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How does a poem sound
When there's no rhyme around?
How do words fit
If the end does not transmit?

Rhyme, time, chime, dime.

You could write with a rhyme every line
This could change how it sounds
But still make it all align
This is now a poem that is still confound

Write, change, light, range

You could continue this pattern
And it will always sound good
But what if you don't rhyme?
How does this poem sound

Different, good, bad, odd

A poem does not need these rhymes
All it needs is feel
Something that is special
And is powerful anyways.
Ellie Quinn Nov 29
you are talking to him.
why?
do you tell me lies?
you say he is hated.
by you, by many.
yet,
you are talking to him.
laughing with him.
smiling at him.
are you a liar?
or are you simply a coward?
She literally despises him, or thats what she told me, has told me, for years. but she has never told him this. i dont know if she truly likes him or if shes too much of a coward to say anything.
Brynn S Nov 25
As the time drags on you can absorb all that surrounds you in a time much different than all others.
You look at the clock and it may choose to go forwards or even backwards, strange.
It is absolute madness I know; but it is also something to make you think. If time is straight forward then why can we feel it bend so easily?
The rules are twisted and manipulated, something as concrete as time is then changed.
It drags on though, like that last drop of syrup from the glass bottle. So sweet and decadent you must indulge in it before it is gone; time that is.
Nyltiac D Nov 19
I bleed, but I seek to suffocate the bleeding, never call for help. My blood is poison.
Some random text a received from a stranger.
They never replied back.
You
Who
                               Are
  You
           To
                                     Judge
                  Others
For

     What
                       You
                                      Are

              NOT
<Insert Poem Here>

<Insert Silent Sympathies Here>

<Insert Spiraling Tenancies Here>
   (Wait...No. Not that.)
<Delete Line>

<Insert Self Doubt Here>

<Insert Friends Here>
   [File Not Found]
::Comment:: What about me?

<Insert Apology Here>

<Insert Regret Here>

<Insert Pain Here>

<Insert Poem Here>


<RvL>
I raise the bone up to my two juicy lips
and I purse.
Here comes the carcinogen, the miasmic smoke,
the old ghost.

But, my
love,
it's not like it
was.

My love,
it's
not like it was.

I pick into the basalt black, like a boss.
I exhale,
mining verses from my vernacular
like
poisonous
metal.

But, my
love,
it's not like it
was.

It's nothing like it was,
and I'm perfectly fine.



In a manner of speaking.
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