you are a church filled with hymns
the voices of sinners
humming in unison
the tears that fall
in remembrance
of every transgression
forgive us, Father
we are so lost
we've no idea what we are doing
i am only apologies
draped over soft bone
a false pretense
that dead flowers only
need more watering
press the petals to my lips
i want to be soft like this
i want to be beautiful
like this
i lost my words
in a strangers mouth
outside of a sanctuary
and my throat still burns
from the alcohol
i bet i'd be easier to love
if i pulled out my teeth
so my bluff would always
be worse than my bite
rosy bruises unkind
to my knees
yet i preach
humble me, humble me, bring me
as low as i need to be
to feel the earth shake
when i hear your name
i am but a nervous spirit
chewing my skin back
i just wanted there to be
less of me
i just want to look
less like me
vera 6d
The taste of madness in my mouth,
The heat of it within my mind-
roaring still despite your absence.

Tempered in time
they tell me
Heavy phantoms may leave you still.

But I am still whirling for you,
And I  feel so twisted for it,







contusion clouds burst confusions under the sound.

underground, through the air, and softer the sea.

     a pond a barrier to you and to me

          song as sweet and stiffened at the

                                                         fireflies and jello eyes watching shyly

                              your fingers are blue and ivory they burn in the light

                 song as sweet as the purple dew in the crook of your fingers

                    you are told as strong as sand

                                    you are rock

                    you are clinging to rock atoms

                                      be honest

                     you are shrapnel arriving early and departing late.
focusing on the notions of "Reluctance."
Caught in this space between (life) and death,
Trying to muster the (will) go on,
To (get) back the joy in my hollow eyes.
I wish I were (better), stronger, enough
For (my) loved ones, who anchor me when I drift away,
They call out, “(Darling), come back to us”.
Your chest feels like a cage without (love).
You are left without the (and) between your names.
The (warmth) is gone, an emptiness in your heart
destroys your (will) to live and will
(ignite) a frenzy of hatred, a soul-blackening sadness
(in) your mind,
thinking in terms of (your) and not you’re
and suck the colour from your (life).

It will devour the wish to (give) before you receive,
and (it) will feed on the the sad sentiment that is driving you to destruction,
it’s a (time) bomb, and we must do something.

Read the poem through in its entirety and then read just the words in brackets :)
tonight the sky died a little.
baked us in a soup thick as roux
           bloody lips,
                        loitering less,
                                meditations rests your head on my shoulder.

psychic fever functions as an embryo

                                             EAT. EAT. EAT.

you were amniotic happy! stifled great! pushing jelly feeding the joyous ooze!
98;;;; 18
girl diffused Jun 16
         start my machine-heart,
Fingers plucking at dust_coated wiring, slick with dark oil

Ear pressed to my bloodless mouth, my digital murmur a mechanical purring

         start my machine-heart, fingers coaxing a little warmth
into the epicenter, a tiny nugget of coal from your heart to mine

I burst aglow and I'm a hearth and I belch out warm delicate red-flames.

Make me live, dear
Make me live and roar
This is an experimental piece. It's been a while. Just something quickly whipped up during an hours-long car ride. Enjoy. Xoxo.
Gemma Jun 15
Theory time-
With miss 'hypothesis' and her side kick 'I'll give your thought a go':
If you look at the boy you love for long enough  , your emotions will start to dissolve , leaving left over residue of a feeling that has now grown old.
She thought my dopamine levels would go in overload,
"So you'll crash and burn" is what I was told.
Day one- it failed , I felt the same
Day two- I called my own best friend by his name
Week three- it hurts , it hurts , it hurts
Month four- maybe I'll try accepting my fate.
In the name of science (love)
James Khan Jun 9

poetry permeates,

saturates sentences,

stealthily integrates,

into the words,

metering miracles,

clarify consonants,

sublimate syllables,

spoken and heard,


embellished aesthetics of ardent emotions,

emphatic exponents of everyday notions,

prosaic performances captured and pondered,  

perfunctory phrases exquisitely bonded,

translated to text and embalmed with catharsis,

empiric expressions are etched by the artist,

communicate vistas through verbs and adjectives,

impress the ideals of the poets' perspectives.


the word is heard but seldom sensed,

acoustics lost on muted ears,

effaced of grace, the phrase dispensed

is worn from handling through the years,

a crust of lime on rusted rhyme

from unrelenting overuse,

the verbs and nouns run-down with time

lay bruised and battered from abuse,

the poet plucks the crux of words

to resurrect the latent shines

revealed within the peeled-off skin,

the potency between the lines,

a lexicon of languid prose,

majestic language decomposed,

renewed to glory by the skill

of storytellers' ink and quill.
To highlight how consistent meter in rhyme can effect the inherent syllabic rhythm of the piece (prosody) here's three vignettes written in Dactylic meter, Amphibractic meter and Iambic meter respectively.

The natural phonics of the words should provide the rhythm even if one doesn't understand the metering terms I've use above
The artist knows how to play a poor hand well. In utter style, causing envy.
On rainbow edge. Knowing truth beyond illusion. The surface mingles along
painting colours, wishing it would drop and fall over this earth's surface. Moan
and sigh. Existing art, modern magic.
(knowledge Variable)
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