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I press the tip
against the paper.
It drips and bleeds.

One layer of my heart,
strips off for every poem i read.
Poetic T Feb 12
We degrade our planet
     treating it like a stripper.

             Paying for every layer removed.
Putting worthless paper
in our last breaths.

And when she is peeled,
we will see the failure
of our desires..

As we will be but a faint layer
on her.

Why did we think she
wanted to be used like this.
As we paid the last price
Sanny Aug 2018
Underlying tension in the air.

Is a breakup near or is it just fear?

You're starting to peel my layers, coming closer to the truth..

Can you handle it?

Can I?

I can feel the darkness inside me again.

Fighting so hard to stay in the light where I wanna be.

Even if I can't win this battle,

please don't leave me..
stopdoopy Aug 2018
Over time you'd carved out space.
Your current eroding my toughest stone.
Gutting me for all to see.
For so long I'd forgotten what it was like to be without you,
But you put up dams and barriers, diverting your water;
and now, Colorado, you've dried up.
Sometimes it'd rain and I thought that you might return.
After so much time together we became synonymous.
How would I exist without you?

Now I know.
You may have cut deep into me.
Leaving your mark for all to see.
They still come for me, even when you're gone,
To look upon my beautiful layers and vibrant colors.

The pit you whittled out is vast but you could never fill what was.
I'm left with nothing but the dry, harsh heat.
Don't come back to this canyon.
There's no room.
Hope y'all enjoy this one! My computer crashed before I could save the first version, so I had to work out a second and then I was surprised to see the site saved the first; so I mashed them together. This is already a personal fav. I also dreamed about the person it's about tonight and ugh, I'm tired of it, get out of my brain so I can move on with life already.
aviisevil Mar 2018
my breath is blue
cold and forgettable
in this dark room
and with my eyes closed
composed of a mind
and all its follies,
that I cannot switch off;

i am lost, yes,
bless'd with a life
i never would have
known otherwise,

of minutes, mountains and
stones, wise men; a home
and sun rise,

here on this rock
me and so many like me
will die, pretending we
never would,

consuming blood and wood
even burning the forest down
'tis his kingdom, filled with
people bad and good,

some mad and filled with
scars and broken days
then there's that who
has no need for a place,
some wear stars and some
wear no face, some are meant
to die, some meant to stay

some go away never to
come back, some find
grey days soothing as they
pass by, some live
in good-byes, and some dye
themselves, some don't cry,

some won't die, and we'd
watch them live forever,
whilst we break our lies,

i live the lies too, yes,
but that's more bless'd, in
this storm of illusion,
outside this dark room
where i bleed away bits of
me, everytime i step out,

loud noises and the clock,
to break me down,

silence louder than words,
empty air for me to drown
trapped in a circle 'round
my neck,

eyes to dream me a crown,
and a mind for the countless
worthless things i've found
gagged and bound,
in the deepest layers
miles deeper than my skin
sinking, and inking my
breath blue.
Maria Etre Feb 2018
You wanted
to have your
cake and eat it too
well honey
take a bite
I am spiked

Strawberry frosting
can be deceiving
They think I am too nice.. let them.
Salmabanu Hatim Dec 2017
Astringent to eyes,
A fierce kiss to the soft lips,
Chopping the onion.
Chopping an onion is no joke.Makes you cry as if you are at a funeral
Ben M Apr 2017
We are not many,
Only departures fill the meaning of the stops,
But we occupy enough sits to be a few
And for the distention of a silence of simple sounds.
The dimension of the others
It´s not much more than departures and destinies.

For now, we are only illuminated
By the last orange lights of another village.
All of us abstain from the others,
Not too much,
Not to the point of forgetting from the their presence,
Until the next straight road shrinks us
With one more gush of blackness.

(Warm lights
Emanate a comfort
Shared by all.)

The journey stretches along the premature winter night,
The bus goes embroiled
By the sequence of light and darkness
And we go with it.
Each variation in the spectrum of luminosity forms a layer,
More the layers, more the bus is light and darkness,
Thicker the journey and the denser the enchantment.
The countenances gain new expressions
As they cross the contrasts,
Though the looks never fail to gaze the vast night.
The looks…
The looks on the scattered night,
The night profoundly diluted in the existence of things,
That form the whole.

(Fingers on the glass
Searching for memories
- They only want life.)

One by one, they leave.
The sleeping consciousness wakes up,
From the breaking out of the world,
For the bus stop.
What do they take with them?
Where and for what they go?
Do they really want to go?
They all fade away in the distance.
There will be no one who wishes,
Like me, an endless night
So that the bus can go without destination?
Time does not even have to stop,
Just a single belonging to that bus.

I should not say it,
However i only want the outside life outside of me,
A mutual indifference
Than can fall asleep all the fatigue and exhaustion.
Let me turn into a silent echo to resound indefinitely,
In the vastness of the night.

(Eternal night
Raises chimeras seeing
Some solace.).
one real feel
I want to share with you,my friend
the shells of strata has three layers:

the upper shell of strata,
very polished-
black and white-
seems nothing wrong-

the middle shell,
the secret song-
surface has hidden-
partial red line-
pressure on both upper and lower,
uncovered ultimate-

the bottom shell,
compact and tiny-
the hidden beauty–
the ultimate love--
after losing time,
- @Musfiq us shaleheen
shells of strata: the different layers of strata deposited in different time that played the unique event and it makes the layer.........
Dean Eastmond Sep 2014
Hide underneath the stars with me
and peel back my skin layer by layer,
starting at the cold fingertips
missing the tenderness his touch caused,
twisting up damaged limbs and wounds of my woe,
past scars from childhood stories
- the ones not meant for campfires -
and around hairs that used to stand
when your breath danced like two ghosts
- you and I -
down my neck and into my bloodstream.

Peel me back until I am nothing,
but that little boy cowering on the bathroom floor,
with flickering lights, bruised elbows,
a lump in his throat and pain in his chest,
crying for something that no longer
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