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Erian Sep 16
They say we've got twisted minds
But there's only so much a soul can hide.
I've been in a big Halloween mood lately so here's a little poem for the haunting of the season
There's so many fake passageways
In this medieval maze of mine
Monsters keep popping out of walls
And leading me in circles
To abandon me at dead ends
Of which there are too few
All these walls have twists and turns
That always end
In the same blank rock face
No matter which path I choose
I know where I'll go
I'll always end up dead
At each fairytale end
Whoever made this labyrinth is an *******.
you are,
you will always be
my sweetest haunting,
i loved you first.

Three thousand two hundred and forty tiles,
Three hundred and twelve hours, thirteen days,
Ten thousand steps walked, five miles,
Eight by eight, padded room, orderlies patrol hallways,

Thoughts patterned over, over and over,
Wits dull, under pharmaceutical pills,
Feigning defined sanity in isolated den,
Seeing different then ‘aids’ with weak wills,

Not fitting the social norm,
Emotions and thoughts invalid,
Indoctrinating those who won’t conform,
Not codependent on a screen or new salad,

Sitting cross legged, muscles sore,
Straight coat hugging me,
Arms, torso, numb, like the day before,
Staring up, the barred light is all I see,

Rocking to engage my core,
Listening to helps, words, drone,
Dying to see water upon a shore,
Here for safety yet never so alone,

Sloppy with medicinal chemicals,
Padded walls permanently stained,
Where people tried to bash their skulls,
From boredom and too much sleep attained,

Isolated torture is a maddening pain,
Socially rejected now a product of an insecure hell,
Painting their lines, difficult to abstain,
Each day, reliving how I fell,

Walking the halls, ‘I’, can’t come out,
Coming out in the room I’m trapped in,
In silence, fore it’s insane to vent by scream or shout,
Judged and charged for every mental sin,

Imprisoned, I never feel rested,
Exhausted trying to keep my mind sharp,
History forgiven, but I’m not accepted,
Seconds, hour, as I mentally cry and carp,

Days on end getting bested,
Drugged, my traumas they pierce and poke,
Building walls, while my minds molested,
Individuality embers into smoke,

Cutting brain apart, they mold,
Feeling self losing grip,
Struggling to keep my hold,
All I got not to slip,

I just want to be free,
My clarity and learned self is hazy,
Gods, some force help me!
I, think, I think I’m going crazy...
Niki Gray Aug 9
Eye's haunted
not wanting to see
what the heart knows
a tragic reality.

Sweet innocent child,
Why did it have to be?
my baby boy River
and not me.
This was written in response to the drowning death of two year old River Smith the son of country music singer Granger Smith.  River drowned in their back yard pool earlier this summer.  Thank you to all of you that take the time to read my work.
Marina Aug 3
She's like a light hearted wreak;
You don't seek nothing yet
For then, you see just her and a smile.
Open and she will be open.
Angela Rose Jul 29
Loving an addict is like living in a haunted house
It isn't always scary, but when it is, it is terrifying
It is shake you in your bones, haunt you to your core ~ terrifying

Little things lead up to the big scares
A bump in the night
(of *******)
A spilled elixer on the floor
(of straight *****)
A crushed up relic scattered along the floor tiles
(of Oxycontin pill bottles)

And you try to pretend it isn't happening
And you tell everyone you can't see the ghosts
And you ignore the loud noises and the sudden screams in the night
After all, this is your home and he is your heart

And now your heart is haunted
Trigger Warning possibly.
Anastasia Jul 2
I have awaken
In a flame
Of suffering
I do not understand
I keep burning
And burning
Blood is crusting
Flesh is burning
Is this place
With flames
Like rubies
And topaz
My soul
Is burning
In this hell fire
I am lonely
So lonely
And haunted
And burning
In this fire
Made with Camila - June 2, 2019
Troves of rotting treasures
Marked the highest morning tide
Where the ocean’s foaming tongue
Left its print upon the land.
I trifled with the sea wrack
That was scrawled upon the sand
When a seaborne scent came wafting;
Onward sailing to the shore.

Pale, aghast, I stood in awe
To curse the wretched thing I saw.

Yet counting footprints from the scene
The vision haunts me all the more;
Forever sailing to the fore
Upon the winds of sordid thoughts,
Where my mind is ever stained,
Though one question there remains -
How a body, once alive,
Could be so full of eels.
Imagine a cave where no human has strayed  
Nor a scurrying creature has crept;
Ever haunting the deep, subterranean glade
Where the bones of the forest are swept;
A piteous icon is carved, drip by drip,
And forever in darkness it sits -
Who beholds of this vision will tremble, afraid
Of the place where Time sat and wept.
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