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Freya Adwin May 2019
I knew it.
I knew you'd say that.
I knew you'd go off
and get all mad
and then I'd go soft
with my thousand apologies.
We both know how it's going to go,
so why do we still do it?
A continuous cycle,
a downwards spiral.
The same dialogue,
it's getting old.
The pages of the script
are yellowing and curling
further unfurling
a story already told.
And yet,
here we are.
It's the same every time.
Its unchanging,
not even rearranging!
And still,
here we are.
You're further defending,
I'm further descending
into my guilt but
who's really wrong in these petty situations?
Of course if it was you, though,
you'd never admit it.
But honestly,
Who cares?
These petty little arguments.
It's ridiculous, at this point.
And, of course,
I know I'm doing it, too, but,
You know it takes two
to argue,
yet you'll still act like it's not you.
And no matter what I do,
if I defend myself
or let my guard down,
you remain the same.
You'll claim
that it's just me wronging you.
Why can't you see
it's really both of us?
It's so dumb.
It really is.
But here we are,
running through the script
once again.
Just let it end!
My friend and I get into these stupid arguments and it goes the same way every time. I ddont know why we still do it but we do. It's so dumb.
chitragupta Apr 2019
Beware the ides of March, they said,
But I had fallen heels over head
It was but the seventh day of January
and March looked a spot, far away

Aware of my own reality, I was-
But caught in her fantasy, too, I was-
So I spent February melancholy
With pens and journals, bottles and drugs

Alas the day came, lifted was the mist
of reverence and awe, and again I could see
The stab wounds slowly clotted and closed
Left scars of love etched in heart and skin
'Et tu Brute?'

Inspired by William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
Liz Carlson Apr 2019
.a.
for a millisecond i thought i missed you.
i thought i'd made the wrong choice
to let you go.

but in reality,
i miss how you made me feel.
i miss the phone calls until the early hours in the morning.
i miss the endless laughter and sarcasm between us.

despite the greatness that was our friendship,
anything more than that wouldn't have ended well,
i hope you see that one day.

God brought us together for a few years,
but now we're headed into different directions,
and holding on any longer,
would have lead to even greater heartache.
Kenji King Apr 2019
My soul cries, for it never ends.
Will I be, denied, tourniquet.
My sorry soul.
Lingers in the path of hopeless screams.
Desires that reach no peak and voices that have no meaning.
Blood that spatters in a pool of red liquid.
Like a fountain of twisted nightmares, all gathered into one torn drenched wet coat of seamless stitches.
I wait, but you don't appear.
You wait, but I don't arrive.
Perfect by nature, I endure self indulgence.
Look what you made me.
A worthless bag of a desperate plead.
Have you no shame, don't you see me?
You've got everybody fooled with your filthy lies of manipulation.
Without the mask, where will you hide?
Can't find yourself, lost in your lie.
I don't love you anymore.
You don't know how you betrayed me.
You killed me.
I have NEVER felt pain the way you stabbed it in me.
Through my vessels, my skin, my muscles.
So the revenge I took, and you came back begging.
Remorseless I was, I was too powerful for your burdens.
Stronger I became, and I laughed behind your back in pure happiness and sacrificial power.
You, will NEVER, defeat me.
A friend from the past...
Shall I say no more.
Evanescence inspiration
Bianca Apr 2019
We are leaving in the morning.

I can feel the press of memory
in the curve of a downward
fold, behind a torn up receipt just
next to the jut of new
roller handles. I feel it

in the coconut drink the park
cafeteria ran out of this afternoon.
The açai you thought I wouldn’t like.
How many unfinished days
are there left scratched into places
tipping over the ends of old maps?

You hand me a snack box (for tomorrow);
tell me to go to bed.
I am afraid Today will spill out
through my yawning–
from my head to the pillow
until there is nothing left, only

our Unfinished set aside for tomorrow
and all the packing we have left to do.
levi eden r Apr 2019
i thought that we invented the word forever,
the word infinite,
i was wrong.
the hand i used to reach out to is missing.
i wish you had enough respect for me to tell why you aren't here anymore.
the summer wind is reminding me of you and i can't help but feel my chest tighten.
it's like a train took you far away and you forgot to tell me.
i wish you'd tell me why you respond to me anymore,
why you can't bat an eye to me even when we're right next to each other.
did we outgrow each other?
did you realize that i could never be the person you wanted me to be?
did you get tired of me?
Dominique Apr 2019
We sit there in the morning,
Me in your shirt, you slipping on mine,
Cold coffee in a cup I know you'll leave
But I give to you any way (it's tradition).
We spent last night inches apart
So close that our hair might have switched
Or your eyesight sharpen and mine diminish
To swap our pupils round.
We chew the names of old friends out like popcorn
Barely a breath given to any individual-
Me asking about yours, you teasing about mine
The two of us (mostly) never not in agreement.
It's been this way, one might say,
For 14 years and a little over that, too,
Not that I remember clutching your hand as we lay
Belly to belly on a baby rug with our parents watching.
Your smell becomes mine, so I associate it with home-
Sweet and fresh like candy tulips and soap.

We may as well be one; this is how little our paths diverge.
This poem means a lot more now than it did then, ironically. This is about the unity I felt with my cousin a few weeks ago- I'd never expressed it in words before and this is a little too chunky for my personal taste so I never published it. Then we got too involved with a boy and after everything that happened, I blocked her off completely. It is bizarre looking back at this now, which is why I have to post it here haha.
Storge is the Greek word for natural or instinctual affection- family love.
Thera Lance Apr 2019
She's known her for only a few weeks,
Maybe a month, it's sort of a blur
That should drip down her cheeks,
But only smears her vision instead
As she blinks away the disappointment that
Must be all she feels.
Because she knows better than
To get attached when
Everyone she meets on the street is sick,
Hacking up their life in little red drops that
Count down the weeks until
It's only her walking the streets because she can't get sick and
Die like everyone else and
Why her alone and not that girl too?

They were both young and gasping so, so clearly
When they ran up the stairs with groceries,
Which had been left to rot with their owner in the backroom.
They were both fit in fancy dresses from empty stores
And laced-up boots that fast-food jobs wouldn't buy but the end of the world could.
She was fine, vintage comic book in hand,
Golden ribbons trailing from her hair as she giggled
And their shoulders shook, bumping against each other
As laughter unfurled in the air.

It isn't fair,
Because she'll be fine,
One of those lucky survivors who'll
Always walk into a quiet apartment on her own.
BR Apr 2019
close your eyes⁣
lay your body down in the green of mine⁣
soft and rooted in earth⁣
veins of life reaching into soil ⁣

rest ⁣
place your hand in the center of my chest⁣
where wildflowers gather⁣
in full bloom ⁣
and you among them ⁣

my love is not a serenade⁣
my love is an aubade ⁣
not an evening, but a morning song⁣
warm and full of new sight;⁣
let me be your eyes ⁣

you are not what you see ⁣
you are not what you have seen every day that you can remember ⁣
let me be your eyes ⁣

I see a blue dark sky ⁣
oil slick rich with violet, gold, and white ⁣
wild and endless, ⁣
I feel so small in comparison ⁣

my love is not a serenade ⁣
my love is not the weight of expectation ⁣
or an entitlement to experience ⁣
it is clean and unrequiring ⁣

you are not what you see;⁣

close your eyes⁣


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