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Ryan Clark Apr 2015
Gasping relentlessly
praying for air
I leave my body
as though I'm not there

I look upon my mangled corps
barely breaking

Blood paints the arena
I fear my time is neigh
I slowly slip away
blinded by the light

In this time of vicious onslaught
Memories flash before me
bringing me away from here
shrouding me with inner peace

Strings of familiar words
begin dancing in my head
tonged by those
who have always lent helping hand

"What are you doing?"
"Get on Your feet!!!"
" **** it up and drive on!!"

The moment is now silenced
beget a ringing in my ear
my vision fades to grey
the man that stands before me prey

I reanimate
as a legion of the dead
my lungs no longer draw breath
nor thoughts within my head

A smile bares
As I throw him off
My reddened teeth
lead my assault

Enraged fever
bolstering my hands

A shadow of a man
sways and drops
my thirst is quenched
my furry paused

I reflect a moment
as I hear the ring
Again I stand
In *Victory
The final piece in the victory trilogy ( ha that rhymes) ... well for now anyway
Agatha Prideaux Jul 2019
Hey, you! Yes, the one who's reading this piece
You found that first line attractive, didn't you?
If not, wouldn't you have already withdrew?
Nonetheless, please keep up with my caprice

Are you perhaps interested in this?
How the words bleed out of someone's dull mind?
Or how they are delicately designed?
How delightful, what an elegant bliss!

Do someone or something interest thee?
A passion, a hobby, or a lover?
Or a secret waiting to uncover?
Let me unfold each one and set them free

Did you ever wish to read people's thoughts?
What they think or how they feel about you?
Do they look at you the same way you do?
Maybe tying unintentional knots?

Let me guess, you envy this person, right?
Despite telling yourself that you're enough?
Acting tough and yet your head's filled with bluffs
Am I wrong? I hit the nail this time, right?

Wait, maybe you're interested on how
This poem will eventually conclude, no?
But hey, the more you see, the less you know
Maybe it's better if you cease right now

Hey, why are you still reading? I said stop
Still interested on how things will go?
Hey, tell me, are you still up for the show?
Well then, be succumbed in the thoughts I'll drop

Are you interested with the writer?
Yes, with me, you didn't read that wrong, sweetie
The way I'll play with your mind, how pretty
Careful, don't let your interest wither

Hey, actually I'm now interested
With your thoughts and if you want to do things
With the consequences of binding strings
Let's take risks, with nothing prohibited

Meet me, dear, at the back of the building
Let's play hide and seek under shady trees
Catch my lips with thy kiss in the cold breeze
And let ourselves burn, our morals wilting

With all said, let me tell you this, honey
I'm willing to keep you interested
Abandon all your dignity, honey
And I'll surely keep you interested
Pentameter with an abba rhyming scheme. Talks about how our insecurities get the best of us. This poem slowly consumes the reader to the own writer's agony.
Sonya Feb 2019
I want to not be me
I'm a boring girl you see
So put me in the world of fantasy
A girl with better hair
A maiden true and fair
Who caught her hero in a love affair
Perhaps an edgy girl
Who hates the whole **** world
A badass princess of the underworld
By putting on a mask
I'm put up to the task
Of becoming whoever they may ask
So uncanny and strange
So quick to simply change
Yet pretending to be perfect all the same
I wish to be perfect
No matter the effect
And my reality I do reject
Sienna Duff Mar 2018
I’ll always be the poet but never the muse and very rarely is there an inkling for anybody to wonder about me as I splash ink across blank pages, amid the sheer chaos of sorrow and tranquil solitude.

For somebody to feel each character, pulsing through their veins, losing their breath as I run through their minds with heavy hands and fingers that twitch in the same way that mine do.

With emotions like an ocean that I can no longer mute or the sharp edge on the tip of my tongue that bleeds every last syllable that echoes silently, the ball-point tip that illustrates each pronunciation that slices through paper like a blade.

Nobody has ever twisted my name between metaphors in the same slight manner that I do theirs or felt the lyrics to a love song coursing through their body. I’m never the topic of choice but rather the broken genius behind hidden artifacts. Always the antagonist but never quite the protagonist.

