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Today I am running on empty
nothing inside to fuel my rising
from this morass.

Does this wet lowland into which I sink
come from me
or the invading viral horror?

Alone I cannot raise myself up
I need a power far greater than me
to invade heavy me
with light.
Dove off the deep river
it has been a long while now.
Chirping eerily beautiful
anthem of evening the bird flock                          
back to the nests picked their ways
Still, I am in apparently shallow desert.

Nope, I am not lost counting
the low hanging stars but
no longer feeling lonely in the desert.
The moon over the dunes draws closer
I happened to witness then like the star
for heaven, why no one needs a ladder!
Pick your poison pick your cure
I didn’t think you’d‘ve chosen her
Alone I lay while you caress
Your lonely lips around her breath
Your love’s the only drug I need
But my love’s not enough
Your lips caress her deadly grip
As mine curl up and pout
My worry an annoyance
You tape my mouth shut tight
Our love that was once buoyant
Has sunken out of sight
My trust for you has left me
I never thought it would
You hid and have misled me
And broke my heart for good.
kaitlyn 1d
How weird is it
that we can be best friends with someone for so long
and then one day not talk at all?
Those days turn into weeks
and the weeks turn into months
and the months turn into years
until one day you turn into complete strangers who can't even hold a normal conversation
You know so much about someone from the years of friendship
but at the same time you know nothing about them
Sam May 20
I am a piece of paper.

I have been cut down, and put through a mill.

I have been tossed by the winds, yet tethered to every word written upon me.

Words written in black ink, spelling in all capitals that I'm useless, and unlovable.  That I am in the way, and that when I am out of the way I am forgotten.

Words written in blood, saying that I have no reason to go on. I will never be accepted; that I am not enough.  

Words written in invisible ink saying that will never be seen.

My paragraphs are blotted out, crossed through and rearranged by careless editors.

My crisp texture, and white color gives way to ***** boot prints.

I am rife with tears and crinkles at the hands of careless of writers.

I have been cut down, and put through a mill.

The truth is though...

I am a piece of paper.

I have many uses.

I can be your origami, a love note, or an airplane.

I can be an interesting article, or a beautiful story.

I can be the tear stained page of words that move you. There, amongst the chicken-scratch and scar tissue, I have room to write my own words.

With caret marks I correct every word I
ever let define me.

My story isn't written on me.  The words, and the changes made,  themselves are my story.

One thing this piece of paper has learned, is that you should never give people the power to write in
permanent maker what should only be written in pencil.

And you cannot control the whipping wind you whirl in, but you can be a page worth a second look.

We are all worth a revision.
morning: my least favourite time
of day, is made not so bad by
a slice of buttered toast and a
black coffee.

morning: when my hair is a mess and
my sheets cling to my damp
skin, is made not so unhappy
by the sunlight spilling in.

morning: when my eyelids are
heavy and i’m too tired to speak,
when my lips are dry and my
thoughts are static;

i think i’ll put the kettle on, and
sink into the day: slowly, slowly,
slowly, so that the hours trickle
Guilt is a normal I have learned to live with,
Shares a bed with me at night when I can’t fall asleep
and lets me knows its here.
I know the problem is I let people come too close
give them too much access to my life and let them think
they have right to twist my words, judge my actions, and take what I give, greedily.
I know I love too hard. I expect too much from people, and
let myself get fooled by kind words.
I open myself so wide, they think I don’t need respect, basic human privacy. I give so much to others, that in the end, what will there be left for me. If I so much as take one thing for myself, I am selfish. I am guilty of wanting to be happy?
I m such a lonely person surrounded by so many people.
And it’s hard to make them understand that I am raw and open and given so much that there’s nothing left to take.
I am burnt out.
I feel like everyone’s afterthought.
I want nothing more than to leave.
I want people to miss me when I am gone.
but more than that, I want a piece of myself for me.
IvS 1d
Silver blood
Running untashed and untammed trough the odds
Maybe you reconsider like you did before
My heart still bleed, I still need...
Sometimes I tasted the tears,  worries and fears
Searching for a reason to live ...
Just take a breath, I'm still a human underneath
Just can't fit...what I did?
Tell me this, please.  
A prophecy to fulfill or a destination to achieve
i can't solve this breach.
Part of a writing challenge
IvS 1d
The muscle that fails me
Everytime I try to scape
Pretending I don't even care

Last time I see your face
Old memories awake
What did we make?
Happiness is a teardrop away

Let love consume this hate
It must have been fate
Forget about let's embrace this chance
That love just made.
Part of a writing challenge
Owen Mar 30
Choose him
Choose them
Paint me a villain
A wolf
**** my butterflies,
Turned to stones,
and kick me
when I'm down
let me drown
in introversion.
Dont worry,
I always break my own heart
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