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Shea Feb 3
I could run away or stay
Living like a moth to a flame.
I always try to chase the light,
But the light has burned out.
And these days I'm stuck in old ways,
So where a light used to be
Is where I sit patiently
In the dark
Hoping for a flickering flame.
Shea Jan 27
I sit in the back seat
Dealing, with such a
Gut wrenching feeling.

My mom is in another car,
On the way to the airport.
A game of sorts,
You gotta play with the law.
**** up, and you could lose it all.

You could say "**** 12"
But you don't really feel that hate
Until you or your friends are in cuffs.
You could say you miss someone,
But you don't feel that pain
Until you won't ever see them again.

I'm lucky I know,
I'll see you again.
We're lucky, we know
We could be in permanent cuffs.
Till then, we hold our breath
And pray he won't be.
Shea Jan 24
Everytime something happy happens,
I find myself worrying about
What might happen next.

For example, twas an early day,
Writing ******* poetry with words like "Twas" "Was" "is" or "as"
Things seemed to be deemed good
For at least a week or two.

Low and behold,
The wound.
The inevitable part of life that Happens when everything
Is goin' good.

So twas' the night before the wound,
A jaded child lay
Unaware of the doom.
Shea Jan 19
I did myself today
Woke up and felt okay
I did myself today
Stood up and put on perfume
I did myself today
Walked out and felt okay
I did myself today
Broke down and made
Lyrics to a song I recorded. If you want the full lyrics just comment below, not that anyone would.
Shea Jan 17
"Living life like
Russian roulette with an automatic."

You're gonna leave,
I hate you for that,
But I love you for it too.
I'm gonna miss you,
God..I'll miss you so much.

Until then,
And most likely after,
I'll live life
Like I'm spinning a cylinder
With the Reaper.
Alaina Moore Jan 16
Missed the deadline
To submit poems
To one of my favorite books...

Lost my drive for poems
Because I am caught in the gears
Grinding against medal

I have a lot to say
Eh... I'm to worried to say it
To tired to push through articulation.

The poems come like fleeting thoughts
With no time to focus on them
Nor jot them down in the moment.

Just small snippits for me
I suppose
Jumbled attempts at explaination.
You're becoming unhinged.
Searching for answers in the words
That were so scrambled they almost came with toast.
It's okay.
I'll protect this home of ours
While you try to rebuild it.
I'll take the double edged jade sword
That has become your nature,
And bury it far away
Next to the skeletons,
Under the dark corners,
And just behind your eyes.
Shea Jan 7
I'm like mold,
Growing and infecting
Everything in my path.
Feed on the dying,
**** off the living.
I'm not a good person,
It's not that hard to see.

I'm like mold,
Growing and infecting
Everything in my path,
And when they find me out,
Like an apple picked too late,
I'm afraid they'll look down,
And throw me in the trash.
Shea Jan 7
My Grandma told me,
About a poem she wrote
About a sunset on the
Key West shore
Painting poems to be
Ethereal and bright,
Full of beauty and
Which they are,

Here I sit,
Writing poems
About how much I'd love
To die.
Or writing poems
About what's inside my mind
Which seems to be
Dark and
Telling me to be
At the end of bights.
Lonely nights I've spent
Spend days travelling down
My brain to my pencil,
Tracing backwards
Symbols to conform to.
Writing these words
Like child's play to

So tell me,
What's the real meaning of poet?
Sunsets or an experience
Making poetry
Or poesy your only catharsis?
I think or hope it's both
But either way
Like most folks,
I still don't know what the ****
I'm talking about.
Shea Jan 6
Like a moth
I'm drawn to the flame
Where I keep getting burned
I'm hurting in my soul.

My fingers are cut
My voice is weak
If there's anything left,
It was gone last week
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