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Psychosa Aug 6
I am a piece of glass.

a glass that has been shattered time and time again,
losing a piece of me with every new bash/
a remnant of what I once was.

If you try to put me back together, the world will never look the same,
for
I
am
shattered.

If you try to put me back together,
you need to remember that I am a broken piece of glass,
you will hurt yourself if you hold me in your hand,
and then I will hurt you more.

Don't hold too tight,
but don't let go.

Looking at the world through me may be hard.
I have fallen so many times that I am mere piece of myself now.
Me as your lens of the world would be small and stained.
But then again, I can show you the world.


If you try to find yourself in me,
you need remember
that I am not a mirror,
but a hollow thing where you can never be reflected.

It's a lonely existence.

I am a barrier yet I am a transporter.

You will never know

I am transparent.
If you want to find inside, you can see right through me.
But do not be deceived, for I am empty.

But with all this,
I am a piece of glass.
I am fragile;
I can be broken,
so please handle with care.
Kassan Jahmal Jul 17
Thin wire, overzealous leading to being over tired...
an over reliance on the hopes of being reinspired,
The burning thoughts; of a migraine constantly on fire.

Ten thousand shots in my head—ba, ba, ba, ba,
swimming over my depths, trying my best to breathe;
all the while in still waters choking my neck. Some live
too long...living a life of the dead.

I'm singing a song, better sounding inside—la, la, la, la,
It goes while I'm looking in the mirror, seeing myself and my
self enemy. Who's betting on their works, to seem like a better
version of themself/me?

Letting be of the many ways I try to appear calm in some days.
Hunger in my eyes; starved of the sights of true love.
But the dirtiest intentions, has my face fully covered in mud.
I give and give, but these returns are never enough.
But plenty are the voices in my head, battling constantly—blah, blah, blah, blah, as no-one else hears this cracking glass in my chest.

I figure we're all fragile figures, in the end.
Kayla Gallant Jun 29
We were placed inside a glass fortress
Dull knives were all we were given
Expected to know how to survive
We attempted to carve our way out
To leave a mark of any kind
Desperation flooded our insides
What will we do if we never make it
How will the world ever know of our existence
Right above our righteous heads
The sun flooded in
Yet we remained oblivious
To warmth it gave
The light it provided
The life it created
The sun was above us all along
The fortress was never sealed
We were far too busy trying to leave our mark
We could never see
There was an escape all along
Into reality
Mathieu Apr 19
Eponymous, insidious indifference.
Existence.
Towers before fates road, exquisite.
Beckoning the soul to a fork.
A question.

A man can break who he used to be?
Or will he be? Until he breaks.
Ponder at the fork, day passes day.
From end to end, the requiem,
sings and rings, like a lovely dream
But beautiful things.
Like destiny.
Its crescendos extinguish.

Try though, he does to see both roads.
To sense and see the masquerade.
No map to guide.
No stars to follow.
No end to see,
Through his glass shadow.
Live for the moment, live for the future.
It doesn't matter, if you don't decide to live.
LC Apr 15
He greets me with a light kiss
reminiscent of a monarch butterfly
delicately landing after a long migration.

Iced lemonade in a glass
rests on the table in front of us,
witnessing the butterflies on our faces.

Water vapor relaxes when it sees us,
and the glass leaves a culaccino
for forever and a day.
Escapril Day 15! Prompt: something very gentle.
By the way, culaccino means "the mark left on a table by a moist glass."
I loved writing this poem, and I hope you all enjoy it as well :)
Psychosa Apr 12
A glass has come between me and reality.
This glass encapsulates my being.
The longer I remain in the glass,
the hazier my view becomes.
How I long to shatter it.

The glass has held me captive for quite some time,
and I realize I have come to know the glass like no other.
The glass has protected me from the strange outer world.

I have come to long for the glass which holds me.
But when I reach for the glass,
all I feel is bleak
and yet still my hand is left with nothing.

I cannot grasp the glass
because I cannot see the glass itself,
only what it is not.
LC Apr 3
My body is sixty percent water,
and I attempt to float with the oil,
coasting with closed eyes and mind.
But I am sinking to the bottom of the glass,
where cold, hard rocks bruise with the truth,
and I press my hands to the glass to keep myself standing.

Although the rocks ground me,
the submersion chokes my throat.
If I crack the glass with my bare hands,
the acid-laced arrows will lacerate my back,
and I will be a trembling target fading into mist.
but the gentle breeze will greet me with open arms.
Day 2 of Escapril! The prompt was "separation." I hope you enjoy it!
icarus Mar 18
there is sadness, yes
but not in the breath-
stealing sobs you
            expect.

it comes in quiet
      absence

in the sound of the shower
with no music to
drown
        it
     out

in the loss of laughter
        between
smiles    and words

and

in the way weight
     shifts   to avoid
     touching  m o r e
        skin than necessary
it has been a long, LONG time since i've written anything substantial. but sometimes life spirals and you find yourself quite broken over something so **** small.
Allesha Eman Mar 8
All I can think about
Are the things we would do
If I had moved the mountains
That buried you
I pieced you back together
With shrapnel from the glass
Stained with the pigment
From under my eyes  
Restless from this rustling wind
Anxious and bitter cold
I feel like the whistle
That rings in your ear
As you lay there
Under the weight
Of broken words  
Trying to forget the sunrise
That looms too close
With your sleep captive
In its marmalade palm
CIN Mar 4
There must be madness swirling inside me
My stomach aches
A sickly urge in the back of my throat
I imagine it whirls around in my blood
Surging through my body like morphine
It spreads to my hands at first
A tremble of my fingers slipping glass from my hold
It glitters before my eyes
i feel it travel to my forearms creeping up into my biceps
Scars reopen and red spills
My fingers now coated in crimson
Then it's clogged my chest all to fast
It's getting harder to breathe but still my lungs fill with air
Heart squeezing, ribs popping out of place
Yet my body stays the same
From there it splits in two ways
One drips down into my stomach
then pooling in my feet and weighing me down
The other creeps up my neck
Taking the oxygen from my head
It starts to spill out my eyes
In tears of panic
And i remember the ways to stay sane
None of them work now
Nothing is working now
why must you call me crazy?
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