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neth jones Jul 25
a curious pallor
      in the tallow beneath my skin
strained of nutrients
    drained of nerve signals
a cold dough of bruise yellow
   expanding in blottings
   spending
   into a skimmed milk white

weened hollow in my desperate fasting
put myself into a 'gallow gasp'
heartbeat ? Quite undetectable
feigning death to evade a debt
but 'Shh !...'
              (i'm just in a pale hibernation)
60 words
bossanova Nov 2021
so pale is your skin
so cold is your body
where has the warmth go?
and your merry little smile
answer me, oh dear
don't you just lay still!
a hug was all i gave
so tightly around your neck
bossanova Nov 2021
so pale is your skin
so cold is your body
where has the warmth go?
and your merry little smile
answer me, oh dear
don't you just lay still!
you sleep so serenely
that a breath was barely heard...
Raven Feels Jul 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, to be rich is to notice the fair from the unfair:)

get well soon only
when hope not a lie lonely
hospital cell
unavailable played dead and fell
nothing in sequence
all hung on the adequacy
paper said
from future penholder skies unread
the green one too
to the land a stranger soon

what you earn is what you keep
don't count just drown in oblivious sleep
wallets light
rage blinds visible sights
the poor scream
the rich gleam
like an invisible ink flood
evaporation in the air a silenced blood
chocolate missed the ecstasy
everything shut down to reality

bones shrunk
never unnoticed to the think thunk
now things are pale
even the best bread is stale
how I remain
all calm in shameful disdain???
needs become old
whether blazing summer or winter ******* cold
and in my broken chair I be
the pathetic dreamy version of old me


                                                                                       ------ravenfeels
Man Apr 2021
i am on a disk
and the pale, blue dot
is paler than ever before
above me
is more blue
a simulated sky
and a basin we've come to call
our shores

uncoupled
untethered and undeterred

there's a tree in my yard
whose roots reach
the barriers of our world
they long to touch
that void
that would see the waves
we tide
frozen still
Cardboard-Jones Mar 2021
She’s the last of the fairy tales.
The mobs came with pitchforks and torches.
The ashes of the golden era stains her skin.
Her magic dwindled, wounded by the sins of man.
She seeks not revenge, nor justice.
She seeks punishment.
I have been the guardian of her heart;
A heart she feels she no longer needs.
There will be a day where it beats again.
Not this day.
On this day she waits in the dark,
Waiting for the day her memory is forgotten;
The day her tragedy becomes a myth.
On that day, reckoning will come
To remind them their cruelty is unequalled
By the spirit of a fallen star.
On that day, I will be her harbinger.
On that day, I will resurrect the memory
They wished would stay buried in the depths.
On that day, the hearts of man will cry for mercy,
Only to fall upon deaf ears...
Because I made a promise.
Cross my heart, she’ll never die.
Look your devil in her eyes.
Payton Feb 2021
I lay here before you,
              u n d o n e.
And it is my greatest fear.
        And it is my greatest desire.
Oh, my darling, set my
soul
      on fire.
How I have waited for this moment, how I have yearned to be so close to you.
For you to be so close to me,
for you to see
       me
in nothing
but the      pale light of the
moon.
This poem was written in 2016.
Nylee Dec 2020
Maybe I have it
It is showing its sign
Maybe it is all
inside my mind
dreaming, sleeping
all I think about

I should wrap it all up
this month's seventeenth
it will be the umpteenth
time I'd think about
should I prepare
or let it happen
the natural way.

Should I mend fences
should I grow tulips
should I throw olive branches
Or let this pass.

it is going cold
my hands are turning pale,
my eyes are burning up
the vision disappearing
I am seeing white washed walls
the chemical smell
It is happening, I am turning
It has seeped in.
Cardboard-Jones Nov 2020
The sky transitions from yellow to orange,
From orange to red, and red to dusk.
Her snowy hair and diamond skin
Render its final sparkle before the sun sleeps.
Fallen royalty, she is.
I met her at the crossroads
On a path leading somewhere, and to nowhere.
We shared the moment of anguish.
“Your majesty,” I say
But her gentle yet worn hands cover my words.
“Shh,” her eyes tell me.
No interest in words of the past,
No desire to venture towards the future, no.
Instead we stand in silence
Allowing the burden of hope to settle in.
The sadness behind her beauty is daunting.
She has known love before,
But never felt the warmth of being in it.
Her tears are figurative, for I know the look.
My hand searches for hers and
We watch the darkness swallow the sun.

“I’ll be dead by morning, oh the night is young.
I’ll be dead by morning, my final song is sung.”
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