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Ameliorate Aug 2018
You are dead to me, yet your memory haunts my mind
Years of drug abuse and alcoholism wrapped up in 140 pounds of pixie cut hair.
I base every negative instance on your inability to stay clean, but oh did I love you.
Self preservation finally won and I took flight away from you and your problems in attempt to live my own life
Ten thousand terrible stories in the time we were sisters, our laughter and tears shattered like glass hit with a hammer
You were fiercely brilliant, wasted youth and potential but you turned into this horrible thing when you were drunk
I’m sorry you couldn’t understand why I needed to leave you but I can still smell your perfume when the wind blows too strongly
Friendship is fleeting, so much is true
But even still, no one else compared to you.
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2018
The same
Calm image
Once used to be
Close
Nurturing the soul

How could it turn?
So unexpected
So quick
Into the nightmare

For the ease
He tries to
Remain awake
To avoid the presence
Genre: Dark
Theme: Haunted
Ellie Wolf Aug 2018
When its emerald eye glimmers in the shadow of the dusty shelf above
I pause,
I sense a presense.

It is not unlike me to attribute human characteristics to inanimate objects.
Give them names and nicknames and quirky character traits based on how their forms bend.

In the flickering lights of a broke wicken sanctuary though, I do not do it out of habit.

I feel it and stare it back down and see my own reflection in the cracked gems that once were a soul.

A gaudy skull.

The kind you see in home video Indiana Jones tributes,
with hats stolen from someone’s parents,
and jackets stolen from someone else’s elder siblings,
and ketchup for blood.

The kind your quirky local manic pixie dream girl uses to hold incense.

The kind I’m about to waste my money on because I’m an adult now and I can use my millennial minimum wage however I want.

I do not become aware of the possessed nature of my new buddy until I take it back home and hear it snicker in the middle of the night.

I know it is the skull, for my roommate is not one to snicker.

(He chuckles when he’s hiding an opinion and has a villainous laugh when it’s coming from a place of sincerity, but that’s beside the point)

I know it’s laughing at me.
I know this for a fact.

It takes me three more nights to call it out on it because I’ve never been confronted with the issue of standing up to a haunted antique I took home from a secondhand shop, possibly owned by satan’s offspring.
But I’m twenty-one years old and still experiencing some firsts, I suppose.

The gaudy skull is exceptionally snarky.
In a way none of my named plants ever were.
Not even Gerard.

He comes for me for the garbage on the floor and the dust on the windowsill on which he’s propped up, and then later for my poor taste in chore-doing music.

I never ask for its name because I know for a fact he’ll make a game out of it
and I am not in the mood for entertaining ghosts.

I come to realise it all on my own a couple of weeks later.
Once the snark starts to wear off,
and domesticity settles in,
and shared quiet becomes comforting,
despite the circumstances.

It is Judas.

I know this for a fact.

You do not understand the extent to which I am certain that it is Judas.
I have never been so aware of someone’s origins in my entire life.
I bought this creepy item and it is now in my room and I’m developing a weird attachment to it and maybe occasionally use it as a paper-weight and it is Judas.

I feel it in my heart and know it inside of my skull that might be standing on someone else’s touchscreen windowsill
two thousand years in the future,
jade stones for eyes even though I specifically requested amber,
but you get ****** over by bureaucracy even after death.

How do I know it is Judas?

Because I feel him stare at me like he wants to kiss me late at night and sense him plotting my betrayal early morning.

I know it is that, for a fact, because I’ve felt this exact sensation before.

My **** edgy room decor is Judas.

I try to get him to admit it himself by talking of past lovers and reading aloud the surprising number of Jesus metaphor poems I have in my room.
I hate Jesus metaphors, but I do it for that sweet sensation of seeing someone trying to dodge the inevitable once it’s coming at them like a mule through Rome piloted by the son of god.

I know he’ll cave eventually and tell me
and I know it’ll be the same caliber of glorious news as Jesus coming out of his own cave of burial,
resurrected and preaching winning.
I know I’ll win.

And I think to myself that maybe I am in the mood to entertain and just haven’t found the right outlet yet.
Maybe history’s most infamous apostle is It.
The original sinner and the original rebel.

(I’m aware it’s technically Cain, the jealousy-ridden son of Adam and Eve, but I only ever count the gays)

Judas and I have bonded.

And I can tell he’s on the verge of telling me his dark and twisted backstory. Again, I have felt this sensation before.

And when it happens, we can talk
about what it’s like being demonised by the one you love
and being the odd one out in your devotee friend group, even though you eat bread and drink wine and worship metaphor just like them.
And how patriarchal institutions distort history to pedal the same tired spiel of everything having a place and everything being there for a reason.

But we both know that isn’t true
because neither of us feel like part of god’s plan or created in anyone’s image.

And we can listen to sad music about wanting to kiss the wrong people together.

