Euphie 1d
He was a mysterious young fellow.
Quiet and Serene.
But in bed, he is a ***
that can't be contained.
Everyday I tell her
Not to remember your dimples.
Everyday I tell her
Not to find those crinkles,
Your eyes created
While the smile wrapped itself,
Intimately around your lips
And the first nail of my coffin was hit!

Your heart is stuck in someone else,
And mine I have left in your closet.
After all the time that has passed
I am still staring,
At the empty mug to hold just a drop,
A drop to satisfy this craving
Or maybe just to forget this thirst.
Thirst,quenched not even by the elixir,
Elixir that saved the life
But could not fill the emptiness in it
Could not give it a meaning to be lived.

All I need is  a bit of you,
But sigh! I can have that never.
Yet I love you
Just the way you love her
Someone said it right-
One sided love holds an alien kind of peace,
Peace in the pleasure offered by pain,
Pain that I, so passionately chase.
Meg B 6d
I stare blankly at the
bathroom wall
where the tiled portion
meets the faded blue paint
as it soaks in...
I liked it

The years of unrequited love,
the chase for affection,
the tortured artist
twisted up in twisted tortured
feelings

I spent year writing
dark poems,
letting the liquid manifest as a physical representation
of the tears shed
and bleeding heart.
Did I like it?

My existence was
wandering streets alone,
getting lost in melancholy songs,
wondering if love equated pain.

Then I found
what I told my notebook
I'd been searching for all along.
Someone loves me,
someone gives me love,
and I spent so much time searching for it,
enjoying the hunt and
getting gratification out
of my own self-deprecation
that I'm lost even though I'm found.

Do I like it?
Did I like that?
Do I like this?

I can't seem to decipher
affection and how it's supposed to
make me feel
versus how it does.
Did I like looking for it more than having it?

Am I so ****** up that
I love not receiving love more than receiving it?

I don't want to run; I want to stay;
I always used to run
to
     and away.
My city was a ******
Who took broken people in
She took in the helpless
And lifted them from their sin
My city was a lover
She made dreams and plans come true
Never minding the cost
Her rivers ran with blue

Then my city sold her treasure
For a pale and gross estate
She lost it all for pleasure
Never mind what it would make.
Now her streets are filled with blood
And her clothes are all but gone
The beauty that once defined her
Was just sold for mindless fun.
My eyes see the blood and pleasure
That have made her mind go blind
What has she become?
Everyday more sins she finds
her hands are filled with blood
Of the innocent and kind
She once had a solid treasure
That she sold for spoons and forks
Welcome to the land of pleasure
Welcome to my home, New York.
Euphie 7d
The way you trace your fingers
over my lips, I can't help
but get excited.

I guess that's why
you end up with tiny scratches
between your shoulder blades.
I sit at the kitchen table
as i sip my morning coffee.
The silence screams so loud,
it makes my ears blead.
The unresolved feelings i carry in my bones
play string quartet.
I wrap my arms around me
trying to hold together all my looming shadows.
I want to prevent chaos
yet, it is the only peace of beauty left in me.
I fill my lungs with pleasure
and shout into the hazy den of oblivion.
Jarene Jan 9
***
i thought
***
was supposed to be
beautifully passionate
the exploration
of two souls
but what is
***
when it is selfishly
lustful
when all you see
is a hot
body
a temporary
object
and nothing more
nothing below the surface

i
dont
like
***

i want to be more
than just a body
to you
more then just an
object
you are trying to
conquer

****
my mind
****
my mental being
not only my physical

i am more
than just a
body
here for your pleasure
i am a
soul
here to explore our pleasures
Scarlett Jan 7
broken glass on my salted tongue
spit or swallow you pressured
one scars my heart the other my lungs
self-massacre to keep you pleasured
and now my wounded throat has no intention to scream
Aditya Roy Jan 4
When done with the grammar
I gotta write about us
When you have done with
Your weirdness and relations
You can stay with me
The presence is the broken
My skull
Hurts

I'm done with my skull
Write poems
And Write songs
I used to think about you I guess
I sent out later

Breaking up with you
Seamlessly easier
Left me on the door
For the later than Tomorrow

Live till you love Today
Tomorrow is when you die
#poetry #creativity
Screwpine’s thorns hurt,
Flowers’ musky scent entice;
Bloodletting pleasure!
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