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alex 7d
The colours of the world once danced for me,
But now they stand, all grey, though if they moved I’d barely see
Music painted dreams that nourished my soul,
But now it drowns the turmoil I can't control
Bard of Blyth May 10
Taste freeze
Message pending
Inbox full
Money lending
Pastries
Pleasant ending

****** in my grey tracks
Relax they’re just my Adidas
All day I debate about *******
That’s an anagram now I’m bragging
Am I grabbing your attention?
Are we gonna have ourselves a session?
Close the doors open up your thoughts
Making love is never a chore
Marigolds on I’m up for doing more.

I got taste freeze
My message is pending
The Inbox is full
No more money lending
Pastries
This is my pleasant ending.

Cleanse your soul I’ll clean your soles
I’ll anoint your skin and your holes
Moles and freckles are so special
I’m in bloom ‘cause you’re my flower petal
**** I love that subtle taste of metal
Steaming up you’d think I’m a kettle
Cup of tea no sugar she’s sweet enough
Nothing to add but my spoon and love
Big spoon little spoon cardboard lust.

I got taste freeze
My message is pending
The Inbox is full
No more money lending
Pastries
This is my pleasant ending.
Morgan B Apr 18
Fog
My world has turned grey,
My soul is crying,
My heart is irreparably broken,
I thought you could be my cure,
A ray of sunshine
To light up my days.
I am sorry.
I know I need to let go,
And someday I will be able to.
You were something
You are not anymore,
While I’m the same as always
Pretending the past is still present.
My words are flat,
A decomposed body,
I lost the right way,
If I ever found it in the first place.
How to recognize
When you go from a prodigy
To a wilted flower?
I had always been invisible,
But banal?
A curse, sent by my
Worst enemy,
This is the only solution.
I lost my flame,
My lighthouse,
I feel like I lost you,
But you didn’t lose me.
Please, come back.
I guess some wounds never heal.
Neil Coleman Apr 6
With colours gone
Grey, forlorn
The sky a puddle, muddy morn
I have no tears
I give thee thorns.

Where laughter lived
To once exist
The room aswirl, silent cyst
I have no tears
I give thee mist.

When passion played
And love was made
Fingers clasped and grasped in vain
I have no tears
I give thee reign.
You haven’t sung this song for some time
The pain returns tears well up in your eyes
You’re writhing like twisting, turning, treetops in a storm
No comfort coming your way
Just endless waves of torn
You’ve got no time for this but time is all you have left
The disease is torturing you to Death
You give it nothing but it takes it all your breath
Your insanity wrecks havoc on you Day and Night
Your lovely soul keeps you in the fight
Don’t let a pirate in the night steal you blind
You’ve everything and nothing to lose
Dark machinations it has for you
Gray glowing moon
No more Silver Spoon
Twisting turning room for you
The Demon returns until Balance you earn
Steady your rudder
Hands upon the wheel
Find your center and Victory you shall steal
Izan Almira Apr 1
I'll always remember the mornings at home.
Where no one was happy, where everyone swore,
where sadness and anger mixed together and formed

a moody gray. Like the one in the sky before the sun came out
that almost looked blue against that house.
Probably because nothing could have had so little color
as a 7'am morning at home.
I like the grey vibe (or gray idk anymore)
Dom Mar 31
Well, in the weight of it,
All these thoughts that bury a spark
Creativity suffocates in the absence of light
Where these clawing arms reach from the floorboards
To pull me under tenebrous silhouettes -
Ripping my skin to the **** of my soul
Poking their rods to extinguish my all,
I am famished from the hunger for a muse in the music
I am thirsty for a tide of color -
Oppressed by the terrorist of harmony,
A prisoner of war in my melancholy.
Jhay Mar 23
Our cozy autumn doesn’t feel the same,
the leaves have rotted to bitter grays.
The smell of tea drowned by summers final rain.

Your subtle rage everytime you turn that page gives me goosebumps.

I can see it on your face, an icy glare
and winter's grace.

pumpkins lost in the haze, we could be up to nothing sipping lovely grey.

Embers burning off loose heat and faith.
Tender and estranged our feelings should be explained…

something, something, and what to say.
The gentle breeze on our slow decay,
maybe autumn's not so strange.
February bites down—
wind with a switchblade edge,
sky like the underbelly of something dead,
clawing at a season that turns its back,
half-winter, half-wishbone,
stuck in the throat of the year.

Sidewalks crack like dry lips.
Trees wear loneliness like a borrowed skin—
bare, brittle, bracing for something
that never arrives.

The sky stays gray,
an unanswered text.
Days sink like forgotten receipts in my tote,
asking things I can’t answer,
whispering, Didn’t you think you’d feel different by now?
Didn’t I?

The cold is a debt I keep paying in shivers,
in chapped hands, in mornings that taste like spoiled perfume
and dreams of other cities, where I wake up panting,
where I breathe out his name like an epiphany,
and let my eyes sigh closed like a prayer.

I walk through the days like a half-lit hallway,
never sure what I’m looking for,
never sure I’ll find it.

I forget what my hands were made for.
I press my palm against the frost-bitten glass,
just to prove I’m still warm-blooded.

February unspools, soft and slow,
a ribbon of time that never quite ties into a bow,
a breath held too long in a house too small.

And I—
I stand at the edge of the month like a skipped stone,
almost ready to sink, almost ready to fly,
caught in the soft ache of almost,
in the half-light of wanting.

March will come like an answer
to a question I don’t remember,
but tonight, February lingers—
a ghost-limbed thing,
a name I still chase in the dark,
leaving me unfinished,
half-written,
half-here.
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