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Francis Oct 7
I’m tired,
Want to sleep.

Stop laughing,
As I weep.

Stop hiding,
In the corner.
Stop lurking,
Like a creep.

The only way,
To rid of you,
The only way,
To sleep.
I’ll draw you,
‘Till the crack of dawn,
To satisfy your needs.
This takes me back to a time in middle school when I caught my best friend (at the time) compulsively, discreetly drawing this eerie, disturbing doodle face on the bus ride home. I asked him what he was drawing and he said that it was this kid named Cornelius that comes out at night in his room. According to him, Cornelius said that only way he’ll leave him alone is if he draws him a lot. To this day, I can still draw the face he drew, and wish I could share it with this poem. This unfortunately made us drift apart, as I was too disturbed to remain in contact.
Carlo C Gomez May 24
hand cranked
re-imagined 35mm slides
Rough Trade posters
on the wall
Pepsi and premade sandwiches
on the counter

aperture: wide open
he sees her often at the multiplex
there she flirts
from the third row; second seat
sheer blouse
hands in elliptical motion
pointing toward
silk chiffon shells
the invite in a tilt of her mouth
lip; gloss
eyes hidden from the light

a prayer before intermission
celluloid reliquary
reveals God's plans
lest her trifling with him
cause a miss in changeover
enraging his self-regarded audience
the walk back to his car
one long montage of her lacing up
dark red rose
crumbles under the weight of darkness
falls apart into thousands of pieces
each one morphing into small black spiders as they hit the cement floor
running to hide from the impending moon’s glow
into the safety of the dark
SøułSurvivør Nov 2021
The one black hair
That WE create
The truth which
We manipulate
We try to
control our fate
Kings and queens
Lie in state!
We believe that
We are great
Brother, we

We think we can
Build up... repair
The termites nest
The spider's lair
The web of which
We are aware
Beneath our skulls
Pate brown or fair
No matter how
We wish or care

We can't make white
one black hair.

November 2021
No matter how we try we cannot in the natural turn one hair white or black. It is through subterfuge and false manipulation chat we can do this.dyes or bleach. But we are NOT GODS! THINK ABOUT IT.
lua Aug 2021
i cast no shadow
beneath the white sun
amidst the sea of swaying green
and my skin is see through
and passes through
the blades of grass
like a projection
a hallucination
in no one's head
am i
there is no colour on these sickly bones
but i feel the warmth of red
seeping through my transparent mind
am i
i feel like a ghost
with no grave
a ghost that has not died
just yet
a ghost
trying to look for
for anything
for everything
while having
no eyes.
Gabriel Apr 2021
I wrote a love letter. This is not it.

But it existed,
you’ll have to take my word for that.
Existed being past tense,
because on the eve of adulthood
I took a glass jar
and my parents’ matches,
and I burned the **** thing to dust.

Which raises a question,
I suppose, of whether
things destroyed become ghosts.
Unnatural death sparking
life again in those same ashes,
a postal service with no return address.

How long before
the subject, unnamed,
would miss what never came?
Or does that even matter?
Yes, I’m asking you
to clarify so far what you think all this means.

Three years later,
I watched as everything imaginable
took shape in the picture of a flame.
Slight movement, repetition, almost,
against a television screen,
but the world became so, so wild,
and then everything was an oil painting
and I was Dorian Gray.

Slow, murmuring, hapless rubble
taking baby steps across my mind,
an experience of imagination
that says, I brought you a love letter,
once, and you crafted that into dust,
so here, take form from ash;
get up and be what you cling to.

I wrote a love letter. This is not it.
But I sent it to fate, to burn.

The fire, artificial, loved me back.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'Spiral'.
Alien Nov 2020
I mustn’t speak
or the monsters will creep
I must’ve bled
they sent vultures to keep
I wish i could speak
about what my mind leaks
bury my eyes under my cheeks
they sneak a creak
i am too scared to peek
i wish i could speak
of all that i fear
but my voice i cant hear
and so i disappear
theres a knock at the door
my heart hits the floor
my back against the wall
i still feel someone behind
there is someone in my mind
this room'ss key i can't find
everyone lied,
i must hide
the flower that died
and the child abide
though her spine
spiked with sharp edges
and still!  
she mustn’t speak.
Fame Flame Sep 2020
Every time I go under the covers,
My eyes long to find you.
Is it just a euphoric essence, or am I really falling?
Oh! I’m so afraid of telling.
Some days I wake up with your bold eyes staring at me, when I hallucinate.
Some nights you’re just a sweet swimmer swimming in my ocean, when I hallucinate.
When nights are so long,
And I can barely sleep,
I rest upon your figure, when I hallucinate.
You have no name, no face, no game, no race
Only a someone whom I rely on
My chance to escape, a feeling of being loved.
Oh darling, Let’s meet there again,
When I hallucinate.
Roro Aug 2020
Now and then I catch a glimpse

Of a shadow or piece of a thing

Alive but terrifying to reminisce.

Now and then I sense

The presence of some being

Closing in on my ears and neck.

Now and then I feel a tap

On my shoulder or my head from the back.

Surrounded by too many

Always checking

Always wondering

Who's there?

Where did you go?

But to an audience that doesn’t know

I'm alert, though in isolation

and completely alone.
For me, feeling paranoid and manic together feels like seeing glimpses and feeling the presence of creatures from a parallel world. I like to think a small invisible fairy visits me and flutters around my head annoyingly, making me **** my head around and see frightening things that disappear in a flash. Even in the calm comforting solitude of my own bedroom :D
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