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The truth is
I don't want to ever stop thinking about you
But I have to
Or else I won't fall asleep at night
Or if I do
I'll dream only of your eyes
I don't want to think of you like that

And at some point
One of us has to look away
The world won't stop spinning
For our less than platonic moments
We need to move on
You surely seem to have no trouble
But I can't tear my gaze away
From your retreating form

Those glimpses I catch
Of you sitting in class
Might as well be poison
Injected straight into my veins
The softness of your hair
The outline of your face
Is a drunk tattoo in the front of my brain
One I can't erase

You're my heroine
Take or leave the "e"
And I might be a willing addict
But I'll go to rehab eventually
I'll force your face to fade
Covered up with inky flowers
Scattering my legs

I'll leave your eyes
Turquoise and green
You can watch me from the bushes
Peeking out from between the leaves
Like a fairytale character
I bet I'll wonder who you were
And what you meant to me
Title stolen from Justin Courtney Pierre. If this is secretly another cover I don't know about... Educate me, Captain.
B D Caissie Sep 10
colours fading
needles fraying
times decaying
Cone of silence...

Anne J May 2
A roaring fire
A cold snap
Colder pins and needles
Winter plummets
Icy flow
Soooo I had an art project where we had to do blackout poetry a few months back and I uploaded the rejected poem on here but not the finale one until now. Enjoy.
Andrew Jun 2017
I fell in love with you
More accurately
I fell in love with the feelings you transferred into me
But those mutinous emotions betrayed me
The moment you did
The withdrawal from your love was too intense
I desperately needed something to replace those feelings

I always said I could run from anything
as long as it didn't involve running
But after walking with you for so long
It's hard to change my pace
The path too tough to face
Your memories fueled the chase
Until I found my escape

The kneading needles turned me fetal
Shocked my veins like eels
Fetuses aren't the most ambulatory
The race became a marathon story
Your effervescent ghost pursued me
Breaking the sound barrier to reach me
I floated vacantly in the stew of your noise
The needles touched me
The way you wouldn't
The needles bled me
The way you would

Then the race ended as abruptly as it started
Only to begin another race
...But things were different this time

Slugs waved as they passed a sprinter
Tormented by a lane filled with needles
The hostile crowd watched with pity
As a once great athlete
Was forced to acknowledge his janitorial duties
The fickle mob cheered with triumph
Upon his valiant return
He was quicker than ever before
And the masses exalted him
He ran faster than everybody
And waited for nobody
Anxious they might reveal his secret
That his speed was derived from his feather weight
After the needles hollowed out his insides
Silver Raven May 2018
Pins and needles, swallowed whole,
By the liars, that have told,
Chaos, blackmail, secrets too,
Full of pity all for you.
Pins and needles, thrown in their eyes,
To cleanse the darkness, from inside,
The core of every, single soul,
That is painted with blackened coal.
Pins that *****, needles sew,
Pins and needles through lies they flow,
Causing pain, regret, and fear
All to those that do not care.

Red eyes that pleas for aid.
Don’t bat your eye,
For soon they will no longer be here.
mitus Mar 2018
For however many petals I've picked,
For however many spells I've wicked,
For however many clocks I've ticked,
For however many needles I've pricked,
I still think about you.
I still think about you but not in the same sense.
DaSH the Hopeful Nov 2017
Depression has become an insulin injection
       A necessary evil

             Only required because I have been underneath it's moon so long

       Any other tide pull would surely drown me in confusion
madameber Aug 2017
you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
now everybody’s doing it.

that’s not to say
i haven’t seen how
your eyes roam over
your body like you’d been
stitched together with all
the wrong fabrics
i don’t think
i’ve ever seen you
look as dissatisfied as
when you look
at yourself.

you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just like
an std, everybody’s had it
at some point.

it’s just that some people
were smart enough to
use protection or are abstinent
and they’re the ones
who sleep easy at night
while you’ve always got an itch
to scratch it was never clear
how they toed the line
between their self love
and hate better
than others and you
were their other,
caught them staring
and couldn’t tell the line
between love and hate

(thought you saw it
split the ground open
wanted to dip your toes
into the nothing between
you were scared
you’d fall in).

but you won’t tell
me what it’s like
when you look at yourself,
and your reflection
is rag-doll ragged
the perfect pincushion
and you pinpoint
all the split seams
moth holes your
smile is just a
loose thread you stop
to unravel

and you won’t say
what it’s like
when your reflection is
all pins and points
and you’re not sure
if the rag-doll face
underneath is still
there, at one point
she smiles
like only girls with pins
in their lips can,
her lips unravel

(you don’t smile).

you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
there’s no way you’d
be caught dead
doing it.

i’ve seen the red-capped pins
you keep with your make-up.

they look so much
like my own.

are you still there?
i can't see you beneath
all those pins.
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