Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
angel May 2017
twinkling of the stars dangling over the edge of the sky,
fluttering velvet wings of a moth,
warm, wooden clinking of a wind chime,
the scratchy sound of a pen on rough paper,
smoke spiraling upwards towards heaven,
and the orange light cracks onto the walls.
your voice echoes into my ears and runs along my neck like a yell into a canyon; filling the spaces
Ryan Holden May 2017
As you breath,
With trapped lungs,
Like a fly caught,
In the silkiest of webs.
Her manifold shell,
Multiple eyes of harrowing,
A succubus to the harmless,
dampening a gentle candle lit,
In sheer darkness.

******* on our blood,
Like a hundred leaches,
Her nature thicker than mud.
Fluid runs smooth,
like ash and water,
but she stains your heart,
in gray poisonous matter,
Using you like puppet on strings,
from the very start.

She hides behind the lies,
That she fills within your head,
like a hot air balloon,
soaring through skies,
Unaware of what's below,
Avoid prickly skinned women,
They'll eat you alive.
Just a quick write. Many people can probably relate!
Ami Shae May 2017
Three wishes I was given
but they were not to be used on me
I had to wish for something special
for other eyes to see--
so I wished for a rainbow to shine
on every dear family member
and friend of mine--
and then I wished for them to follow
the rainbow all the way through
and discover a *** of gold (yes, real gold!)
for them to use or hold onto--
But wish number three was the easiest of all
I wished for good health and blessings to befall
all of those I love so dear and true
and I hope you know, that these 3 wishes
are all wished for you!
Sorry I've been gone so long. Life has been crazy chaotic, but good. I hope all of you are well and that good things are happening for you! :D
Skyye Yoder May 2017
I may not be perfect , nor will I ever be
but I am ok with being imperfect
because no matter what imperfections I may hold
someone will find all my flaws
that are portrayed as Gold
idk
The Unknown May 2017
You want to introduce us
to a house of gold
But gold was never really my color
For some time
It felt as though
a hundred hands held me
Led me through the weight
Pain and loss
that I must bear
My brain spins
And I see
The hands are there
not here
A hundred hands hold you
Through the loss that you must bear
But there is no loss
Only the flowers we forgot to smell
The birds we didn't listen to
The beauty we were blind to
And you
must think I'm blind
for not wanting your house of gold
But Beauty
Is in the eye of the beholder
For a hundred hands
and a house of gold
cannot take me somewhere
I'm not meant to go
blaise May 2017
angels.

angels who miss their wings at 3 am when they feel more out of place in this body then before, angels who need pain to bring themselves out of their dreams, who ink themselves with words only prophets would understand; angels who have the most ordinary jobs like bus drivers and paper boys, people see them and think about them for moments too long.

angels who turn to drinking and smoking, trying to forget the feeling of their wings pushing air behind them as they flew. angels who can't avoid the call of the sky and become pilots who are always drinking coffee because the caffeine reminds them of the golden ichor that was once flowing through their veins.

vengeful angels who become pilots as well, who terrorize the winged folk to feel powerful again, to feel control again. angels who message each other, fingers trembling as they type out their dreams, trying to grab those memories that are just out of reach, gauzy and filled with blood and silver-tinted skin and golden eyes and so many feathers. angels who live in church basements and see pictures of themselves in the stained glass windows and go unclothed, trying to reach that feeling of purity, freedom.

fallen angels who burn churches, filling their lungs with smoke as they climb to the steeple, not just from reprisal but from the feeling of mutiny. angels who ride out into the country alone with a handful of stolen cash who steal from nearly empty gas stations and throw rocks at the windows of abandoned barns after they've climbed to the roof and back to earth. angels who streak their backs with ashes because they don't have the scars that they should from having their wings torn away and the golden ichor doesnt bleed away and stain the ground like it used to.

angels who hang out in bookstores and coffee shops because they're looking for an oracle or someone, anyone, who will listen to their impossible dreams of flight and blood spattering the ground, of fighting and dying and they can't explain it.

angels with shaky hands who try to find love because there's something missing and everyone tells them that love will help them, and maybe it does, but there are always angels out there who have loved and loved and there is still something BROKEN, something LOST, and it's been pounded into their minds that they'll never know what it is. angels who run with demons and devils because there's nothing quite like the rush of running in the dark, standing at the edge of the city and feeling the wind nearly blow you off as you curl your toes on the edge of the roof, so close to the sky it takes their breath away.

angels.
Poetic T Apr 2017
Caged within cellophane mirages,
              swimming on promises that suffocate.

With every footstep...

                     If only I had two more steps...  

Reality suffocates slowly...
Sarah Michelle Apr 2017
Golden is her majesty,
dark are her intentions
Don't step too close
Don't pursue her
The wind beneath her wings
displaces every molecule

Cyan are her patterns and trends
Purple are her eyes
Don't look her in the eye
Next page