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Bethany 7d
how do i witness these seasons again,
without you, the one who changes them.
Green Tea Oct 18
I find it odd that I'm similar to my bathroom sink
When the lights shine on, the reflection is dull
It'll try to catch everything, a strand of hair, be it brown or gold
But must follow an obligation, so god forbid pink
The hair piles up but the water needs to go down
A responsibility to do so it's forced to go down

I ask for help but told to rethink
When I go back to the drain, the hair becomes wool
"It's useless if it can't function, they oughta be given a scold!
With those worms in their head, they must be sick!
Insecurities, mistakes, failures, and more!"
Criticized even if they've just arrived at the shore

In the pool I think I see mon raison d'etre,
But out goes the hair,
It need to keep working,
Or else it's pushed aside like a crippled mare
A weird/awkward flowing and eccentric poem I didn't know how to revise or fix tbh lol kachow
honey Oct 16
like the steadiness before a jump scare
in those clichΓ© horror films.
how long has it been, since... since--
how am i to finish my words if i cant--?
a thought replays on its own,
alone, alone
like myself, alone.
like a broken vinyl skipping, skipping
over the same line, it repeats.
& i cannot think-- focus-- think.
a single thought, repeating,
suddenly it evaporates.
& when i--

a new one,
gently floating in like a ship through the fog in the night
until it too, sinks.
it's too hot
it's too cold.
god, the ache, it aches.

how am i to explain if i keep dropping--
if they keep falling?
nothing but the eerie hum,
of that thing-- what thing-- what is that called again?

i can't seem to hold on
i can't--
how am i to finish if i can't--?
my eyes are bruised & swollen
it's not safe to open the gate here,
i just need to-- want to-- have to cry
but i don't know what's there

just like the thoughts keep slipping,
they disappear too.
where are they?
what's happened?

i seem to have misplaced it.
the wires are unplugged,
where have the wires gone?
how can i finish
if i can't
the connections?

what was i saying-- doing-- thinking?
.................... oh, it's raining outside..
Alex Scaife Oct 10
Summer nights always turn cold when
Thinking bout boys that didn't get to grow old.

My heart pumps until it turns gold.
Never chumps, we shared a young and lost soul

Spent nights writing till the pen bleeds
Ten fights, my mouth spitting out ****** speech

Ex girl tried to calm me with twisted ****
Hard to stand tall with tired and blistered feet

Some nights my heart seems to turn cold,
I miss Grandad, at least he got to die old

My heart pumps until it turns gold,
Lie calm, your heart taught mine how to have soul
Gea Venise Oct 9
Or so they say
𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍 π’˜π’Šπ’•π’‰ π’Šπ’•.
And so I ask
π‘Όπ’π’•π’Šπ’ π’˜π’‰π’†π’?
Alex Scaife Oct 8
Words escape me. I  can't speak pretty
Because my heart hurts and metre fails
How many syllables or beats?
Who cares
A wound exposes my heart, beating
Away as if it doesn't know the news.
I'm dead. Surely you must see that
No one likes me. It's crude and the words
Of an angst filled teen but still, now twenty
This still vexes my being. It's not true of course,
People like me the same way they like local news.
Briefly and only if nothing else is on
Is this a poem? Should it rhyme?
If not, is that fine? No.
My heart is closed like a fist and my soul
A watch, which wraps around my wrist
Cutting off the blood for vanities sake

It's all screaming
Replace each word with a full stop
And it remains the same, just
Filling in the line till the ink runs out
Or my blood runs. Whichever comes first

Oh haiku dear friend
You truly fall short of this
Colossus sized task

Short lines
Just make
Me wish
For more
Space to
But long lines are too hard to fill
Because I have nothing to say
Annie Sep 30
Sometimes love and hate are hard to differentiate.
They both give me sensory overload,
Even when there is nothing to
When there is nothing to
Silence can turn into screaming when I think about you.
I am bound to go deaf.
i hate a good love, and i love a good hate
Annie Sep 29
I love being distracted.
It is the only bubble of feeling in which I can't focus on my imperfections.
It's the only time where I can forget about life's lemons, and forget that I have to labor to make lemonade out of them.
But from my living room, every 15 minutes I can hear the clock chime.
It reminds me that everything comes to an end.
In a way, this makes me feel good. It reminds me that eventually all of the work I have to do will be done. It reminds me that all of my worries will eventually conclude.
But it also reminds me that everything good ends. It reminds me that strong connections to other people could eventually break. It reminds me that I may have to see the day where pets and loved ones cease to exist.
It reminds me that one day I will cease to exist.
If you say that one short story's name, I swear to god, Karen.
Laiviv Sep 18
every night i get a visit from a loud knock on my bedroom door,
and a screeching voice that echoes through the walls,
with shadows and tracks of wreckage.

i have gotten used to fighting my own demons
but i grew tired after a long while,
my bones were fractured, my spirit, exhausted.

there used to be lullabies playing in the halls
of this place i called home, until i started feeling a knot in my stomach
each time i utter the word. home.

i have erased the memories written on the bricks,
and the sounds the floorboards make,
but they still reek of the ghosts i’ve been trying to escape.
nevaeh Sep 18
pointy needle
in soft skin
hold my hand
like a friend
take my blood
make a change
empty out
ignore the pain
this is cool
im okay
a little dizzy
but im glad i came
tree asked me to donate blood and it was pretty cool i guess
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