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ve 4h
she’s still living in a void dimension
forsaken and letter-less.
days have gone by with blink of her eyes,
just like the ink someone marked on her heart

morning bruised her loneliness,
the bloodthirsty night stole the laugh she dreamed of having

she is still hollow,
a house without home,
boats without captain

she is still hollow,
living in a void strange world by herself

she is longing for her vibrant being,
her darkness has taken its quit.
SB 19h
Without me, there would be
No souls in this house.
Only the carcass of the person
You used to be.

I’m starting to get lonely.
Yes, I was a poem
and so were you
Written on the same page
Of an old rusty book.
Both, started with the same word.
Both, written in the same style.
Both, packing the whole universe inside
Filled with magical fantasies.
You, with light of galaxies in your heart.
Me, with deepness of blackholes in my mind.
Words, written in star dust, composing us
Making us similar in so many ways
And yet our divergent interpretations,
Making us apart from each other.
You, a poem about union of lovers
Euphoric, buoyant, and glowing
Like glittering magical stars of night.
Me, a poem about act of separation.
Crestfallen, doleful, and gloomy
Like an abandoned house
In the middle of a desert.
We were poems written in same style with same words but different interpretations
the old house,
with its wildly overgrown garden,
was silent, secretive.
almost frozen in time,
with its silent voices still speaking out,
screaming out to be heard.
the vines have long since entered the house,
growing along the walls,
fill beds long abandoned.
the furniture once shiny and clean,
are dull and dusty,
scratched and rotting.
yet the air is still full of some energy,
as though what once was is still there.
you can almost hear the voices of those who once lived here.
you can almost hear the footsteps of those who once walked here.
it's almost as though you are not alone anymore.
like your past finally came back to you,
and all you can do is except it.
as you walk through the old house,
with its wildly overgrown garden,
in what would almost be silence,
if only the past would stay quiet.
Jo Swan 4d
There’s a House made of Ice
Haunted by sinful vice.
Wilting winter flowers
As frozen frost gate towers.
House is cold and empty
With no lustre of glee.

Lost in the fields of snow
Tears echo in sorrow.
Memories of trauma
Sneak behind like cobra.
House is inhumane
As relationships strain.

To those who reside there
Must be fully aware
There’s a secretive curse
In the House made of Ice.

(c) Jo Swan
B 6d
This country.
This city.
This neighborhood.
This house.
This room.
This bed.
I don’t feel like I belong here.
order these ships order and
let's sail with you together
moon my moon oh come on finally
let's leave this house let's fly away
where all our dreams are valid
oh come on let's go let's say goodbye
to all that angry so angry
we should be where we are good
where our face does not suffer and the soul
truth and essence more precious than good and peace

James Study Nov 1
old house
spiders and bats
leaking peeling creaking
cold breath of wind frosty window
my home
lionness Oct 30
punk music playing in the basement
heavy bass vibrating the walls
bacardi in a coffee mug
******* on a tiny mirror
hands on my thighs, *******
the rush sets
hands in my hair
eyes rolling back
he ***** on my neck
i light a cigarette

"my room."
he pulls my strings like
a marionette.
i know this
exchange of goods
very well.
i take another
eyes widening,
i can finally bear to
see the world.

he eats my ***** and
i feel N O T H I N G.
i gag on his **** and cry.
cheers and chants outside the bedroom door
in perfect rhythm
with the bass
and the headboard
against the wall.
his **** hurts,
my whole body
a wound.

i think about
a distant city
skyscrapers towering
above me like
somewhere under
lights and stars
where i am happy
to be alive,
but here,
this place
where death lives
and waits to catch
it's prey.

he moans
it's over
i wipe mascara tears
take another bump
take another swig
i light another cigarette

he leaves the room
without a word
i follow
two steps behind him
covered in bruises
marked used
marked invaluable
a group of men
shout names at me
i block it out,
i am not ashamed

this body
was meant for this
this body
doesnt matter
this body
is for getting what
i want
this body
is tired
and sore.
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