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Eric Feb 9
Let me support you , while you hang from the cliff edge .
                   Let me congratulate you on destroying
                                      every past thing said .
                      As if it meant nothing from the start .
                  Creating misery across life, like it was art .
                               Who knew you'd go that far .
                             But guess what , I'm still here .
                        How do you explain away the scars ?
                     Do your stories , only match the ones
                                 You deemed greater then us ?
                Do you give their life pain with the feelings of
                                                                      distrust?
                                            So why only me Love ?
Spadille Feb 17
With your hands, You glady cover their mouths
Muffling the cries of sorrow
While you are gagged and silent

With your blinded eyes
You fight for the wrong you thought was right
While others die for the truth

With covered ears, You can not hear the pleas of the poor
You are nothing more than a mindless puppet
While others have precious principles
Fools are those who are ignorant
Man Nov 2020
cutting the brush away
only to discover thorns
this prickly cactus person
who has become burdensome
in their self-loathing
is no more a plant for my ***
to spare a drop
i should want not
and waste none
Saint Audrey Feb 2020
I wish I had your eyes. I really do. I wish I could see all the colors that you seem too. The vibrancy that I've been missing for so many years...

He looked up. Same walls. Always the same. Gray paint, chipping away. Water damaged brickwork. He glanced upward. Same energy efficient lights adorning the same stained and faded ceiling tiles.

One thirty am.

I wish I had your mouth, I really do. Wish I could string words together like you can. I wish I could find the rhythm that your heart beats too.

He looked up at the furniture placed carelessly around the room. It's sparse. The room feels almost empty. A bed tucked away in the corner, half hidden in shadow. The sheets are wrinkled. He hasn't bothered washing them in a while. He's been sleeping on the couch. The cushions are getting threadbare. They were already worse for wear, over a year ago. He remembered what it felt like to drag it inside. How he almost pulled a tendon trying to get it through the door.

I wish I could fly away from here, like you did. Cut all my ties, burn all my bridges. I wish I could embrace the unpredictability like you have.

He looked up at the walls.

I wish I could clean all the filth off my hands. You always did have such impeccable hands.

He looked up at the walls. Same cracks, same cracks. Looked over at the can of paint. It'd been there since he'd put it there. He'd left it there the week before he'd moved in. He'd been meaning to touch up a few spots.

I wish I could rid my mind of these festering insects. I wish, I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Always with the buzzing static filling up the endless quiet, never quite masking it. Always with the static, ringing in his ears. It was always quiet, so very quiet.

I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

It's so quiet. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't think straight. He looked up at the walls. Sixteen strings, dangling down, one fragile spine impaled in a back that it won't fit.

I wish I could see through your eyes, hear through your ears.

It's so quiet, he'd never hear a thing again. Sixteen candles blown out in the breeze. One untouched ice cube left in a glass on the coffee table, so mundane, so unconcerned with the sun soaking in through the window.

I wish I could be as hauntingly beautiful as a raven perched on a telephone pole in mid November.  

He looked up at the walls. His hopelessly outnumbered little diatribe barely holding its own against the cascade of static, swelling, thriving in the void left behind by the silence. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.

If only I could enter your mind. Swim through your deprived notions, your sensations of pleasure you derive from nothing good at all. Things we all keep hidden.

He looked up at the printer. It's sitting on an orange crate in the corner opposite the bed. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

If I could wish at all, I'd wish for this eventuality. It's harrowing, you know. Wishing for things. Knowing that all hope has so carelessly been squandered on things you couldn't care less about.

He'd left a soda can sitting on his desk. He picked it up. It's still a little sticky.

I wish I could be as free as can be. I want to be free. I want to be as free as a bird. Not a sacrifice, please.
Bhill Feb 2020
Walking through the memories of mindlessness
Attempting to see what has been and not what will be
This is the understanding and awareness of historical events
Is this experience worthy of our amazement and discovery

Of course
We have to see what has been to prepare for what is yet to come...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 32
Izzy Nov 2019
Babbling brook                                                               Babbling brook
Babbling brook             Alice slays the jabberwocky           Babbling brook
Babbling brook                                                                Babbling brook


solitude is the only logical conclusion.                              what am I?


Babbling brook                                                               Babbling brook
Babbling brook                                                               Babbling brook
Babbling brook                 Faciens ars est errata                 Babbling brook
Lady Ravenhill Oct 2019
Search to fill the void
Mindless streams from tiny screens
So empty it hurts
@LadyRavenhill 2019
Haiku #115
Kayla Gallant Sep 2019
Lie across
Train tracks
Without fear
Call it insanity
Yet you stand
Willingly
Hand on chest
Pledging your life
To the men
Who dictate you
mindless sheep
Van Xuan Sep 2019
Twisting and turning all night
Staring at the phone
Scrolling up and down aimlessly
While thinking what went wrong
About leaving me behind
In this abandoned world of yours
Bhill Sep 2019
My mind is drifting in and out of reality
It's happening so fast that I feel a sort of mortality
Is it wrong to enjoy the drifting
Is it wrong to expect the mortality to last
Is it wrong to want to share my drifted mind with others

Who would want to know that minds can break out
Should I be afraid
Should I prevail in the mindless chatter of mortality

It's distracting....

Brian Hill - # 233
Does your mind go for walks?
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