Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
fray narte Oct 2019
i wish knowing you're not worth the words is enough to make me stop writing about you.

but apparently, it's not.
isabel Apr 2019
a thought crossed my mind
one quiet night
and out of the blue;
that the moon,
it resembled a lot like you.



the moon was beautiful last night,
the brightest celestial body
that lit up the entire night sky.
outshining even the brightest of stars.



to the boy who hung up on the moon,
the one who i am moonstruck of,
whose smile resembles its moonbeams,
will i see you tonight in my dreams?
late night thoughts.
Chloe M Teng Dec 2016
She's the girl with the matte lipstick,
Deep, bold red that flows in her veins
She throws them fierce on her fragile lips
Warning every man she's more than a kiss.

She's the girl with the matte lipstick
A deeper red than the roses she was given,
One look at the mirror and she's all set
To rule out the world with her head set high.

And she will be stronger than you and I,
For her soul is clinquant with
glittery gold
Of fading scars and past mistakes
That she will one day conquer all on her own.
May Asher Sep 2016
I have shrunk to a thousand creases.
My dents have moulded
into sand and I'm built of nothing.
I might be brittle cascades
or a hollow dead star.
I might be a scattered ocean.
You would never know what I am.
The comets of my empty skies
emit radiation louder
than a thousand deaths.
Since a million years
I'm buried in vacuum.
My nerves are stapled
with rusted nails.
I've drowned into ocean floor,
I've been swallowed
by molten rocks.
This magma floating
within my veins,
is only your faded face
singeing me from inside.
You destructed me
and I've fallen.
I've fallen beyond grasp.
I've fallen empty,
into vacant depths of a screaming abyss.
May Asher Sep 2016
This life is all greed,
hatred, anguish, joy,
betrayal, hope, hurt,
loss, deaths, failures,
luxury, pain, happiness,
melancholy, helplessness,
habits, hobbies
and a curse called love.
It's called love
because they named it wrong.
We're cocooned in paper thin walls,
tearing through
and ripping them apart
and stitching them again
when they see our dark sides.
We're sunburned
and blue-veined,
and the recrudescence
of these scars spills
nothing but blood —
frozen blood
breaking into incandescent shards.
And we're bleeding,
we're bleeding with tears
and we're bleeding with screams
and we're a destruction
destroying others
and destroying ourselves.
We're a wave of hate
swallowing those
with a difference.
Gray haired people
tell us we're too young
to know the world,
but they won't ever see
the rivers like we do.
They tell us
the sky is colored blue
but our wild imaginations wonder
if sky could be pink and green,
and it is.
Where we shattered,
the pieces are still lying there.
Someone else picks them up
and solves the puzzle we are.
Some breathe
with broken hearts
and some walk
without leaving footsteps.
We are so different,
all of us,
looking back again and again
and again
and hoping again,
and we wonder all the time,
what I would be like to exist
in a different place.
Somewhere far away
from this present
spreading darkness
until we're blind —
so blind that we forget
what light feels like.
In the end though we'll
know we're fallen.
We're fallen faiths
and fallen dreams.
We've fallen into a phoenix called life.
We're different.
Maybe it's time we accept.

— The End —