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Poetic T Aug 2017
I stepped off the bus
   never the same one.
always a different point of view

Every time I walked of
                   the step..
Wandering
              glancing,
looking at the afterimage
of the people wandering on.

Cracked pavements breaking the backs
of others sleeping rough. every step
a story and every movement,
each a motion in the wrong direction.

I always gave a moment to them
sad starts or static endings....
purgatory of morality kept in-between.
Muyi Jul 2017
Sometimes I'm happy
Sometimes I'm sad
Sometimes I'm angry
Sometimes I'm glad
At times I'm up
At times  I'm down
Sometimes I smile
But mostly...I frown
Wubbalubbadubdub
Help me I am in great pain
Derby Jun 2017
[Part 1]

So far behind
Though it seems I lead the pack
My heart does beat
My lungs, they breathe right back

I am alive.

Sometimes it is as if
Death has arrived at my door
Progress has come to a halt
My dreams deprived of anything more

Am I alive?

I am become a stagnant pond
Where wind will howl not,
nor warmth bid his welcome---
The cold, it chills the marrow of my bones

Am I dead?

From my purgatorial porch, I perch to view the news,
My peers about me move along with time
Whilst I float in drollery, prentending to flow the same---
Apparently convincingly so

I cannot be dead.

Mind and muscle try, but do not succeed
There is no regress,
But they dig a deep ditch,
Down in which I have made my mess---

I am stuck.

[Part 2]

Each success is one step ahead
Each failure, three lessons to learn
Overcoming mistakes should put them to bed
And the next two steps are two steps earned

I can get out!

Eyes see forward, not behind
Let the brain leave the bad in the back of its mind
So then it may focus on what it has gained
The next few steps are the few that remain

I am alive!

[Part 3]**

So far behind
Though it seems I've led the pack
I need not worry
To accept the gruesome facts

I will make it!

I am not standing water
Nor am I stuck between life and death
I am alive, *******,
Hear me take a breath!

I just have to snap out of it and get back to walking.
Ron Richards Mar 2017
i walked to the valley of death,
Praying and hoping these demons don't see me,
As i seen a lonely old woman weeping in her own grave,
i asked her "Why?",
she replied " My Son has disowned me as a mother",
i replied with  calm voice " Why is that?",
" Because i try to poison him once" She sobbed furiously,
" Why do you do that" I responded with hatred in my voice,
" Because i don't want my valued Possession to him!" she shouted,
her voice  echoed towards the dark hall,
I was beaten by fear as i stared down to the ground walking slowly.

my second encounter is an old man covered in black  mold,
" Help me" pleaded the old man,
i closed my eyes just how terrifying it was,
then i asked him why is he covered in mold,
" I try to seize body and throw them into a pit" ,
Oh my god i pray to them everyday,
Please reconcile these souls and let them to the right path,
i woke up the next day sweating,
and i was crying i reflect  what my sins on the past,
the hatred i gave to my father for a reason,
i seriously start to reconsider after that.
man a disturbing dream i had the other day and it just  the most mind boggling experience.
Michelle Garcia Sep 2016
I am running out of pretty words
to let them know that
my darkness
is not fictional.
It is hidden instead
under crimson lipstick dripping down
blood red sins on the white lace dress
I wore on my First Communion.
My mother does not understand
how my mind, of sixteen years,
has run out of purity—
casualties of fading light
and trembling hands that have forgotten
the dimpled smile on God’s glorious face
the day I was born.
I too, have forgotten that day,
instead dreaming of mornings spent
on my bedroom floor heaven
of rapidly-inflating lungs
and eyes that have seen the reflection of affliction
far too many times to be considered holy.
For I am the sacrificial lamb
slaughtered to the mumbled hypocrisy of praise,
blinded by the guilt
of every mortal sin collecting like bodies in silence;
the sound of shattered souls buried by seraphims.

How much grace can one mortal swallow?

I beg you.
Have mercy on me.
Caroline Lee Aug 2016
8am solo endless drives in
Purgatory
Will you remember me?
Will you still say say my say my name
Or have I disappeared into all these varying shades of 8am
Have I become the way I looked at him?
Will I fade here? Or will I reignite only to show you up
Turn up and burn up I know you never wanted me
Just wanted the person you imagined me to be
Now all I see is the white lines of this highway
Purgatory
Will you remember me?
Will this be
Forever?
8am fade out good so slow
I'm nobody's baby so nobody needs to know
My glass bloodwork and hazy brain
I know you don't see me the same
Purgatory.
Written in the parking lot of my community college
Also frank ocean's new album is perfect.
nn May 2016
i met your ghost at the waiting area
outside the emergency room
you were sitting on the laps of
weeping mothers and the ghosts of
their children were sitting on yours

they said your touch would feel like bitter snow,
but delicate,
like the drizzle of glass shards
they said your kiss would feel like a collision,
like the reason so many of the casualties around me ended up in
the emergency room in the first place
they said you would make me feel like painting red roses white,
like stitching stars into the shape of your eyes

but your ghost stayed in the waiting area when they wheeled me to the yard
and so i'll never know if
ghosts can see humans too.
///////MEMORY//////
cole May 2016
sometimes i can hear myself think
each thought rustling from one
corner to another in this bottomless
pit of my mind; they enter each
chamber stealthier than venom
slithering through your veins;
sometimes i can even hear a
whisper of an idea spark from each
flame

now im a restless fiend who seeks
comfort in the darkest of allies, alleyways
comfier than any bed, nightmares
so real when i wake up it’s as if the
moment between sleep and awake
is prolonged for a century,

purgatory, the lapses of time our lips are not together
bliss, a faint of a second after you moan my name
tragedy, the blink of your eyes as you realize
i belong to no one and yet, everyone belongs
to me

cole 2015
I'm not even going to bother correcting this. It's really three different poem I tried sticking together.
Aubrey May 2016
Italy isn't Italy. It's only a metaphor. My mind has been stuck in purgatory for so long but when we both meet in Italy it means my mind is finally realized from the jail cell of my thinking.
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