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This world conforms to me.
Landscapes bursting with hues,
You can almost smell the colors.
Benevolent to my wounds.
Distorted shapes and figures
Blending with one another.
My solace,
My sanctum,
My peace.

My worries,
My pain,
My memories,
None are welcome.
An escape from all that wishes to harm me.
One stroke of my finger
And all my imagination appears.

I hear familiar voices from the outside.
“Come back,” they shout,
“Come back to reality
And face what troubles you.”

“No,” I whisper,
“I think I’ll stay.”
Seanathon Sep 2019
You strengthen me
Stretch me tall in fond pursuit
And call my waking trees to move with subtle hints

Familiar as the folding sound
Between quiet rustling parchment leaves
Becoming new our newest sounds as an inkwell drawn

Like a sunlit jewel your dulcet glow
Is stumbling down a penciled path of painted memory
Colored by every season anew with the hues of you

Don’t cry when I am no more seen, my felicity
It was always and with you in mind
That you made me want to try
Painted Words Between Distant Mailboxes is built around a song, a sketch, a classic story. Separated by time and space no more. These lovers turn now, to face a new fate, having not been left alone in an empty word. "Through the long and lonely night." We persevere until the dawning bright. Shines back at us with joy.

B Lee Aug 2018
The purple roses hide under the shadows.
Promises of blossom in the Morning and betrayal at night.
The lustful scent draws us closer to its pure taste.
They cry out to the heavens stretching to a blaze in the sky that a being named his sun.

Day is deceived by night through its light everyday and the flower stays and watches.
Thousands of black and yellow creatures steal pollen from his family and the flower stays and watches.
Trees, plants and brothers support begins to fail, skin blackening with their colour stained petals becoming colourless...and all the flower does is just watch.

Your love is like a rose, attracting with your divine beauty,
But you trap me in palm like a Venus flytrap.
I’m crying out for help but my voice is drowned in the sorrow of the deep soil your devious roots grow, forever rotting anything that attempts to grow near it.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Four halves
No wholes
One father
No dad
Two wrong moves
Three plus two
Five broken lives
painting pictures
of grief on
different canvases.
Add up where I went wrong
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
Look to painted skies
Sweet tastes from the coloured stars
The cold cloaks eternal
What a **** day...
112 followers?! T-T
I can't stop tearing up, thank you!
Be back soon!
Lyn ***

(I'll read all the messages (public and private) tommorow! My mind's a throbbing mess! Thank y'all so much for the support! Truly! ^-^)

she crawled
through me
like the
on unwashed sand
like powder fresh fingerprints
she lays down on my breath
wrapping her intentions
her love like leg vice
spread out on me
all over me
she spread
her scent
what time
she crawled

catch me
fall on
Aleeza Nov 2017
it’s 2:15 am and I don’t really know where to go
you are asleep on the other end of the line
it’s been a while since what we said felt like it mattered
because now we are all about the hollow spaces

I can hear the cars passing by outside
and I keep thinking of how we used to be in cars going to each other
but now even if you aren’t that far from home
I know that it will be a long time before I can reach you again

fissures on the surface of my soul
are you afraid that you will break me?
rope burns and bleeding hands
are you afraid that I will let go?

sometimes I think of the very first time you smiled at me
there was no way that you could have known
of the rains that I could bring into your days
of the imminent destruction I could bring

and yet you held me like all of the hope in the world was within me
you loved me as if everything would really be okay
but it’s 2:30 now and I know that you’re not going to stay
and how can I blame you when all along we have been in ruins?
but for now I want to drown in yesterday
thinking of how we painted colors into our own sky
remembering what it felt to have the stars to ourselves
knowing that the hours with you were never hours I lost

my thoughts will scratch my mind raw, this I know
you were a boy of the flower fields and the moonlight and of late-night words
and all I am is a girl who is haunted by her own musings
your light does not need my shadow
vivid blushes of cerise
painted the morn's waking dawn
they served as a portent
to the coming rains
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