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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! ^-^)
Lovely Apr 2018
She could just be dancing in the kitchen,
Wearing your t-shirt like a dress.
Treasure her like she cost a million,
As you whisper,”so beautiful,”under your breath.
She's dancing on your feet,
With our song on repeat.
She painted every role of us.
She's taking off her clothes,
In the bed you kept me warm.
Heard she's everything I never was.
She has the perfect lights in her eyes,
A hidden smile you can't deny.
There's no better lover.
She's a tale of greatness.
She's the endless youth.
She's everything I never could've been.
...
..
.



she crawled
through me
like the
footprints
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
covers
my
soul
forget
what time
mauled
she crawled
?



...
..
.
catch me
fall on
me
...
..
.
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
Daina Oct 2017
I watched the paint chip away and run off my skin in the streams of water.

It was the perfect metaphor for life.

The warning labels state it stains- it's permanent and use caution.
We still make little mistakes with it, whether it be on your clothes or skin. It could be that accidental streak of black in your pink sky which took you fifteen minutes to blend and perfect.
And then you finish painting, clean your pallets and brushes, put things away.

You step into the shower.

Some of the paint chips off and with one swipe of the hand it's all gone, like life in general, it goes quickly, even though while it lasted it was quite precious to you. All your hard work was shown and you hadn't washed it all off initially because you wanted people to see your proof that you worked ******* something you're proud of.
Some of it takes some deep scrubbing. Like paint, you can impact a person in ways that sink a little deeper than that first layer of skin. (A lot of times that can happen at a time you prefer it didn’t.)

I had painted a rose on my arm today.

It was not as permanent as I would have liked it to be. Had I not taken some photos, I would have forgotten and quite possibly never remembered this specific painted rose again. But just as I thought it was beautiful when I painted it, I thought it was beautiful fading. It didn't just vanish and become something forgotten.

It made space for new things, a new idea, a chance to be anything and everything. That little blank space on my wrist.
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