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All I want is to write this for you
To tell you every thought I've ever had
But each line gets erased
Along with any memory I still clung to
Of what I believed in
Of what I wanted
What I thought was the right choice for me
Doubt plagues me as the days that used to be so dear to me
Draw closer and closer, threatening regret and the sweet release
Of being numb
The consequences of actions that aren't even my own
I don't remember being so lost in myself
Not knowing if it was because of this, or that
Should I take it back? No.. it's been too long
Not that I care, right? No.. I cared too much
I can't express myself in a way that makes sense to you
And that hurts. You will never know what I wanted.
You will never understand what my words truly mean
Then again, neither will I..
I was never in the wrong, that much I know
So why am I haunted
By what I wanted
I wrote this so many times but I have no idea what I even want to say. So I guess, in a word, I'll just say everything.
my heart to the first bidder
hope they ease the pain and make it less bitter

my soul to the devil himself
in this world of misery he grants eternal wealth

my love to the moon and the stars
when night falls they take me places near yet far

my courage to the leader of fear
anxiety is a demon i've made friends with, my dear

my beauty to the black mirror
she shows me my selfish self so much clearer

my body to the man with dark eyes
let him ****** me with his dreamy web of lies

my happiness to the depression
let my mind be enveloped by blackness each session

they said i could be whatever i wanted
but how is that true when i am still haunted
the ghosts of who i used to be
prey on my aura without mercy
Thom Jamieson Nov 12
I fell apart today.
The anchor from which I'd cut away
suddenly reattached, twice as heavy as it had been before.
And I was completely imprisoned,
a heavy weight pulling down on my weary heart.
Like a silent film it hit me,
in jerky flashing, singular grey images;
indiscernible but sad.
A birthday cake.
Shiny smiles reflected from
clear cool sandy beaches.
Warm, cuddles after Christmas dinner.
And these ghosts of us haunt me always
down every familiar street,
every memory, every story, every jewel
adorning the crown that is my life
is haunted with ghosts of us.
Not the us limping, and wounded, and beaten by life,
holding on to those beautiful images.
Eyesight fading, changing at least.
No, the wide-eyed kids who became one that first night
and ignited a fire that burned,
for a quarter century.
A beautiful, perfect, copy-read family.
Nobody forgetting their lines.
And one day I reached out to touch you
And your skin felt cold.   Still soft, but cold.
And I knew immediately that I need to cling
to those beautiful images.
And capture new ones,
sharper and more vibrant
with years of progress, and learning.
Loving and gentle with the images of the past
but steady and strong
against the unforgiving winds of time
from  every direction.
“We built her strong”,
I tell myself.
"We sure ******* did"
Perhaps, we built her too strong
She’ll never sink,
but she’s not fit to sail.
Leave her where she is, to the salt,
and the sea,
and the rust, the ******* rust.
The anchor, still fastened tightly
but choking my heart no more.
Instead holding me fast,
against the current, and the winds,
and the ghosts of us that haunt me
each and every day.
The green light has frozen over.

See that haunted house,
how its windows
flicker desperately
in their attempt at survival,
how every lampshade droops
under the sublime gravity
of its glassy tears,
how each blackened bulb
crystallizes then shatters
like the constellation-mottled
pupils of the starry-eyed--
of any

Nomadic phantoms float along
the pin-***** stalagmites
of the ceiling in ringlets of
emerald shadow.

dawn will break,
The sun itself shall bow to ruin;
and, in a remarkably quiet gesture,
it will fizzle out
like a can of cherry cola
that's gone stale,
like humanity's own taste
for the light
(and its growing appetite
for the darkness).

we drink on--
in wait of the rush,
indulging in the hope
that somewhere
in this dying
expanse of universe,
there is someone
who will love us
for the tipsy,
poetic souls we are.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!


(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
rose and grey
was the bathroom mirror
i heard your voice
over the ambience
and a picture of dread
returned to me
my dear, there was nothing
you could have done

tell me when
a nightmare is enough
to keep you wide awake
i know myself
cursed is the guilty one
forced to face
a life that never ends
Shadow Dragon Oct 16
"Moving is like dying"
Empty pasts haunt
the reborn body.
Minds collapse and form
new beautiful butterflies.
The more moving,
the more broken wings.
The butterflies stop flying
and start crying.
The hottest tears
for all the years.
The future becomes terrifying.
Dee Oct 14
His eyes start to eat me up from the inside out
Hands demanding my body
This is the first time I think of my body as an object of pleasure
Still, I don't class it as *** or the R word
Just predation
A sense of redemption for his masculinity
Memories of his actions follow me
Haunt me
My flesh has since arranged itself differently
Forming a cloud around a central object
Which is hard and more real than I would like it to be
The recklessness of his actions means that
My husbands touch can now scare me
Remind me of the time I felt like a means to an end
Remind me of the time I lost my glow and will
Fatima Sep 28
You kissed me
And i kissed back
But we shouldn’t have
We were friends
Now we’re nothing
I ruined everything
To end up haunted by a kiss
break me on the wheel
as it spins untimely
argentia road
and all i see are crows
gorging in the open field
severed cornstalks everywhere

burned your clothes
beneath the palest stars
like a contagion
cherry embers in my bed
love, i dreamed of empty graves
and the undivided moon

such a fragile thing
to sigh for the sake of breathing
no more, no more
i am claimed by blood-soaked hands
and my resolve is dead
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