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Robin Lemmen Apr 9
On days like this, I just feel heavy. Does the earth walk on me or do I wonder her grounds?
On days like this, I don't know if my anxiety is real or I use it to dismiss myself. Maybe deep down I am just sad, lost and different shades of black and sunken soil.
On days like this, everything weighs heavy and the sky presses down on me. Whispers in my ear; this is all you deserve.
I know the heavens cry for me.  Hoping to wash me away but I am defiant. So I decide to stay.
On days like this, I think my anxious mind bleeds together with a broken heart. They form something new and dangerous altogether. Leaving me in shambles on the floor.
On days like this, there is no use in trying. It surely won't matter. I am just a mistake. I wallow and swallow. Maybe tomorrow I can befriend my wondering thoughts instead of letting them break me apart.
Genevieveish Jul 2018
Kissing, you
Pressing, you
Every day, I come home to something right and true
A life, + you
Wes Rosenberger Jul 2016
Please forget schoolwork,
for there are heartier things,
such as your forehead craving these
good night lips.
You thoroughly speak of
entwining our limbs,
while I'll dream of seeing
my sleeping beauty,
and a kiss.
Although rhyme does not showcase wit,
I'm still the man that tonight,
you will miss.
Moonlight peers over a crest of visions,
or balances right on the cusp.
With daylight matters so pressing,
I'll press just enough.
Upon the small of your back,
your resonant blessing,
to awaken your dreams
with my morning touch.
Now go to sleep with the help
from countess sheep up above,
and by my word, we'll catch up.
In the early morrow, my love.
Stand by your oath and release what they're supposed to see
Because I don't like living in a dark, twisted , fantasy
We're not here to end the peace
So let's go back and let our evil decease
Press the button
Tommy Carroll May 2015
Touch:
and upon touching,
let a wanton look
dress your skin,
pressing its wants-
as in a gentle grip-
shaping my tongue,
to press tales
of soft request,
and taste the very giving
response of that same skin,
adorned and to touch
its naked candour.
Ophelia Jun 2014
All your promises,
Each whispered "I love you",
Every smile, every kiss,
They've pressed my heart to a page.
Your careless words
Have lovingly tucked me away
Between the pages of your life
A mere prologue for you.
Once beautiful and alive,
Now all that is left of me
Is a withered smile,
Like an old flower,
Pressed to a page.

— The End —