Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Pétra Hexter Feb 2018
He tasted like cigarettes and baser intentions
The spiced hint of whiskey on his thunderstorm tongue
The kind of rebellion that young girls lie for
With soft, swollen lips, and nowhere to run

City of rust punctured by stone
Where the rain only stops for the snow
Painting with a palette of opiates and pocket change
She'll christen the night with a smoke
Lynck May 2
Use to be afraid to die. First time I learned about death I could only cry. Sobbing in the back seat of my parents car. Asking them why why?! My mind never went so far. To think my existence could just stop. Like it was just a 9 to 5 job. On the way out, not even a visit to life's giftshop. I learned the hard way to not be afraid. Still I really wish you stayed. My best friend, my soulmate. He thought me to see life trough a different set of eyes. Lifes filled with dark lows and bright highs. Everyone dies. So rather then waiting for your demise. Enjoy life while you can! Don't worry to much about your lifespan. Just enjoy the bumpy ride. Do not get stuck on ,did I get everything right? You can die in peace knowing you really tried.
JJ Inda Mar 30
Ticking clock
drives me mad,
can't let go
what I never had.
I'm just passing through,
not planting seeds
or laying down roots,
I'm temporary, like the morning dew.
evelina Mar 29
Früher dachte ich immer der schmerzhafteste Teil des Todes wären all die Fragen,
die für das restliche Leben unbeantwortet sind.
Aber dann wusste ich, es waren nicht die Fragen,
es war die kalte Leere, die in einem übrig bleibt.
Das Herz, das sich zusammen mit ihr bewegt,
in der Seele Dunkelheit, Finsternis, Dunkelheit,
als ob wir in unserem Herzen durch unsere Tränen ertrinken würden.
Ertrinken in dem Meer der Ungewissheit,
denn niemand versteht den Tod,
aber vielleicht gibt es auch nichts zum Verstehen.
Ein ständig bewegender Schmerz,
der schwächer wird, aber nie aufhört
und der dich irgendwann auch zur Vergangenheit macht, du wirst, was weg ist.
Ist es Freiheit oder Einsamkeit?
Es bleibt den meisten unbemerkbar und das tötet uns langsam.
Da sind Friedhöfe - Gräber voller Knochen, die keinen Ton machen, vereinsamt.
Verstorbene, die eine Identität auf unserer Bühne spielten
und sich Sorgen über ihre Leistung machten,
doch der Tod trat trotzdem auf, auch ohne Applaus.
Aber wie fühlt sich der Tod an?
Ich stelle mir Frieden vor, aber nicht der, der Abenteuer will.
Ich stelle mir Stille vor, aber nicht die, die sich Geräusche sucht.
Ich stelle mir Nichts vor, aber nicht das Nichts, dass sich nach Alles sehnt.
Ich stelle mir vor, und dann wieder auch nicht.
Do not conflate mortality and morality.
You can die a sinner,
Or you can die a saint,
But we all die just the same.
Thinking about the notion that being "good" can save people. Feeling like it's better to strive to be moral for the sake of being moral and not because there's some promise at the end of the line. Death comes for us all eventually.
Reality we dare not face.
Nothing awaits us at our end.
For what then gives meaning to the great chase?

Why do we stumble along the bend?
For what goal to we keep apace?
If for after all there is nothing at our end?

How then can we die with grace?
Knowing that our souls will not transcend.
How can we win the race?

Why should we care what god may intend?
For we know there will be no heavenly place.
Why should we try never to offend?

Then again, why must we win the race?
Why can we not accept our end?
Jonas Feb 15
rats fleeing through sewers
screeching in vain
blood dripping from cut after cut
paper thin pain

the swelling sobbing thunder
louder than ever
ringing the bells
from the highest tower torn asunder

tears crashing
lighting strikes again and again
a mother's inaudible cry
for her baby boy
time gone by
dead in pointless struggle

for that too is part of life
never forget my friend
happiness is a privilege
I'll leave you with that
- the end -
Time is an ancient
Servant Yahweh appointed
To uphold his abiding
Cycles planted within
Our planet and all who
Inhale his gift
Called life.
Seconds, minutes, hours, days.
All of these times come, and then go away.
For some men live but a second, few a hundred years; but rest assured all return to the dust, then fade. So spends your time wisely, if just a hasty second or patience year.
Next page