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Marla May 24
I live for pleasure
And it bores me.
Out of measure,
I live deplorably.
In all frankness,
I always tell lies.
Reality is a mess
I lately despise.
Why not let go?
Why fritter away?
Because I may never grow
Lest I see the end of the day.
Art might be beautiful as long as it's true.
I might hope I'm Sylvia Plath.
But at the end of the day I'm just an emotional wreck hoping my neurosis sounds like poems.
Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you!
Ritz Writes Apr 12
Stoical heart yet the urge to cry
Unable to shead a tear,
'Cause the biggest fear to open up and try
Made me to drown myself in my own state of anxiety.
Did the broken soul find a hug?
Not a single person cared to bug.
I am not what has happened to me
Bounded by fate or dejection
Choices and rejection
Part and parcel of life.
I am what I chose to be.
I'll break and I'll fall
I'll rise and fly
Till I find my wings soared high.
" What happens when people open their hearts?  They get better.. " ~ Haruki Murakami ♥
Igorgoldkind Oct 2017
None of us gets paroled

From the prison cells we lock ourselves into.


So that we all can fit together inside

These jigsaw lives that we lead
.

Which  of course, eventually all blow apart.
We are merely the fragments waiting to be reassembled.

Every moment of thought is but a small drop in time.

Each piece fits the next piece.


Although we may try to avoid,

The murmurs of our own thoughts. 


It is our hearts that yawn and awaken slowly

From their long winter night’s sleep.

You and I are mere mortals, 

Who dreamt of a life without end.


We are the ones who make up immortality. 

For the sake of seeking sweet comforts and sad joys.


This is the story we tell ourselves
Whilst slumping back to our cells.
Emma Hill Jan 2017
Telltale signs of paranoia ***** at the hackles that run from head
(to heart)
down the spine
        drown the mind
Psychotic neurotic autistic artistic
Imagination whirls like wind through the pines and
The hair along my spine
        Is standing
Emma Hill Sep 2016
Slither within my spine
Wither, within my mind

Doctor Jekyll, Mr. Hyde
One coin, two sides
Isabella Terry Jul 2016
Hello there!
It’s me, your prize-winning, intellectual, “gifted” brain!
I’m here to tell you that everything you’re doing is wrong.
Remember that conversation that you thought went well?
You’re wrong. Think again.

Oh, and also, all of your friends secretly hate you.
You annoy them all.
In fact, the apparitions probably lurking around the corner hate you too.
And they have weapons.

Also, you should probably just give up on life.
I mean, you’re a terrible person.
Honestly, I can’t tell you a single good thing about yourself.
How do you ignore the fact that everyone hates you?

One more thing.
Are you suuuuuure your God is real?
Because I’m not.
And… even if he is, you kind of **** as a believer and as a person anyways, so you’re kind of *******.

Well, nice chatting with you!
Go on. Have a good day!
And don’t forget what I told you…
//sigh//
it's auto Jul 2015
i miss the dogfight
of our teeth squaring off
in a shiny mirror.

you could call our canines
moon kernels or portents,
but the sentiment

is sharper. the poem
tautology to a bracelet
of crescent dents.

self-portrait: light
shadow, shadow, light.
a plane reflecting

other planes, an edge
biting an edge, biting
an edge, bitten.

the bracelet tautology
to a skyline sans sky,
one wedge of evening

held in your periphery.
i press my fingers
into a warm glass throat.
K Balachandran Nov 2014
"Department of space' a signboard shouts aloud
to my perplexity of that moment, it adds
before mind's eye I see the great enigma personified
and try to reason,"Oh! fathomless vastitude, mostly dark
what need you've this quaint building, that before you
would be a frightened Indian bride at her first night?"
Yes, the puny little "department" is not all space, it implies,
has a purpose limited than how it sounds: grandiose!
one doesn't even has any inkling,
what all these means, but a scribe, I have  a thing
with all these seeming inanities, that's the funny part.

Marveling it's esoteric architecture and mulling over
the concept of bringing the limitless to the minuscule,
just enough for a department of government to deal with,
I wait for bus, a personification of impatience, curse the circumstances,
fear reaching late for my appointment, with an eminent scientist.

Fuming against the haphazard, public transport system in this town,
while appreciating the red brick architecture, acts contrary
and make me a bundle of nerves.
Then she 'happens', that's the word
wasn't I looking for an escape from it all?
Freeze, i did, she, to be precise,  her figure was
nothing less than  a show stopper,one should admit.

Her dress, gladly left nothing to guess, and those dark eyes
from the other end of the bus stop eagerly sought me
as if I am assigned officially to pay all her pending bills!

From all round swarms of humming birds, eager admiring eyes
were chasing her, the moment  was an explosion of chrysanthemums ,
for me,  she and I , two spirited dancers on a stage,
(a scene fashioned in my mind, unfolded there ,it seemed)

Am i not to honor commitment as a responsible journalist?
an appointment was fixed with the nuclear physicist,  
with great difficulty it was done, on the way my car conked,
at the nick of the moment, i am here eagerness and anxiety
combined , fighting many demons at once, give me a break..

Yet here i am, finding time to fall in love, like yet another accident,
how fickle is my mind, I'd make any one submit
in an argument, but this red, ripened lips,are alluring
infest my thoughts, those dark eyes plead for love of course,
makes me feel like running to her, true love  may appear even here.

at that moments of dilemma I was another Buridan's ***
wants to do both but can't do one even;
and precisely then  my cell phone rings,
on the other end the nuclear scientist sounds apologetic,
my heart started to pound in my ears, does she want to cancel
the appointment for the day, postponed to another day?
I didn't listen her words, those eyes were scorching me alive.
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