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Van Xuan Oct 9
Who should I choose
A woman who made my world
Or a woman who colors my world?

My heart is torn
Between my past and present
Between who I am today
And who I will be in the future

What shall I do
To stay in love with the girl in the past
Or to love the woman in front of me

Tell me... What should I do?
Torn between two lovers
Iz Oct 9
Is it really survivors guilt if
I haven’t survived yet
Amy 6d
life is ambiguous
which is conspicuous
contiguous fellows
believe they know
each other well
they forget that
life is ambiguous
just like people's lives
                                                        ­                      everyone has a side
                                                                ­              that no one knows about.
when you thought you knew someone very well only for them to prove you wrong.
voodoo Oct 8
I'm here once more, but then again when was I not?

as if my eyes have ever shifted from my reflection. I'm sick of it.

I don't know how long I've been here; this dimly lit trap gives away no time.

all else melts around me, pools into ripples of my distorted reality.

I sit and I watch my face. I long for the familiarity of yesteryears that I cannot trace.

my skin yawns open, wills to consume itself - porous, velutinous, and brittle.

this is who I am, this is what I see:

tyrian purple flesh decomposing, falling inside my bones that split and splinter;

my mind climbing out of my head, fugitive from the skull's prison;

breaths, ribbons of grotesque, not deep enough to last and not shallow enough to be numbered.

everything without is human (decaying though it is), and everything within is dissimulation.

this molten, fragmented un-being doesn't escape my sight. these eyes have cried out for respite -

and yet they exist, the odd and sole constant in the mirror before them -

wistful for oblivion and feasting on fear. what's gone has kept me alive for longer than it appears.

this body doesn't even feel real. my fingertips burn at every touch.

what more shrapnel does this heart desire until it plays out its final beat?
What did she have that I’m missing? What did you have then vs. now that changes things? It’s hard to feel like it’s not me. I’m sorry. I’m sure I’m adding to your stress and I’m sure I’m not helping but I just want you to see what this seems like to me, especially considering my history— nobody has ever been sure of me, really.
I get that it’s not me, now. thanks for explaining.
Surges of fear
Overtaking what we hear.
Where does the madness end?
Shadows of the day freed at last.

Voices of chaos
Shouting and crying
Where can we be free?
Feeling trapped again tonight.
The last part I’m not sure about but suggestions would be appreciated! :)
Amy Oct 7
A pain throbbing in my head
oh! When will it end?
A scene on repeat in my head
oh! when will this misery end?
Every excruciating detail
round and round
in my head
oh, when will it end?
when you can't forget.
Scarlett Oct 6
the city moves too fast
but the suburbs move insufferably slow
perfectly traced with sun, sand and sorrow
but the sight of the stars always makes me dream
then i grew up
i found him and the suburbs seemed to move fast too
no amount of time was enough
somehow the silence seemed to connect us
in a way that words never could
when did we get lost?
in the abyss with no shores and no harbors
just deep green eyes
it was just the two of us
what were we looking at?
the future? the past?
that was the day we swam in the sky
this is made up of various movie quotes and i think some song quotes
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 1/10/2019

Oh, how I miss the cornflowers and poppies,
lowlands, sands and dwarf pines,
rye bread and country girls
with the simplest of simple tastes.

I dream of such upbringing to later be able
to respect others without rejecting anyone,
and to always let them pull their cart of good fortune and misery,
being able to see not only our own right.

I'd like to believe that a neighbor always wishes you well,
that there's no between between the fields,
in order not to stain life with lies,
and that it is possible to never yell at anyone.

I miss the forest leaning in the wind,
the marigolds - children of wet meadows,
and those hard men who'd always stand up and fight
even without the chance of winning.

I miss shutters with a heart in the middle,
But most of all - white clouds.

Wieslaw Musialowski 12/4/2018
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
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