I drank her dry.
But hadn't I'd known that
Would be my last.
I would have savored her
In my mouth.
Alas, I had forgotten how she tastes
And that is my eternal doom

A lost soul looking to be revived again by her lover .

You are my brightest sunny day
You are my beautiful blue skies
You are my reason to stay
You are my reason to be alive

You are my one and only
You are my God-given sign
You are my love most wholly
You are my, You are my, You are mine..

Crystal Freda Jan 13

Inside of me,
your heart is
tangled
with mine.
Inside of me,
our love is
always
divine.
Inside of me,
is full of
fluttering
butterflies.
Inside of me,
you shine like
pearly
skies.
Inside of mine,
our love will
never
subside.
Inside of me,
you will never
leave
my
side.

I was a sunshine, But
He was just too blind,
Too dumb; too late to find,
Where my heart already binds
With his life line

forces
took over me
listeners listening
listening to many
many listeners
listening
could
you
swallow
his shallow
?













...
..
.

1
my parents
used hold and rock me
to help me fall asleep
2
3
they say the first poem you
read you will spend your whole
life trying to perfect it.
They read me
“Oh the places you’ll go.”
4
5
the characters in books,
their lives are perfect
they’re perfect
I want perfect.
6
despite what the kids
say, I am not great.
I’ll show you.
7
roses are red
violets are blue
is it really okay to cry
when no one talks to you?
8
9
10
backstreet boys
puberty
poems about the ones
I've never met
11
12
He was perfect.
I couldn’t have been
more wrong.
13
read me beautiful poetry
kiss me under the stars.
I got pushed
down the stairs.
14
I want to look
like the lines
in my poems.
a perfect size,
stunning and
captivating
15
I don’t speak.
Only my poetry knows
I haven’t eaten in days.
16
A man touched me.
I cry myself to sleep.
17
The scars
on my wrists and hips,
I created them
and I’ve
created insidious
poems depicting
my demise
18
I dreamt about death.
razors to the veins,
bullets to the head,
so much I tried myself.
Sweet sleeping pills.
19
I woke up.
20
From the depths.
I am writing to
lift myself up.
21
I was wrong.
death is not beautiful
and neither is the destruction of
your body and soul.
22
there are shifts in
the poems.
there is happiness.
23
this is the reason
why we write.
24
this is my story.
my beautiful life.

Nayana Nair Jan 9

There are trails of stardust
that are possibly tears,
frozen in the cold space.
Frozen despite the sun
and thousand other burning stars.
And I am not sure
if they are yours or mine.

This ring with it's little green gem
Holds the place for another
My left finger; saved until the perfect time
When I am yours, and you are mine

my little peridot ring, saving the place for another someday

from
you
poses
glance me
overboard
poem me
in
an
bottle
without your breath
im finding it hard to breathe
hold me before the silence
you don't have
to
touch me
find me
help me
here
from
me
take this
from me steal me
?













...
..
.

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