Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
mark soltero Dec 2020
second choice boys
and last choice girls
live in the realm of abandonment
they scream into the void
unrequited love and its sorrowing embrace
feel like a swan dive
the butterflies soon rot away in you
as if they regress back to caterpillars
and feast upon your insides
they grow just to consume you
to eat away at your everything
the sad truth to the friendly hugs that feel empty and cold
they will never love you
it’s best i tell you first
before you’re too old
mark soltero Oct 2020
the storm has passed
but the aircrafts’ echos linger
a quiet sunrise will always cleanse the weak
will your problems seep into the broken earth?
squeezing between ages of the bones
no
because unlike them
you were chosen
so indebted you are
and pain will sow upon your heart from now on
mark soltero Sep 2020
what scares me
is that
even scars disappear eventually
please
just don’t get tired of me
Wyatt May 2020
Save me the melodrama,
leave the act at the door.
With how much you try
to play out as the victim,
somebody should just go and
award you the Oscar already.
Keep your words to yourself,
the sign reads "do not disturb".
I need a break from your face,
nothing else seems to work.
I need some "me" time because
you always make it about you
so just save me the melodrama,
I'm already sick to my stomach.
You make silence seem like music.
English Jam Jul 2018
My little friend is now gone
My tragic life must go on; despite that
His evil eyes and his cheeky smile still burn in my mind
He no longer exists except
For my memory of him
And I rejoiced
When I heard the news
Still I can recall how I sobbed
When he gave me his evil eye for the first time
When he hurled glass and other projectiles at me when he was hungry
When he spent hours upon hours pondering the fabric of society
I hated him
I wished
For his death
I was depressed
It was like paint peeling off a wall
It was like finding a dead leprechaun at the end of a rainbow
I was expecting some sort of remorse when he left
Funny how heartbreak works

Now read this in reverse
Because sometimes all you need
Is a little change of perspective
To truly understand someone
Dedicated to the goldfish I had when I was little who accidentally died. This is for you sweet fish <3.
F Jan 2019
i.
an ailment of the mind,
incorporeal, a ghost that flits between
worlds, festers and grows —
a thumping tumour.

ii.
sick, but not really sick.
(does it hurt? paracetamol might help).
you are exaggerated and foolish.
count your blessings.

iii.
potent to change reality.
stronger than any mushrooms.
a single thought, the words and the images,
gunslingers to misery.

iv.
hook that reels in,
boding some ominous fate.
fish out of water —
flippity-flop; people sunbathe around.

v.
plodding is what it is.
plodding through a tempest,
freezing, crackled skin,
watching everyone else walking in sun.

vi.
you want to scream but don’t.
you want to explain but don’t.
you let them form their own ideas
and agree. you feed on it.
depression? anxiety? what a ******* drama queen
Sharon Talbot Nov 2018
He drives into the desert in a Toronado,
Dust in his eyes from the open window,
Sun on the burned skin and black mascara
That augments his vivid gaze.
Black orbs that stare at the burning sand,
His mouth is defiant and morose,
He turns off the path into the sage and saguaro.
The car is like a black beetle on a carpet of tan.
He lifts a shovel from the trunk, looking crazed.
Digs a shallow grave in the sand,
He rips a talisman from his neck
And declares he is looking for something
Unclear and he slurs a chant.
“Something is coming”, he seems to say.
He buries the necklace and drives away.
Will he come back for it or leave it
for the spirits of the desert?
No, he will come for it every day
Bury it again and again
Until the spell wears down,
The perfumed season is done,
Or perhaps the spring floods
Wash it all away.
Based on a silly advert for perfume, with Johnny as a superstitious rebel! I had to make a "story" of it, just for laughs.
Morgan Mercury Oct 2018
Where is the inspiration that I once possessed?
Where is the love that once sprouted from my fingertips?
Where are all the flowers that once grew around my feet,
with each step I took?

It seems as though
lately I've abandoned my gardens,
and left all the flowers to wilt and turn to dust.
The lives that I once cared for,
are now all scattered around the ground.

My spring light is somewhere lost in this winter cold,
and this winter has been going on for too long.
My body is numb from the breeze the December nights send me.
I once rose with the early sun in the morning,
but now I find my self serenading the moon each night.
Hoping maybe she will understand all my pain and issues.

These nights are graceless.
These nights are long.
These nights have me lost,
walking and searching for the sun.
Always ending up in places
that are just too dark.

Where is the sun that once loved me like a child?
Will I ever end up in a perfect place?
Am I just crying them to the moon?
Will this all be over soon?
my 2017 summer mood
whispering wind Aug 2018
heavy head
raise the lever
open eyes receive
light transmissions
signal time and space

je me reveille dans une chambre
qui ne me connait pas

j'attendais la vie me lève
mais il n'a jamais fait
en pensant à la vie, le corps que j'en habite
Sneha shenoy Dec 2017
Remember how we met?
I stopped by to see thy smile,
Oblivious me, was trapped in Thy isle.
Stole my kingdom while  innocent,
Thy scent on me are still reminiscent.
I found my prince in life's fairy tail,
Je t'aime mon Amour
My first and my last prince.

This is my last poem to you,
Last? Why last?what's wrong?
Well, not cuz I lack fair words,
Not cuz I'm being melodramatic but,
Perhaps this clock will stop ticking.

This is my last poem to you ,
Cuz I've told em the start,
And I don't wanna reveal the end..
Are they seeking conclusion ?
Well they must cry.. Cry??
tears are the body's way of restoring “emotional equilibrium”.
Why do we cry tears of joy?
Is it nostalgic ? Sigh in joy or sorrow?
I leave it upon them to interpret,
*As they feel so mote it be
Next page