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Yuki Jan 30
Show me the heart
who was never cruel
and I will admit my
fallacy in believing
that hate is less
fearful than love.
Always too many absents
at life’s lessons and no one
who raises a hand.
The active night walkers shift through my uneasy mind,
as I toss and turn in response to this torment,
I know there is a hidden message I have to find.

So I dig a little deeper,
and read between the lines,
while visions of dark strangers crawl through my head.
I feel anxious,
as though the whole world has been placed in an arena,
and I am centre stage,
dellusionally unaware
that I am tucked up in bed.

Am I dreaming this horror because I fear it will be a reality?
Do dreams really have any ambiguous meaning,
or are they just a fatality.

This man I fear,
is faceless and nowhere near,
and yet I feel his cold and harrowing breath down my neck,
and alarm bells screaming in my scull,
like music for a madman.

I am suddenly captured by this demonic creature,
but cannot inform you,
of anymore than that.
As I have awoken from my slumber,
I shake and tremble with sheer terror,
because there is a face at the window.
And it wants to come in.

So I turn on my light,
and brace myself for the sight,
of a possessed shadow figure from ****,
for tonight, I know
I will go dancing with the devil.
Nisha Fatima Jan 20
Kneeling down on this filthy floor,
Filthy with guts and audacity,
In the hands of every form but me,
While im here still dreadfully desperate for an ally,
But social interaction, though I covet for it a lot,
Its still unendurable to liaise,
With all psyche and be extant,
Except the unseen ethos,
That i seek answers from at night.
©inkedsolace
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
Maybe.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.
I wish I could be the moon
Cori Nov 2018
In the morning
Before the sun
Awakes
You rise from your
Dreams
And paint your
Face
The halls are
Silent
But somewhere
In your Room
There are screams
As you slip
On your uniform
of Feigned
Happiness
Your side of the
World Awakens
And the Halls
Brighten
But somewhere
In your Room
Your paint
drips.
8/23/2018
Corina Olivas
Corinaolivasts@gmail.com
Alex Oct 2018
Poetry is a hundred billion stars on the clearest night, the music of the night beating a pulse in you're soul that you simply can't ignore.
It's a rhythm that leaves you thinking for hours about something that would never cross your mind otherwise.
It's the chorus of the lost ones, and yet complete silence.
It's the light of our sun, and the moonlight of our moon.
It's the noise of the war and the quiet of the aftermath.
It's the fluttering of a butterfly's wings standing out against the screaming of the world.

It's the voices of the ones afraid to speak, finally making noise.
gabriela Sep 2018
I hate when people use the psalm to say,
“our bodies are wonderfully made,”
but they don't teach us that our minds
are made wonderfully as well

I am fearfully made but I am fearful
for I have been taught through this teaching
that my body was made more wonderfully than my mind
psalm 139:14
Maegan deme Sep 2018
night just wants some sun and the sun wants to sleep
but neither can get either with being alone every week.
some people sleep all alone every night
and that's what scares me to death.
am I one of these fools,
or can I follow these rules.
and that's why I'm so scared of my bed.
the monsters in the closet are just my memory's in deposit.
so I can sleep like the rest of the dead.
i know i'm not one
to laugh or complain
but weirdly my pain,
is the only thing
that wants to keep me sane.
for better or worse, we all have a Cain.
who would stick us in the heart.
if only he could remain.
the many monsters in this world do you good, causing pain by keeping us still[ sane
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