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Strung Jul 31
Demons held in jars on my shelf.
I pick one up and talk to it,
"I think I'm wrong..."
Malice and the dead look in its eyes answer.
"... You're nodding. What do you know?"
When you go, will you haunt me?
Demons,
freed from their jars on my shelf,
run wild.
Ankita Gupta Jul 15
When we are limited by the inelasticity of time, we run to the past

When we are freed by the depth of life, we walk into the future
It's truly our understanding of life that decides where we live for, past or future.
Johnny walker Jun 24
I was saved by this girl who saved me from a
lifetime of self-harm
suffering  
from childhood abuse that In later life had come back to haunt
me
Ghosts from the past that had laid hidden by the passing of time pushed to the
back my mind when just a child blaming myself
and the shame that I
felt  
But Helen had freed me from the chain of childhood abuse that I had carried throughout my
life
Oh so sad life by listening
allowing me to free myself from life time of
pain
Johnny walker Feb 27
If I'd known she had to leave me than looking back and realising lf
there were such a thing
as a right time then that was probably the
time
For at leased she didn't suffer and at least she had me with her right up to the end so don't suppose there really right
time
But sometimes mercy shows Its hand and put end to the suffering has did for my poor Helen
and I have to be grateful for
And that I let her go
In peace and although I truly miss her In my heart I know It was right to let her go
and
The day will come when I will have acceptance then
I will have peace to fully appreciate her memory and there to live my
life
In my memories of Helen and of how we used be so much In love we truly were
I have to be grateful for mercy
It new when to show Its hand and set my wife free of pain
let her go peaceful with me with her
nova Jan 10
i have spent far too much of my life
building towering walls with no arches, without windows
without any view to the outside world.
i would much rather have liked it if i would have built fences instead.
fences are moveable.
you can push the rows and rows of wire or wood a foot to the north
or a foot to the south
or make a curve in the line.
fences don't block everything out,
they don't keep everything in,
and they don't hurt as much when they fall.
walls, on the other hand,
crash
and burn
and take months and months to rebuild.
fences?
fences can be put up in a day or two
depending on how difficult you want it to be to get in/get out;
fences can be taken down in a day or two
depending on how easy you want it to be to get out/get in.
I went away, but it wasn't for play
Certainly, though, it didn't show,
the strenuousness--
head wrapped in gauze and cement at once.
And your bed is your grave
like a mummy entombed.
No sleep is ever enough
because it's too late.
But compared to the rest of the world,
it's your sun-infusing life pod.
As Earth's energy grows
stalks to the sky in nature, emerald green
and in the city, tin men and women wound
with a key
tight to within an inch of their lives
to build pillars of silver and glass,
equal parts plaintive and proud.
The atmosphere and ants proceed
as they would
while I cannot be worshipful, as I should,
to this planet we've been given.
My tributes were never tangible--
whispy as they're twisting to, I fear,
be ephemeral.
So why does a pen or keyboard taps
feel like a moral stand?
They say the Devil's playthings are idle hands
but in reality, my corpse hands
cannot volunteer to any definitive ends.
Though sin of sloth, I'll have to admit.
I hadn't written poetry in too long...
Quin Rosenheart Sep 2018
I'm doing the best I can
With everything I am
But I am always told
They don't give a ****

I try my hardest to succeed
But there is a part of me
That wants to run away
And say I need to be freed

So I pick up my pieces
And stood up tall
I gather myself once more
Recovered from my fall
Danielle Jun 2018
How sick and foolish—
Just a drop—
And I now taste despair.
Feel it crawling inside:
Dark and poisonous
Like your humanity.
But oh! How I shall fight!
To be freed of your mess
And shackles.
Until I can laugh at your face
For all the pain,
You forced me to swallow
Old poem, old pain reworked into something new.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
again...

a thought
pursued freedom

gone forever

from my mind
Nana ed Mar 2018
She is gripping her favorite lipstick
  It was a gift from one of his trips
  And she is asking herself on repeat
  ‘Should I still be holding onto it?’

She puts down the fork and the knife
    on her plate
  It was their favorite diner to date
  And she whispers to no one
  ‘Am I really done?’

She is sitting on top of a hill
  On the bench where they used to
   chill
  And she stares at the sunset looking
   drawn
  ‘Shouldn’t I, too, move on?’

She puts her headphones on
  It is his favorite classical song
  She presses the square-shaped
   symbol and let out a sob
  ‘This needs to stop.’

She is staring at her screen
  They are their vacation pictures on
   the scene
  And on one click, the screen proposes
  ‘Erase all?’ or ‘Close?’

She is petting a bird
  It was their lovely baby parrot
  And she opens the cage door
  ‘I am ready to let go.’
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