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c Jan 16
Ink is spilling
From my skin
A melancholic signature
Of me abstaining
From free will
Simra Sadaf Jul 2018
Monday morning,
melancholic mass,
somewhere far away,
a butterfly flapped its wings
sitting on the grass,
one massive wave took down
and entire land,
marooned it all and
left behind a million scars
blaise Mar 2017
you're flaming. little specks of crimson burn like fire in your heart. your physique melts like *** on a fire and sparks of amber make you glow like a candle in the darkness. magenta lines cross your lips and your skin mocks the setting street lamps and the burning sun.

you're a mountain to me. dwarfing cities below you with peaks that stride above the heavens, attempting to graze the planets if even so slightly.

you are worth becoming the enemy of hell. you are worth every friend you've ever lost to file yourself. you are worth it, because i've never met anyone who loves as perfectly and passionately as you.
for my cutie.
Lydia YQ Sep 2014
Because I wanted to be the shade of lace
that hugged at my arcs and ridges,
blushing deeper as you peeled it away
from my skin.

Maroon,
because it painted the
the constellation,carefully planted
down
my
spine

and coloured the speckles of tiny stars,
huddling beneath the fortress of my jaw,
while the others were lost,
but cradled safely
in the dimple of my collar bones.
Clarice Alvarez Sep 2014
You left in the brightest of greens,
And came home donning maroon.
How long has it been?
Eight months.
Eight months of your unavoidable absence.
Yet, while you were gone,
I continued marching on like a valiant soldier should.
I’m fighting to be like you,
You who is kind and funny and smart and undeniably beautiful.
One day, I hope, you’ll tap me on my shoulder
And say, “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
Set in the near future wherein you finally come home.
Julia Jun 2014
long white knives
that peirce through the
skin
of their prey
first they softly
puncture
thrickles of blood
dripping from the
fresh
pink
wound
then, they dig deeper
slowly
blood runs
faster
as the predator
***** it in
a maroon mess
finally
it lets go
and pulls the once
white teeth
now
decorated in royal red
Mahalea Isis May 2014
She was painted so beautifully.

With little specks of crimson like the fire that burned in her heart.

Dots of pumpkin and persimmon dancing on that one patch of hair she never died back.

Drips of amber and daffodil seemed to glow around her body as she wished to feel happy again.

And a shaded emerald painted like bars which contained her jealousy because all she wanted was to be perfect.

Swirls of cerulean and teal like the tears that dripped off of her face.

And the violet dashes were her moments of tranquility where her hands created magic out of papers and pen and her mind was finally put to peace.

The magenta smeared across her lips, making her feel a tad bit prettier.

Dabs of maroon like the blood that was shed,

When she used the silver blade to pierce her golden bronze skin.

She was a colorful girl behind the grey mask she hid under,

All to avoid the threats she received in black and white.
This was a quick poem I wrote a couple weeks ago and I was just feeling really bipolar, it's like I felt every emotion in a matter of 10 minutes. So I wrote this, since
I was feeling a lit bit of... well, everything.

— The End —