She who shall not be named, the unmentionable mystery that crafts paragraphs from concepts, the storyteller but never the topic, building herself upon beginnings and endings.

I’ll always be the poet but never the muse, pouring out my guarded heart and offering a glass to whoever will listen.
Setenance Jul 2017
i am the sweeping grey
i am the cool mercurial rays
i am the fleeting warmth
before your shiver
the endless shades of silver
i am the gently listing fingers
of the over burdened sky

i am the rumbling locus
of depth and density
the softly meandering incorporeality
i am the dissipating shade
and almost
Watching a rain storm in the distance somewhere in the Midwest US
Em Oct 2016
I knew when I met those bright blue eyes
that I was gonna somehow dim them
I just didn’t know how yet

She’s had this boyfriend since freshman year
But I’ve always found pleasure in taking what’s not mine
So that’s what I did
I took her—I took everything from her

I’ll never forget the first time I saw those pretty blue eyes brimmin with tears
Ever since then I’ve been hell bound on seein those tears fall
And she’s been whiskey bent on bein a good woman
I don’t think it’s possible though
For her to be a good woman
At least not in my eyes
She keeps tellin me she just wants to build a home with me and I think shes right cuz
I’ve never felt so at home like I do when I hear the emptiness in her voice
She echoes back I love you because she **** well knows better
Women were meant to be controlled
My father taught me that
So just when she thinks she's starting to build herself up
I tear her back down
its been years since she said she was gonna leave me but every time she gets that look in her eye like she thinks she’s strong enough to leave me
I haveta remind her I’m stronger
I gotta say taking all these pieces of her
It makes me feel whole
There was that one time in the beginning she popped her hip and said "boy you better be lucky you have me"
I told her she better be careful how she talks to me
But she just laughed like I was joking or something
She doesn’t really laugh anymore
Unless we’re out for dinner and friends are around

I remember her telling me she wanted to take on the world
Crazy girl go doin that and I haveta show her who’s boss
I think her blue eyes faded years ago
Shagun Gupta Aug 2016
This doesn’t feel right,
I want to go home,
Should I call?
I can’t go home this way,
I’ll wait.

I text a friend,
He’s calling a cab for me,
That’s fine,
I’ll be safe soon,
I can wait.

Maybe I should lie down,
The keeper said I could lie down,
Should I just sit out in the cold instead?
There’s nowhere to go,
I’ll just lie down.

Crack opens the door,
I watch his shadow,
He’s taking his shirt off,
And the air is thick with sweat,
He lies down next to me.

There’s no escape,
There’s no running,
Should I scream?
Will anybody hear?
Is anybody awake?

I close my eyes,
His hands are moving,
I clench my fists,
Salt in my mouth,
Blood in my jeans.

Why can’t I scream?
Did I lose my voice?
Or maybe it didn’t happen to me,
Something hurts,
But he’s gone now.

I adjust my clothes,
Fix my hair,
Stand on my two feet,
And walk out the door,
“You won’t tell anyone, right? You’re like my daughter.”

The cab pulls up,
The driver got lost,
But now I’m on my way,
Something hurts,
I’m on my way.

Maybe it wasn’t what it seemed like,
I was alone and he was a man,
And why was I out drinking anyway?
Nobody needs to know,
It didn’t happen.

I was a mere spectator,
Or was I a participant?
This is an account of ****** violence, and explores themes of dissociation and guilt often experienced by survivors. Part of the experience is described as if it were happening in the present, highlighting a key aspect of how the past often intermingles with the present among those survivors who continue to re-live the trauma.
Mandi Drake Jul 2016
Instead of inspiring a feeling,
I want to share a feeling.
Never mind what you wanted
to feel when you read this.
I'm selfish.
Feel what I'm feeling
as I write
and not what you feel
as you read this right now.
I should probably share with you
how I'm feeling.
I should have probaby have
told you before
we got this far.
I bet at this point
you don't even know
how to feel.
Neither do I.
Haylee Dicker Jul 2016
He exclaimed I've never met any one like me before,
I smiled for I am not like him,
He sees in me what he wants to see,
Because love is foolish,
Like a man fondeling for a light in the blackness,
He will believe only good rests in the dark,
Because he feels home when I'm only a short stay.

— The End —