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Laura Nov 13
empty promises
written all across my skin.
Burning like fresh ink
Made of fire and flames.
In all the places you
Kissed and touched me.
Burned flesh,
That’s all you left behind.
Laura Nov 12
I gave you a part of me.
I gave you one of my most important parts.
I gave you my trust.

(and all you did was crumpling it together and tossing it aside.)
Clelia Albano Oct 26
I climbed once again my favourite
tree, the one where I used to go dressed up with constellations.
Sat on a branch, as a child, I summoned entities from the
outer space, hopeful to be given
the secret of life by some weird creature, a fearless knight from
Mars. Now I summon all those I mourned. Are you there? Can you
hear me? Do you remember when
we rang bells all around to get
some fun? Are there any bells on
the Moon? And you guy, you, are
you still young? Did you find your
mate waiting for you in the Milky
Way? I bet she does her best to
give herself that air of oddity you
were crazy for.
This poem draws inspiration from several experiences and also from the movie by Lars von Trier " Melancholia "
When the stray-people come cry with me,
Suffering, our teardrops breathe in deriding grief
Of course, I don’t know of ***'s Love,
But I almost found it when you cried with me.

I am at once an epic stall of misunderstandings,
And sad questions are my reality, if you want,
I will help you find bliss in confusion,
I have wept because I am like this...however,

How is it that I still Love?
It is all at once the constant and pull of my spirit
We wept for Love till the dawn fades into hungry night
But our endeavours stand still, we were together…

Our emptiness walks as shadows
It gathered us in nights, outside the blue-button moon
A mirror of the silvery music,
The moonlight protected us from all crews

We think as bright as gleaming Athena
That all this suffering will end someday,
A flask of hope is notched to our belts
We sleep, one as weighty as damp deep jus

We wait to the slow lyres till night ends
Our bronze armour of youth clings to our hearts
These suicidal hummingbirds don’t go away,
But I can’t run away from insanity

We breathe and find a pink rose for our poor selves
Immerse in pomegranate poetry
For diseased passionate titans, in love with suffering
We blink jewels from our eyes.
Something like a tear,
but unseen.
Runs out between;
our space.
Tracing the clouds
from our silver lining.
To a feeling that
is in need of defining.
I wish to write
before feeling takes
flight.
But I fear it will
be a love song.
As if the world needs
another one of those.

Ruining out of ways
to say the same things
in my prose.
Trying to be dry.
But getting the
words out;
has me on tiptoes.

Sweating words;
pores full of metaphor.
not knowing if I
even make sense anymore.
how does one write
M-E-L-A-N-C-H-O-L-Y
without stopping to wash their hands?
mel·an·chol·y
noun

a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.
anna o k Jul 22
in those distant days, i said i never wanted to inhale a single cigarette; i never wanted to put any dangerous substances in my system that would compel me to ask for it over and over again. you might be getting high off them, but the thought of they’d harm me—consume me little by little, gradually, until there’s nothing left with me but addiction and dependency is dreadful to me.

it all changed after you decided to break my heart.

now, i don’t care if i harm myself with cigarettes or any dangerous substances. i’m not afraid. because i survived you. you and your love are more harmful. the apocalyptic moment when we pressed our lips together, you also ****** the soul out of my body, leaving me a little to none of myself; you crept inside of me, savoring my vulnerability—they're even more harmful and addictive and euphoric than cigarettes or any dangerous substances could do to our bodies. yet i still survive, although i'm trembling every now and then with some pieces of you and me left in my grasp.

- анна о. к.
Take a look around you,
Look at the room you're in,
Are you happy?
Do you recognise yourself.

Paint a page of your past,
Write a word that infuses you with life.
Here you're, looking at you through the invisible glass,
This is what it must feel like:
To be free,
To spread your feathers willingly into the storm,
To gaze at that elusive light;
For once, to look in the mirror and not deceive yourself.

Traverse further in time,
Can you find yourself?
All of what you're, had been staring at you,
Your eyes had predicted this,
You were just to adamant to grant them true sight,
Blurring them;
Always escaping to your poisons
Living life in flashes, satisfying your convoluted mind.
Are you happy?

Here you're, back where you lie
Realising the gravity of this time,
Wishing you could run as fast as you would,
You want to, you see,
You want to outrun your shadow,
But here you're seeking substitutes,
and pleased with yourself.
Hoping someone deciphers your pain from your being
Shares it, alleviates it.
For here you're, always stuck in between
these familiar walls.
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