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Anne J May 2
A roaring fire
A cold snap
Colder pins and needles
Winter plummets
Icy flow
Soooo I had an art project where we had to do blackout poetry a few months back and I uploaded the rejected poem on here but not the finale one until now. Enjoy.
Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
Pins.
Needles.
Knives.
Shadows.
They know my name.
They seek my fame.
stop
My Temple plays unwitting host
To the horrid displays they love to *****.
I don’t think I can bear to know what’s wrong
With me.
Stop.
I don’t think I can bear to know what’s strong or weak.
Weak?
Weakness?
Weakness.
Frailty.
It all comes down to the end.
It spins,
It slides,
It taunts,
Stop!
Maybe if I spin again my own weaved web to comprehend,
Then maybe I can fix this flux that burns down my will to trust.
STOP!
Or maybe I can fly again or jump to the sun;
An Icarus end.
STOP!!
die.
I SAID STOP!!!
I’m broken this time, you can bet.
It’s what I get for casting light on my silhouette,
When I wasn’t ready yet.
I said stop
Silver Raven May 2018
Pins and needles, swallowed whole,
By the liars, that have told,
Chaos, blackmail, secrets too,
Full of pity all for you.
Pins and needles, thrown in their eyes,
To cleanse the darkness, from inside,
The core of every, single soul,
That is painted with blackened coal.
Pins that *****, needles sew,
Pins and needles through lies they flow,
Causing pain, regret, and fear
All to those that do not care.

Red eyes that pleas for aid.
Don’t bat your eye,
For soon they will no longer be here.
madameber Aug 2017
you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
now everybody’s doing it.

that’s not to say
i haven’t seen how
your eyes roam over
your body like you’d been
stitched together with all
the wrong fabrics
i don’t think
i’ve ever seen you
look as dissatisfied as
when you look
at yourself.

you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just like
an std, everybody’s had it
at some point.

it’s just that some people
were smart enough to
use protection or are abstinent
and they’re the ones
who sleep easy at night
while you’ve always got an itch
to scratch it was never clear
how they toed the line
between their self love
and hate better
than others and you
were their other,
caught them staring
and couldn’t tell the line
between love and hate

(thought you saw it
split the ground open
wanted to dip your toes
into the nothing between
you were scared
you’d fall in).

but you won’t tell
me what it’s like
when you look at yourself,
and your reflection
is rag-doll ragged
the perfect pincushion
and you pinpoint
all the split seams
moth holes your
smile is just a
loose thread you stop
to unravel

and you won’t say
what it’s like
when your reflection is
all pins and points
and you’re not sure
if the rag-doll face
underneath is still
there, at one point
she smiles
like only girls with pins
in their lips can,
her lips unravel

(you don’t smile).

you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
there’s no way you’d
be caught dead
doing it.

i’ve seen the red-capped pins
you keep with your make-up.

they look so much
like my own.



hey.
are you still there?
i can't see you beneath
all those pins.
Amanda Mar 2015
On some days, the sky is greyier as if it is shaded in by a 6B pencil.

Black as charcoal with a very shaky weak wrist.

Everything that passes through chapped & soured bitten-back lips tastes like weak tea.

(I think sugar cubes were all eaten.)

Oh, your head hurts, aches, like bad bruises from hitting the sharp edge of the table.
Cotton bandages and one light kiss above the left eyebrow helps.

And your chest is too tight, the kind of feeling from shoelaces knotted hard against your ankles.

*Use safety scissors.
Sometimes, you will not hear the things you wish to hear, but rather what you need to hear.
School stress is insane, but it's okay, it's nearly friday and easter break.
Hope you are all really really well!
x
Noandy Jan 2015
The drooping sun stood across the wooden bow,
showering it with drowsy thoughts for the wooden boy
In the abandoned graveyards where pavements were abolished
Plaid plague nourished the jingling broken eyes

The graveyards of dreams and graveyards of clocks
Will deliver the nails of sorority locks
To cradle the soft heat of the drenched sun
To bring on temptation of demolition’s sons

Let’s say that the pavements of hopes were of pain and vain
The vines were vanity and the roots were dignity
If agony keeps us close to our core,
then drench pins on my head to keep me human
Sydney Ann Jan 2015
It is not this onion I wish to *****
But your heart and mind I wish to stick
You'll think of me night and day
Until with words you arrive and say
"I love you"

— The End —