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Bailey Apr 2018
Sitting here
Crying
Feeling
Nothing
Alone
End it
God please
Take me
To the black sea
Just for me
Sitting
Waiting
For death
On
The edge
Nayana Nair Apr 2018
I stand here
beneath the secrets piling over me
at the edge, looking at how I spill out of my own body.
Not able to contain myself.
Not able to restain myself
from looking into the darkness,
from looking into the depth of me
where lies the skeletons of many friendships
and one rare love.
Many managed to stay afloat
not wanting to be a part of me,
knowing what I was.
While I just wanted them to stay
for a moment
to tell me what they knew
tell me what I was.
So that I may not feel
like an impostor in my own life.
though avast percentage
     of Stone Temple Pilots, she push peep pulls
     viz vernacular speaking population
     to most pious take as gospel

     every word in religious tomes
     their collective soul asylum polestar,
     and doth decree important doctrines
     with especial accord

equal insignificance applied toward
    Judeo-Christian holidays across the board
thus easter tis no exception to the golden rule,
     where santa claus reached an a chord

follow auspicious signs alit in the night sky
     shaped like a drinking gourd
perhaps amassing plentiful harvests
     upon hamlets strewn

     across ******* populated Earth
     asper cornucopia exhibited secret hoard
sharing  plentiful Horn
     (and Hard art learned lesson)
     to stave off barren ness, ignored

going forward seeding nascent
     March Madness with help from Lord
     and Tailor as midwife hoot
     tended Ville Nova moored

by Wildcat fanatics, who unbelievably  
     espied heavens cleft asunder
     and golden rays poured
while collective spectators loudly screamed

     akin to the soundgarden
     of ferocious cats roared
witnessed history scored
earning players knighted
     with Excalibur sword
thence entire team handed
     Taj Mahal shaped award

which aforementioned *** hide lacks, cuz zit
     happens tubby April Fool's joke
thus above iterated verses somehow
     needs just a little bit of relevance to yoke

thine admitted ambivalent reaction to sports,
     yea aye pay figurative ****
hen to Rabbinic, generic fanatic primal
     tribal village people clan destine woke

and swinging focus of this poem
     back toward Religious perp ported berth
when (sans antiquity) trumpet signaled
     thus, any superstitions blew away dearth

when distant shofar heard
     in every home and hearth
anticipating arrival of the Easter Bunny,    
     who brings mirth

and hop poly distributes sweet treats,
     which children as grown adults,
     no matter necessity for teeth to be removed
     the sugary over indulgence wool worth
    
today thee American Dental Association chastises candy
     manufacturers bandying more weight
gaining deadly, debauched, and decadent, trait
then adultery verboten fruit to sate
hash-tagged reprobate.
The crushing,
The Crippling pain,
I can see the path I need but the bars ahead of me just say no.

I step,
I talk,
I scream and walk through this torrid wood,
Made of one part memory,
And one part of fear.

The glear* in my heart hacks away,
Chopping not at the trees,
But at the writer here,

The endless edge of the forest,
Perpetually out of reach.

Breathe.
Close my eyes.
Walk blind.

When I look,


Am I there?

~Robert van Lingen
*physically tangible, yet purely emotional pain
Steve Page Feb 2018
God waited in my margins,
in my discomfort
of being close
to the edge of others,
and invited me to
intentionally trust
incidental strangers,
because there He resided,
in my threshold love,
in each adjoining reaction.
So I went to my margins,
to the verge of my comfort,
reached out
and got closer
to my marginal,
cross-border God
and there I found
the small moments,
the quiet places
of gentle surprise
and true challenge
that heralded adventures
beyond my ken,
outside my norm,
but within His plan
for this day.
Sitting up close and personal on the underground.
e J Feb 2018
What would mama think?

You're left alone with your innocence gone

What would mama think?

Dead beat job no where to go

What would mama think?

The drugs are your only way to cope

What would mama think?

Standing on the edge, concrete 300 feet below

What would mama think?

Lept off the edge headed home
Alyssa Feb 2018
This, my defined edge
These mountains are my borders
Don't cross nature's mark.
low poetry Jan 2018
when the moment is tight
pause goes too long
feelings is awkward
do the gesture
show all the stupidity of being the human
inspired by Douglas Kenney
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