Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Leena Sharma Sep 2015
it is all over now.
Casimer Jul 2015
I suppose without you,
I'm not much of myself.
Chloe-123-x Jun 2015
Falling to pieces, broken
Inside, trying to get better but it
Never works- they lied.
Dr Zik Apr 2015
If you need to go beyond
And don’t want to play a game
You need not to walk or fun
Tool or trick or tact or fame

If no plan; you have at all
Talking about he or she
Any season or snow fall
Fly to have it like a bee

If your goal is miles so far
You have no food, fish or fin
No matter plane, train or car
Face no trip through thick or thin

Go with care be determined
And you have to see your past
You have your inner! You find
You will be succeed at last
Inqhawq Mar 2015
For a while now, I've had a thought swimming alongside my awareness, a fin cutting the water as I wait for it to save or **** me. Dolphin or shark? It came near enough for me to make out its shape recently.

**** or save? I know at least that it wasn't a fat guy with a prank fin and a snorkel. It closed on me and I realized what is most painfully missing.

When I am touched, it is simply that.

Dreamlike, my finned pursuer still refused to reveal its whole shape to me, and instead became the emotive image of a hand lovingly reaching for my face.

That small act of love is gone.

It means so much to me, that tenderness, that I ruined the last ship I sailed. I tore every beam apart in my search for what was just a three-legged spider deep in her darkest corner. So I burned down the good ship Treble and used the remains to float away.

I drifted to an atoll and chose a meek *******. It would certainly do, what better place to spend my remaining balance of time?

The breezes whispered and wouldn't stop.

Tides eroded and regrew my ******* until the even rhythm became inherently strange. So steady.

Evenly, unknown, eternity.

When the bottle washed up, I jealously guarded it from the *******. I should not have called the ******* Wilson.

Apparently Wilson controlled the weather.

Several gales and at least one hurricane punished my foolish hide. But the bottles kept coming, encouraged by the raging.

Shortly after, I learned to surf.

Well, I wasn't good at it. And Wilson didn't approve. It only took a little inclementation to sweep me away. If Wilson did control the weather, she must have been exhausted by then.

What a flimsy board.

It was my shield, held wearily up against the hungry ocean. Before my encounter with the amorphous beast, I was just drifting, again, unsure what quixotic urge took me so far.

And then the fin arrived.

**** or save?
The cliche about never knowing what is held until it's gone. It's haunting, harrowing, and honest.
craig apogee Feb 2015
Your outstretched arm
And kind eyes
Draw me in
Not back to a place of love
But instead to your construction of pain
And hurt
And blame
Where it's apparent that the olive branch
Held between your fingertips
Is twined with barb
In my bleeding palm

— The End —