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Meera Jan 2021
what is more dangerous
than a woman in love,

a woman drained of love

she will raise hell
she will wreak havoc

she will set your house on fire
just to warm her toes

she will make herself a drink
just to pour it on her wounds

she swears she doesn't hate you
she just wishes, you didn't exist
What have you done to her?
vera Feb 2018
i am a madwoman
so mad that i lay awake at night
and wonder whether youre mind
is racing as fast as mine
looking to win first place
and land in the depths of my happiness

i am a madwoman
so mad that i wander through the day
aimlessly strolling
from store to store
looking for the perfect distraction
while secretly hoping that i am yours

i am a madwoman
so mad that i pick up my phone
every now and then and call you
just to check if youre still there
because my mind can’t seem to forget you yet

i am a madwoman
so mad that i plunge myself into every minuscule task
working for a bone, like a dog
to avoid the gruesome possibilities
that i know are most likely true

i am a madwoman
because a madwoman can convince herself
of the impossible

and i have managed to convince myself
that you love me
- insane journals
Lynn Al-Abiad Jan 2015
She's mad
She's mad
That woman
Who always showers herself
With floral fragrances
Who waits for the wrong moments
To tell the most important things
Who laughs genuinely loud
In the most uncontrollable way
She's mad
She's mad
At being the woman
That she is

Look at the other side of that tender woman.
mark john junor Jul 2014
her silent monologue inside the cage of her mind
leaves fleeting expressions catapulting across her vacant face
like a strange circus act
the pasty face clowns in silent repetition
weakly grin as they grind through the dance
the lovely high wire girls seeking the perfect tuck and roll
her expressions move through this deranged carnival
of the mad again and again
never releasing its warped players to
the solace of privacy's ease
over and over they dance and roll

her lips stumble through misbegotten phrases
ten word haiku's written by the voices in her mind
written in lipstick on the mirrors of gas station restrooms
and truck stop shower stalls
haiku's of loves desperado warring against loneliness
the heart dose not actually make a sound when it breaks

her hearts deeper waters
like tidal pools in moonlight
the surface reflects the beautiful sky above
but in its cool depths other things live
some have no name

her silent monologue slows and fades away
the exhausted clowns of her madness laughter crawling
to lay their pasty white faces in reflection of sleep
the high wire girls to dressing rooms where they moan
for long departed heroic villains
who were last seen folding up diabolical schemes
and her silverware and making for the sun coast
where you can find them on beaches of paradise
sipping cool water under a neon moon

she slips into slumber
and dreams sweetly of all these players
in her silent minds story
she loves her madness
as she loves the rain
mark john junor Jul 2014
she lay in darkness
listening to some sad song
some careless young heart with a version
of some sweet old melody
she lay wrapped in my arms
lay wrapped in her wandering thoughts
i bring her herbal teas and a ashtray
but the grey ash already litters our perfect world
like stains of regret on a untainted heart

she leaves the towel on the tiles
along with her delicate footprints
leading to the window where she lingered
brushing her long straight burgundy hair
brushed a hundred times carefully
a hundred moments drinking her with my eyes
but to her she was
alone in the mirror of her eyes
alone in the rain of her dream

she made eggs and toast
left it neatly adorned on the
table overlooking tomorrow
picture perfections of lives she promises
one day we will someday live
when shes no longer afraid of her yesterdays
one day when her voice will no longer echo
all the fears and sadness
one day when the delicate footprints
lead to sunshine
instead of further into the darkness
into the brilliant sadness of night

she carved a driftwood boat
and set to sail upon the still waters
of her dreams
set into its lovingly crafted world
was a neat photograph of her alone in the rain
with footprints beating a trail back to my safer bathroom
but i'm not home anymore
i'm no-ones home anymore
i'm just a figurine gathering dust
an echo of her dreams

she will wake
to find me gone
she will just lay in silk sheets
and dream away the yesterdays
to the sounds of some careless young hearts song
set to a timeless melody
like a stolen kiss forgotten
like a smile unanswered
soft and filled with tears

— The End —