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Em Jan 4
Gel
The stickiness of the gel
That never leaves your fingers
The smell that forever lingers
The distaste that stays at
the back of your mouth.

It could be annoying to have
But inevitable to give.
clingy,,,,, im so clingy
ugh relationships r hard
im tryna not be so e m o ti o n a l l y   d e  p  e n d e n t
rai Sep 2018
i'm
     sorry
         that
             every
                     word,
                              i
                                write
                                      bleeds
                                               in
                                                  dark
                                                          ink...
                                                   scratches
                                              on
               ­                             to
                                     your
                              skin,
                         like
                   pen
                on
       rough  
papers...
           i'm
                sorry
                         if
                              i
                                     don't
                                              use
         ­                                              my
                                                        words,­
                                                    the  
                                            way
               ­                      it
                         should
          be
      when
i
write
             you.
i'm sorry if i write my poems from the way i should feel...
triztessa Oct 2017
This is a cry of a person dissatisfied
the faint feeling of a blank stare stating:

Here I look upon the world,
to which I am dreadfully attached
I regret to love it so much
as I cling on harshly, gaping;
it is full of distaste and resentment.
I tried to see everything in it,
I have lived and saw life without grace
and sin devours envy controls hate
and men die holding their pride
and selfishness corrupted the soul.

It is without a doubt that I -
who swore to be free of the earth
withheld of freedom and deemed memory
a clean slate again.
storm siren Oct 2016
The more you try to tell me
What is right
And what is wrong,
What I should do
And what I should not,
The more you make me
Want to face-plant
Into a wood chipper.

And yet,
You continue to speak.
I wonder how many times I have to hit my head against the wall until I can forget everything she said to me?
MST Nov 2014
Hot
My voice explodes from within my soul,
hatred stemming from my broken heart,
blinded by smoke from your heart of coal,
wondering how we tore apart.
While fire emanated from our love,
the heat became too hot to handle,
I should wear a glove when holding you,
but my insatiable hunger I cannot resist.
You are the dinner I have slaved for,
a great idea, soon to be a chore.
Like a child biting a hot meal,
only to be reprimanded by mother,
a kiss from you I will steal,
even if the smoke does smother.
Glimpsed of innocence
Casually met
Words from strangers
A lot in common
Wine and smiles
Unsolicited lies
Cool distaste
Remnants of disrespect
Cracks in the ice
The inevitable rift
Fragmented faces
The corrosion of moments.

— The End —