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lua Oct 9
the ringing in my ears
the lump beating in my throat
the sound of my heartbeat caught in a flame
that burns bright and angry
in my lungs
as i taste iron on my tongue
and blisters bloom
on the soles of my feet
like flowers in a summer's field
and yet the stench of sweat
the cling of cloth against my skin
raw and pink and thick with grime
but i'm running out of time
i won't ever stop to breathe.
Jas Oct 9
My ears and my mind focus on the cicadas
Their cries erupt from their bellies in chorus
The sound of rubber sweeping the asphalt, townsmen racing across the bridge to escape the water.
The sunset was beautiful
hues of pink, orange and warm peach stretching across the horizon -
I watched the sky live minute after minute in the water's reflection, and I wanted to fly in that world
To be at peace in the depth until the glow of heaven's light reveals me in the reflection,
To jump in and leave the docks above me.
lua Oct 4
i think i've lost the feeling in my fingertips
and the words that
graze my lips
and dissipate
into meaningless thoughts
onto a page
it's the banging against my window panes
the clang and drip of rain
it's the constant reminder of the sun
that 'yes, i live'
'yes, i am here'
'yes, i will stay'
'for as long as you will let me'
it's like listening to the sound of crashing waves
against the shore
as i dip my toes
in the moonlight
there is that fear
of the unknown
the slippery tongues of the abyss
that lap and lick against my heels
the tremble of my lip
the shudder down my spine
as it snakes around my legs
it's the longingness to runaway
and disappear
to leave without a trace
no new names, no fake identities
not a smidge of existence
no footprints left behind.
it's been hard to do anything lately.
Cerulean Sep 20
When the long arm swings
Round and round
My eyes follow
making me frown
and groan

When the numbers change
One by one
My eyes blink
wondering where
the time has gone

Staring at the screen
Escaping to
An abstract reality

when I hear
of the clock
My breath catches
My heart speeds
weighing my conscience

I know that
I am procrastinating.
Haha irony this is also me procrastinating
Daniel Sep 17
My bed is just a place I hide, roses lined, and trapped in vines.

Thorns dig deep and pierce my sides, this is no escape from an arsenic mind.

My bed is just a place I hide, crimson petals cover swollen eyes.

Black stems encase me like haunted mines, a prison keep of my design.

My bed is just a place I hide as I drift away to a world inside.

Collecting antique memories of an older life I recount all I loved and left behind.

My bed is just a place I hide, it brings no relief but it's out of sight.

I rest my feet and close my eyes, and in peace ignore my strife.
A poem I wrote about escapism.
Haley Protega Aug 28
A quiet, calm, serene place,

contrast with my heart's pace.

Gently slipping into silence,

just like plush, soft and dense.

The smell of books my spirit sedates,

new or old, they are the gates

of my comfort castle, made of words,

where pages fly instead of birds.

Safe and warm, paper and pen,

I can write, this is my zen.

For paper puts up with a lot,

every line, curve and dot;

with each word I lay on the page,

I'm one step outside the cage;

Outside myself, this prison of mine,

the chaos spills into written line.

Away from problems, light and free,

peace at last, in the library.
Emir Aug 10
it feels like
a cup of coffee in a slow morning
a scorching shower when i'm depressed
a hit of potent dope when I escape
to replace my touch starved skin
a high at 4 AM that can never be replaced
lua Aug 7
and there is darkness once again in this place
of the gentle strum of a broken guitar
and the old crumbling walls that surround us
eager to give in
and let the ceiling ripple
crashing like giant waves
on a bright beach's shore
but we escape
from all these things birthed from ruin
and the tenderness of a warm hand
we escape
each fragmented laugh that echo the halls
and the days etched into the earth
we escape
and leave our souls behind
one piece at a time
and plant it into the soil
hoping it could grow and flourish
in this dark place.
manlin Jul 28
cw: domestic abuse

Despite being a girl,
I’ve always liked
video games
with the

bright colors,
stories, and

I used to prefer books
as I had more imaginary freedom
over the characters and scenery
until I learned my mom was screaming for him to stop.

But really,
the sound effects in video games
are amazing.
I feel like I’m my character!

Moreover, the music
for this game
makes me feel like
I really can save the world.

If I can save
their world,
then why can’t I
save ours?

I’ll study well,
make a vaccine,
save endangered wildlife from extinction,
solve world hunger.

I want to be a nameless hero
just like my favorite characters
who do it simply out of responsibility
instead of fame or fortune.

If I just
my bedroom…
Can I really do anything

if I can’t even
my mom
from one man?

"Save the galaxy by…"
My character chimes.
I’ll do it this time.

I’m done being a little kid.
I’ll save her.

No book
video game
or class
has taught me how to save my mom.

The feelings
are returning now.
Dread, agony, and disgust materializes
as I recognize my face in the mirror.

There is no character theme
if I disregard the sound of my mom crying.
Instead, I observe the boring figure in the mirror with no sharp angles or colors.

He left when I was deep within the pool of self-loathing,
claiming he’d get himself something to eat
as us women haven’t prepared food for weeks,
shelves bare.

When I leave my room for the first time in days,
my mom greets me with a smile,
pretending like she wasn’t just crying.
“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Sweetheart,” she says, voice wavering.
I can smell him on her.
“Do you mind making him food to eat?”
“No.” I reply as I peer into the empty cupboards.
lua Jun 28
falling asleep
as your mind wanders
in these lonely
barren lands
each footstep
in the nothingness
you run away
but find yourself
where you started
as your skin melts
and drips into a puddle
and it's mind numbing
it's banging against your skull
you reach up into the sky
and grab on
but you're fingers slip
and let go
and you're falling
and falling
and falling
fal l  i    

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