Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Spicy Digits Nov 2020
Fading apricot sky
Paints the wet sand
The sharpest silver
and romantic mauve.

Angry incoming waves
Turn to lace agate
For a perfect moment
Only to return again.

A sooty oystercatcher
Warbles
Always keeping
one eye on me.
It is, after all,
his littoral arcadia.

Sea mist coats my skin
Speckled sand whips at my skin
Claggy dread claws at my skin
While I write
And write
And write.
muteD Jan 2020
The darker the darkness,
the crazier the thoughts.
That little piece of meat,
a sectioned off part of my brain breeds pain.
It specializes in it
and in reminders.
Like a calendar
but this one ties you in
your own personal electric chair.
Each reminder,
Each charge,
Each word
reverberates throughout your entire body.
It brings pain.
Brain pain,
the only thing I truly know.
The only thing I was force to learn.
I wish I could unlearn the things in my brain,
remove the whole thing
and start from scratch.
Must find a way out,
Need to find my way out
of this inescapable maze of my mind.
Even if all that is left to remember me by
is a splatter on a wall.
These are 2am thoughts. Starting to realize I have a love/hate relationship with what lies in the dark and darkness itself.
Khadija Nov 2019
you don’t have to
say a thing
i know it’s a lot
i’m a handful
imagine being me
it’s inescapable
but thoughts and feelings
are all i got
the only places
i’m allowed to go
i won’t apologize for it
i won’t expect you to stay
loosen your grip
i’ll drop anxiously and
finally shatter
we all could use a break
from the people and
places that matter
this poem is about accepting the fact that not everyone, even your loved ones will accept you or the person you’re becoming or have become, whether that’s good or bad. and unfortunately sometimes, not even liking or accepting yourself.
MicMag Aug 2019
My heart is a stone
Rolling slowly uphill
At an easy, steady pace
They say life's not a race
They say you're never alone

But it's all just useless, I know
Gravity grips hard with each step
This treacherous ***** grows steep
And helpless, I sow what I've reaped
As I plummet back to the valley below

Pulled two directions by my heart beguiled
I climb, fall, climb, fall, climb and fall again
Still longing for you, for those days long gone
And still trying like hell to get past this, move on
My feeble heart forever stuck in this Sisyphean trial
we fall down again
erstwhile love pulls us back
life leads us in circles
not a straight track
our hearts remain anchored
to endless flashbacks
til death turns us all
to eternal amnesiacs

(Another old found poem reworked and reshaped, probably all for naught)
nom de plume Jan 2019
my chest is an aviary,
hundreds of caged birds
flutter and shudder and whistle
soft songs and incomprehensible words.

my ribs as bars,
and my heart as feed,
and the birds all hum,
and we all have needs,

including birds, including me,
digging my hands, into my chest,
they peck at me, my insides,
to rip me open, we try our bests--

i scream and writhe and cry and whine--
i tear and pull and carve and break--
they sing and sing and sing and sing--
half-gored, i give in, stop, shake--

an albatross in my chest cavity,
the canaries' screaming pitch remains,
the robins and bluejays and wrens and larks,
all choir my unending pain.

i want to be free of them,
and them, of me,
but my ribs are bars, and my heart is feed,
and in my chest they will always be.
Donovan G Loman Aug 2018
A man walks these solemn streets,
tapping and rapping his cane,
and with him, the stench of death follows
on these dreary, weary streets.

His eyes shine against the dark
on these lonely, stony streets.
His smile sends shivers down your spine,
as your heartrate begins to climb
on these unholy, lowly streets.

Pulled from his overcoat, a blade shines
against the lights of these ugly, shady streets.
A sight that's gone as the streetlights flicker,
but not for long: He's walking quicker
on these now dangerous, deadly streets.

Out go the lights on these dark, desolate streets.
He hears you running; he'll always be coming
on these dreadful, hellful streets.
A Simillacrum Jun 2018
Human existence
Is a story
Accident or miracle?
An accident, for sure,
But could it not be both?
We
Are alive
And so am
I
Something from nothing,
Is that not miraculous?
People talk a lot
About Human nature
As if We are The Stone
When We are The Mountain
Of The Earth and Our
Image in The Lake
Reveals The Truth of Gods
Our Dominion is the
Consciousness We give away
To get back when We
Know
So for sure
It does not
Work
Not at all like that
I will explain it
All for my child
Under the light of day
Make no mistake
We have Made this place
Where
Currency determines
Which of Us will ascend
And it has been
For me all my life
That's when I look at you
And see you for the first time
A piece of The Soul
Welcomed to an entrance
Among Our every new
Where Our Elders sit
In circles of no clarity
Selling songs, selling food,
Selling news, selling views,
Selling Us modes of Life
Pandered to preselected groups
Test and Market approved
And Selling it as soon as through
Our parents who Would
Paper Our deepest wombs
?????????????????????????

?????????????????????????

. . .

. . .

LOADING FILE. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .
Mark Wanless Jan 2018
"The Deep"


Imaginary knifes and illusionary wounds?
Yet so much blood and screaming

Inescapable knifes and unavoidable wounds?
Yet thought is the deep of suffering
Skyler M Dec 2017
A misty lake,
The cold air,
And my cold feet,
Gentle eyes defeat all the demons,
That shadow my lids.

They walk through the lake,
I can't see nor reach them,
But I can feel their breath on my skin,
Ripping and tearing.

I can see the other side,
The green trees,
peacefully standing,
Almost tauntingly.

I can feel my knees hit the dock,
The rusty nails digging into my flesh,
As the tide washes over my burdened back,
I slip away into the waves.

A still heart,
Polluted with suicide,
Darkened from all the infected scars,
I'll be ****** if I say anything.

Perhaps it'll help if I close my mouth,
Don't speak my mind,
Otherwise it'll burn my lungs,
They don't like it when I speak.

The misty lake,
Tugs at my rusted knees,
But the pain from the nails,
Hold me there.
Next page