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Desyrae Nov 2018
can't i just love
the one
i'm supposed to?
EmperorOfMine Sep 2018
I bite my tongue when I'm afraid.
It's not easy for those who stay.
It's colder this coming Winter.
I can already feel shivers.
I see my soul staring at me.
I wonder what it just might see.
And all of this causes me grief.
A little one,
So Cold,

This time of year, a bane of sweets...
Caught by surprise, nowhere to flee.
I've lost it now,
A lock, No key.
A darkened path,
No light to see...
EmperorOfMine May 2018
Dear bully,

Why bully me?

Is it because I'm not the brightest?
Is it because I'm not the most bubbly?
Is it because I'm not unbelievably loving?
Or maybe...
Is it because I exist and that alone?

My dear sweet bully,

Do you like it when you hurt me?

Does it quench your thirst when I struggle to hold back my tears?
Are you satisfied when you become one of my many fears?
Do you keep an eye open for the knife that may end your night?
Or maybe...
You just like it when I'm vulnerable and broken because you feel better about your cracks.

Finally, my undying bully,

What would it take for you to stop bullying me?

Do you want my bloodlust craving blade to open your throat?
Or maybe just a kiss to end your petty attention to me...ew
Maybe you don't want anything but to be better, because you envy me...
Or maybe...
I disturb you because I remind you of who you can never be...

So let me ask you one final time...
Daddy, why must you bully me?
Dara Slick Nov 2017
I love cold air,
because it feels like its cleaning my skin.
I love the smell of coffee,
because it comforts my nose and mind at the same time.
I love the months from September through December,
because family comes together to love and to be loved.
I love flying at night,
because air port bars are so lonely and poetic.
I love eating after a long day,
because everything tastes better after you waited for it.
I love the season of fall,
because it is so colorful and crisp.

I love this person,
because if I killed someone he would be there to help me bury them.
got real dark there at the end.
Whatever happened to chasing after your dreams?
All we are now are the butterflies, released
Because "if you love them, let them go"
Well, ***** ancient proverbs
I don't expect anything to come back
If it's been abandoned, you see

Looks like its going downhill from here
Yet I still gaze up to the heavens
Instead of the hell before me
I guess that's the torture of
Not knowing where you're going
When you're an optimist like me
On very rare occasions, I don't want to think about work, and hardship, in the future. But I always feel bad afterwards.
m i a Dec 2015
there's a thief on the loose

stealing young girl's hearts
   here and there

and sometimes out of no where
  he'll shatter their hearts as if they
    were nothing.

as if they were nothing
  as if they were nothing
     as if they were nothing

there's a thief on the loose

stealing young girl's hearts
  brace yourselves
    oh, brace yourselves.
ew, what is this. xD
Astrid Ember Jun 2015
Life is a big ball of yarn.
Each passing second being
braided into the past,
the present being set in
stone and the future
keeps changing.

I feel my body turning into
dust. Instead of just
floating in the life I've
been given, the yarn
pulls strands of my hair,
pulls dead skin off my
pillow. It pulls my tears
and drops of blood away.
It moves bits and pieces
of me into history.
I feel myself decaying.

They no longer know
who I am. I feel
like saying, "People change
when they know they're

The world becomes black
and white and clouds
are shadows. Lights become
the sun and the sun
is just another
rotting planet.
    The world is decaying.
    Trees all dead, leaning with
    leaves made of dead skin.
    All the yellow dandelions
    higher than the stoner downstairs.
    The white weeds don't have
    seeds. Just acid leaking
    out of them and the
    smoke we breath out reeks
    of lost hope and dead

Do not ask me why
I reply so slowly.
It's because honestly
nobody speaks loudly
enough for me to hear
over the screaming
of people drowning in my
stomach acid.

    I can see his shadow
even in the dark.
The demon not with
horns or fangs.
No tail, his reflection
shows and pictures can
be taken.
    Just another twisted
    thought inside my mind.

I feel his arsenic breath
get closer with each passing
    He will not leave me
alone until he can tie my
phalanges together. Have
a crown of my broken
bones to show that he is
the king of my skeleton.

    I feel him inside my
skin crawling, faster than
my slowing heart beat. He
survives in my battery
acid blood. He thrives
off my scorched insides.
You see hell is his home.
He's at peace with death.
    His mind is twisted more
than my body when
    he ****** me.

He demanded a queen but
when he got a servant
he took advantage of my
calloused hands and bruised
    You see this man
    was no king.
    Just a black market
      who didn't know how
      to keep his hands off
      of the merchandise.

   He never had any customers
   but broken girls.
   So when I was whole
   he was intrigued.
     I was a box
     he took everything out.
     Broke me down,
     laughed as the trashman
     took me to next town.
Wrote this one during a flashback too. It's kind of jumbled.
Astrid Ember Jun 2015
I've said before
that you don't know
But I'm pretty
sure that I don't
know myself either.
I've changed so much in
the past week that
my skin has become
He destroyed my insides
and put holes on my
outsides. I've extended
the damage he did by
dwelling on it.
His face engraved in
my brain
and his name tattooed
under my tongue
like a ***** secret
you have to bite on.

I remember his voice,
and the record gets stuck.
The world around me
disappears and I can
see him holding me down
trying so hard to get into
my pants.
He told me I shouldn't
be scared.
My hands were above
my head and I couldn't
wipe away the tears.

He let me go and I ran
trying to go home.
He held me, told me
it was okay and
to stay.

He grew like mold inside
I want to say it's my
fault I let the infection
grow this big.
I saw all the signs but
I never tried to get
rid of it.
I was mercury and he
was room temperature.
I melted in his seemingly
normal presence.

When people spoke
I never listened.
I thought I deserved
to rot in my own ****.

I got worse with my
victim mind set.
I let him soak into
my skin not caring if
it made my insides rot.

He still lives under my
skin. Like tapeworms he
makes my stomach crawl.

I saw him as a knight
but little did I know he
got his armour from party city.
He dressed up for me
at first.
Then he started wearing a different
He got controlling.
I broke his curtain
tumbling through a window
and he hit me.

Flashbacks like car lights
in front of my eyes.
I stand in it reveling
at the thought that I
can handle a car hitting me.

My mind is so intertwined
with his body
I feel his hands
gripping my wrists.

Like wives were buried.
with their husbands
and never mentioned.
I am still under his
thumb and my ashes
will be spread over
his grave to symbolize
how he engulfed me.
Trigger warning. I'm sorry. I wrote this during one of my flashbacks.
Rhianna Thorn Jan 2015
im a mess,
lying on my bathroom floor,
its cold
and its wet
but that fact i feel that at all
makes me stay where i am
the cold reminds me
of an hour before
but even then
i still couldn't get that off my mind
even if i were in my bed wrapped warm and whole
i would never forget
her hands in yours
pulling you down a winding path
in the other direction of the what i
thought was our home
your eyes shone with glee
raking her up and down
in that short red dress
despite the cold whipping wind
snapping at my cheeks
that were freshly streaked
with all the promises you made
all the soft touches you gave
all the long nights we shared
in what i thought was our bed
in what i thought was our home
in what i thought was true love
in our love
but i was wrong
and now
like the time before i met you
im a mess once more
its long i know but hopefully youll like it :)
Michael Amery Nov 2014
I don't know how to love you
Yet love beats within my heart.

I cannot stay with you
Yet I cannot leave

Why do you not ask me to
Speaks volumes that you do not want to hear.

As E.E. Cummings said
'Yours are the poems I do not write'

Only because I have already spoken every word which begged to be said.
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