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Nachos Jul 2018
Left Left Right Left
I swipe, hoping to find it  
A Disney story IRL
Alas, I've reached the pit of Hell

Countless matches and open chats
Oh the deep regret one has
A drink, a coffee, a dinner out
Charming, funny or a lout?

Days, months and a year has passed
Too many swipes, none of 'em last
Incredible *** one odd out
But then I'm back on the look out

Left Left Right Left
**** Disney and **** this
I'm on my own, I have a hand
*** with myself is just as grand
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
What was is like before I fell
Before I ended up in this hell
I don't remember I was only eight
When I got shoved into this fate
Left with feelings of self hate
Human monsters brought me to this gate

The hands of time
They did unwind
It didn't treat me very kind
It brought more monsters and called them mine

Now I'm spinning out of control
Waves of sorrow over me roll
Never knowing which way to go
Should I follow the ******* crow

It would lead me to the grave
You know that is what I crave
There's not much of me to save
For what wasn't stole from me, I gave

Or should I stay in this frozen field
Frozen solid left to deal
Trying to heal what can't be healed
Blinded by my fate, is it sealed

Will any of my tomorrows be kinder
Oh will I grow blinder
By the bites of more sidewinders
Or will I just be thrown into the grinder

I remember mud pies
Chasing fireflies
Lazy summer bike rides
Loved ones that never died
What happened to those things I had before I fell
Before I ended up in this Hell
Can anybody say,can anybody tell
Tess Calogaras Nov 2014
I sometimes I get this feeing as though I was being forced into a meat grinder.
Urged to remove my fat only to spit out chunks of blood and bone instead.
The cracking, clicking snaps of marrow that exudes from it like wastage.
The fat engorging through the tiny weeping holes.
All I can see is the repetitive nature of damage leaking from this abstraction and I feel it in my flesh.
Crawling like tiny bugs, entrapping themselves and eroding their bodies into the hair on my skin.
Uncultivated; I have fallen into the funnel hooked up to the grinder and I feel its body churn me.
It thrusts its cold metal exterior against my lean limbs; ticking.
I try to form a response when all the while this loud heavy machine is echoing against the walls, making my voice utterly meaningless.
Like ground beef I am belched out only to be covered in a plastic film that pushes all the oxygen from it.
I am stuck in this silhouette, shaped as a slab of meat.

— The End —