made me see stars,
The moon seemed enchanting,
The flowers bore exotic fragrance
The river of my life took a new course,
I gave myself completely to him.

He left abruptly,
No message, no phone call,
I heard he had found another.

To him women were toys,
To play around and discard,
Does he not know we have a soul too.
Men can be callous not knowing they live a trail of deep hurt behind
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2015
She’d said, I, “looked good in black,” and
she did, she did, she did too; So much so
that sooner’d come a swift exit at,
“Martyr’s Park,” a tempt embedded
venture, conjoined, coerced and later
beholden to our ghosts; apparitions in an
ugly early morning, post – biology, words
whispered with only one intent and
eventual ****** under guise of the night
that’d ensue eternity. Blanketed our
beauty wrought twisted skin, it remained
an ugly never aware, whilst she discarded
my newest misfortune, the forgone
forlorn cloth of impasse. I reciprocate, so
much so that beyond her ulterior lace, a
pale yellow beckoned, “ever,” below -

“Kiss me,”
When I grin and I do ‘midst
Admiring the freckly upon

This desperately hidden scripture –
One scarred
Right shoulder,

This greatest discovery, if only a human
kind of crater and just under tear-smeared
mascara, forever danced, come the
lacking light or whatnot. Echoes etched
some prior author, some other lover, and
yet still to bleed, like sweat, like work,
and now, her nails stay to trace another
saga atop the, “bare” only I could offer.
Sacrament, the moments blemished,
“now,” and immortality’s, “future,”
promised, whispered, and guised a
matrimony that’d break hearts come
morning, come the moment when she’d
drip like the rain, bend like the leaf
kissing chaos and gently ask, “could you
be me?” “Would you be me?” “Could
you, please be me?”

*Her (English) name was, "Taylor."
Kevin Seiler May 2015
Burn* my words on paper.
Turn my thoughts to ash.

— The End —