And that’s all I ever wanted from a friendship.
ClawedBeauty101 Jul 2018
One little reminder is all I need from you
And you get me on my knees and tear my veins right through

You leave a ****** rub-burn on my neck as you try to hang me on
But I choke and strangle my scream of help as I try to run and be gone...


I'm being Haunted...  I'm gonna Flaunt it...
Because the cancer of lies are dragging me down

I'm being Haunted... This isn't what I Wanted...
Because I'm trying to move on but my past is nailing my hands to the ground...

I'm being.... Haunted

You see me grasping for revival...
Reminding I am only facing one true rival...

You lay my fears and weaknesses out like a deck of cards
You know this game too well... Laughing and pointing with a win as I shout, "THIS GAME IS TOO HARD!!!".


I'm being Haunted...  I'm gonna Flaunt it...
Because the cancer of lies are dragging me down

I'm being Haunted... This isn't what I Wanted...
Because I'm trying to move on but my past is nailing my hands to the ground...

I'm being.... Haunted

Physically... Stabbing...
Mentally... Spinning
Emotionally... Draining
Spiritually... Weakening

Physically Aching...
Mentally Strangling
Emotionally Drowning
Spiritually Fading

Physically... I'm so sick and tired!!!
Mentally... So burned out and unwired!!!
Emotionally... Frozen and Numb to the Bone
Spiritually... DEAD AND ALONE!!!


I'm being Haunted...  I'm gonna Flaunt it...
Because the cancer of lies are dragging me down

I'm being Haunted... This isn't what I Wanted...
Because I'm trying to move on but my past is nailing my hands to the ground...

I'm being Haunted... Lock it up in my Closet
Because I'm trying to escape the mind that as been born to do wrong

I'm being Haunted... I'm telling you I've Lost it!!!
Because I've been going back and forth between thoughts and emotions for far too long!!!

I'm being... Haunted...

I'm telling you... I'm being... Haunted....
... trying to make it into a song...

WHY CAN'T THE PAST STAY IN THE PAST AND LEAVE ME ALONE!?!?!

God help me...
Traveler Jul 2018
Soft and silky, soothingly smooth
Are words that describe her skin
I can't help but dream about her
Every now and then

Gentle, kind and selflessly caring
Are words that expose her soul
I know I made a big mistake
So many years ago...
Traveler Tim

Tears of the pen
Sam Kelly Jul 2018
I could try to weave
Or mince these words,
Through gritted teeth
So it won’t hurt,
Oh if only you had, dear,
When you dripped poison
In my ear.

You broke out my ghosts
And let them play,
So what I loved most
Was stripped away.
But I won’t cower from their laughter,
See death is first
And life comes after.

I wish I could say
You didn’t leave a mark,
But I’ll get through the day
And I’ll embrace the dark.
And when your kingdom crashes down
Don’t expect me
To be around.

See I’m carelessly cautious,
I’m Completely incomplete,
And isn’t it obvious
And isn’t it sweet.
I’m exactly how you wanted,
I’m not yours
But I’m still haunted.
molly Jul 2018
If I think too hard

I can still feel their hands on my body
Four of them rubbing and squeezing and grabbing my skin
Desperate for my oblivious being.

If I think too hard

I can still feel the scratch of his stubble
As his skin rubs mine
And the other caresses me
Taking away my control.

If I think too hard

The world still spins
I can hear the moaning
And the distant sounds of nature
Outside of our tent, but so far away from my reality.

If I think too hard

I can hear their comments of praise
To each other
As I lay there blind drunk
And they do with me what they please


If I think too hard

I try desperately to shield the memory,
The three of us entangled
And together,
A trio of drunken disgrace.

If I think too hard

I cringe and cry
And my legs clamp shut
Disgusted at my stolen consciousness
And forever violated by my memory.

If I think too hard

I hate myself for what happened
I hate him for being drunk
And I hate the other for being selfish,
Breaking my heart and my trust
written during a very difficult time of accepting that some things you wished never happened, did.
Hollow Steve Jul 2018
I think I'm letting go.
It drains itself dry and drains itself some more.
I think I've had enough.
What barrier can I create to protect this psyche?
Head like a haunted house.
We're surreal, sublime.
Can't get it out of myself.
And these noises get louder.
We're surreal, sublime
Tell me where the other half lives?
One lives half dead.
The other went missing.
I loved you to death
and the hate lives on.
Gray ghosts haunt these halls.
Specs Jul 2018
A girl is standing on a ledge.
A stale breath of air on the back of her neck
Urges her to step forward.
She turns, but no one is there
But the sky.

A girl is sitting in the bathroom,
All but ripping and shredding her flesh to bits.
A chuckle from the drain
As water and red gurgles,
Gurgles away.

A girl is laying in bed,
The creaks and moaning whines from the house
Echo loudly in her ears.
“What would happen,” it asks, “if you broke through the glass
And leapt out the window?”

A girl is followed,
Footsteps in time with her own,
Chased and haunted by every feeling, sound, and thought.
It seems the spirits have her too,
Because she still continues to smile.
I am my own nightmare
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