I know that I have killed myself a thousand times in my head,
Never fully grasping the concept of leaving.
I do not know when the thoughts started,
I guess they've always been there,
Whispering and taking turns rotting my brain into the landfill of decay and broken thoughts.
No longer the pink fleshy muscle that sat presently in my head.
It had turned to tar,
Black and thick,
Suffocating the light away from the open cracks where creativity once flowed through.
Unfathomable, the thought of dying, ceasing to exist.
What have I become?

Existentialism is hard to grasp

walking in flames
since forever

- this is out of line but
I must write it
I feel it right now
I just can. not. stand blandness
I want the fire every second
but I only feel it some times -

walking in flames
since forever
lost skin
shed wool
but it belongs
to no shepard
a walk of ice
rarely compromised
a walk of ice
with fire inside
dripping fuel
upon it
to feel alive

A blant, cliché-sounding poem, interrupted, only to be felt
melancholy Apr 30

a leaky faucet that someone didn't quite finish closing off
a cry for help when the ties of the rope aren't tight enough to hold your weight in lies and sadness.
so a slow drip will suffice
but you'll wish to expedite this pain by drowning yourself
but someone didn't quite finish closing you off
so you'll die
drop by drop.

and you used to love the water
the way it was refreshing and cleansing
and reminded you of the feelings we had
I left you on edge
I left you unhinged
I left you not quite closed off

I left you loose and you still poured out for me
I left you with hope and you drip on...

alternate titles:
dripping.. or a steady flow
a faucet
bryn Apr 19

too much.
too much blood.

help me

hang the clean laundry
on the rafter
above my head

tired hands
wring out drenched

clothing above me dripping,
the drops fall on me
like rain

brianna pulver Dec 2016

dead things float in small lagoons,
drip-dripping colors that bounce off blues
and onto skin with much less hue
cold and wet and still,

and autumn tumbles in his hands
while concrete melts visible land;
nothing falls and nothing stands
we lie and make and leave,

and never seem to want to wait
so let’s run fast from old mistakes
but leave breadcrumbs just in case,
‘cause we’re bruised and small and scared

Kaya Aug 2016

Right now, the only thing,
that's keeping me sane
is the sound, of the heavy drops
leaking from the damaged tap

As it falls into the tub
The sound pounds and pounds
on and soaks my hollow head
It drips from the
cracks on my scalp
drip by drip into my mind
My mind is drenched
My thoughts can't swim
There's a tsunami in my mind
a floating disaster
but you can't see


Smoothly shuddering, pleasure spurts.
Wonder relaxes relentlessly.
The pink woman drips conistently.
I think it's too enticing to resist
If you ask me honestly.

Kerri Apr 2016

The cold locket
She gave you
Slipped from your neck
Falling between
Your bare breast
And down past
Your broken heart

You hugged
Your knees
That they might
Save you
And hold you
For just a
Little while

Staring at your
In the
Lukewarm water
That stagnated
At your thighs,
A white
Porcelain refuge
Surrounded by
Moldy tiles
Was your solace

The salty leakage
From your
Forest eyes
Fell faster
Than the
Squeaky faucet
That never stopped

The cool
Air grazed
Your spine
And sent
A peppered
Patch of
Chill bumps
Down your arms,
But you
Didn't seem
To mind

All you
Could feel
Was the
Broken pieces
Of your heart,
S c a t t e r e d
In the water
Slicing your body
Like tiny
Razor blades
By their
Jagged, Uneven

With one
Flip of
Your toe
You whispered
As the necklace
That she
Gave you
And the
Pieces of
Your heart
That she
Took from you
Slid down
The drain,
Into the
Place Where
Broken Hearts Go.

A story of the place where most girls go to deal with their broken hearts: A good cry in the bath tub.
Luna Craft Mar 2016

You were a leaky faucet
Letting words out on accident
Wasting what little water you had left
Draining into the sewer
All alone
You were slowly dripping away

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