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Kassan Jahmal May 21
Crashing aeroplanes inside the ocean,
all the blues of heaven skies will fall.
Grab your bathing suit, and best summer toes.
Open up yourself like a garden rose,
crimson red cheeks,
Shine as bright to warm up your cold nose.

Falling tears from high above the trees,
cools the earth along with the winds.
Catch your breaths to feel as free.
Hold your hands onto the things you need,
let it all out each time you breathe.

Past the square of circling seasons,
winter, and summer, joys of the morning
With all the Sun’s kisses, and brightened

To live on, like the circling repeat of
your favourite yesterday’s song.
Stay as strong.

Whispers of strength heard in the softest ears,
comparing hurts with a taste of your tears.
Recognising familiar eyes,
all dealing with the same kind of fears.

Window frames filled with the echoes of the rain,
racing down the glass, two kids sit and laugh.
Taking time off their backs to sit and relax.

Pepsi by two for a dollar,
two ice cubes full, tucking away my love,
As she tucks down my fine collar.

Clothed in the finest of a day,
taking birthdays as just another day.
Before I’m close to the age of twenty eight,
gathering around a few friends and family, all
cheering, “hooray”

Crying in comfort when I’m gone,
For you won’t have to miss me for too long.
I’ll meet you all at the corner of a new dawn.

This is life.
Luisa C May 1
I want the air to surround me, hug me,
losing myself in its invisible arms
and therefore finding something meaningful
in its transparent substance.
I do not want to cower from the implications
that I am so dependent on this traceless vapour.
Make me crave you, I think, hoping it hears my wish,
welcome me as I so desperately want to welcome you.
So I stand paralysed staring into the unknown,
the endless vortex of existence,
hypnotising me with its mystery, torment and beauty,
divinity, chaos and serenity;
the paradox of living and reality.
To be a human is to be a reflection of the dazzling mess of life;
how can I not take in the wonders of the universe each time I inhale?
My breath is power, the air my hero,
it gives me strength even in times I fight ruthlessly against it.
What is this strange instinct, this stubborn ingrained desire,
this anonymous impulse that never changes or falters?
Why won't it tell me what it's here for, why it persists,
I want to be informed on what it has to offer me.
So show me, I say to nothing, come out and reveal your secrets,
stop your hiding and give me everything there is to know, consume, devour.
I want to be nourished with it, overwhelmed with it,
so show me that this life is worth living.
The vast and depthless road of reality stretches out for so long it scares me,
the plethora of choices, unlimited possibilities,
fear traps me, foolishly, I allow it to strike me
in every way, shape and form
even when I told it to do everything it can to excite me.
It kept its promise well it seemed, it obeyed my order,
now I'm stuck between two states, helpless and frozen.
It turns out I'm not really sure I can handle it.
It turns out I'm not really sure what I want, ever.
Felt like dieing

Remember that saying
"The devil that you know..."

If you are alive
You are experienced
at living

So, for the main time
Keep doing what you know
how to do best

Keep Living
What do you do?
I live for a living

The living
has no right
to think of death
as the end nor a beginning

He has not been there"
You are experienced n living? Keep living first
Persephone Feb 10
I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be satisfied in my life time
But until then
I will keep writing
Brett Jan 30
Death never quells
The tin ringing of its wedding bells.
Our own flesh, betrothed
To dirt, and consummated
As a glossy wooden box penetrates
Beneath the surface of the Earth.

How we tailor time to match,
A fitted formula that suits our thoughts.
Trails of missed connections,
Lead like breadcrumbs to
The fraction of a second, when you spoke too soon.
Your moment is lost. Words spoken
Forever emblazoned on the stone slab
Carried around as personality.
What you always meant to say,
Only ever reads as regret. We never count the steps
Between triumph and catastrophe.
Life is a burnt-out church house. A one-man quire
Singing sorrow, match in hand.
Billie Marie Jan 26
Shall I make markings about the past;
dwell in a haze of memories;
piece together a fading dream,
to say NOW I can live today
as more real than yesterday?

Doesn’t it all feel more real
if I remain right here;
see what IS, right here
in front of THIS me?

The other is not what is,
and only made to seem real
with the programs
and functions of mind’s eye.

Programs. Am I a walking
and breathing program?
Oh Mother! When
do I get to be a real, live girl?
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