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No tears in her eyes now
Just a deadly, cold stare
That aims to ****,
A little smile forming
On the corner of her mouth
For she knew
She was strong enough to
Get back up on her feet
As she crawled out of Hell
For the millionth time..
She knew she wasn’t gonna let
Something like that
Easily take her out
Even when it felt like
She was going to bleed
To death..
Her last breath
Was hanging onto her lips
Yet she found the strength
To keep on going
To keep on moving
Than let herself burn
Over and over again..
For the price she had to pay
Of the poor choices she made..
Only to rise from the ashes
Followed by her shadows..
And who would’ve thought
That this time around
Her own demons
Would be the ones
Saving her life..
I was there twice. Two times I'd walked in thinking it’s home.
Second-guessing it both times as I stood in the hall.
These abandoned places that taught to abandon hope
handed me more ropes than there are in our old depot.

It is all a cycle – the shoulder you once leaned on
won’t be there this time, leaving you on your own,
either pointlessly leaning onto something resembling its sort
or forcing you into becoming your own support.

/it is all a cycle – the illness, the ambulance call,
as a body lies lifeless a back turns cold,
and a voice keeps saying it is his own fault
for not living and growing enough to grow old/

I was there twice, both times I got on my knees and prayed
to Our Lord, to be at the right time, in the right place.
In the inanimate bodies along my new way
I recognised all the mes that were once left strays.

But as God washed his hands in warm milk with honey
I moved in on a mountain of myselfs dying.
From a darker time in my life
i was raised again
back from dead,
unlike a phoenix,
i was a corpse
rotting in grave.

it was to investigate
how it was in heaven, actually...in hell.
"hot", "dark", "is it heinous a lot" ?
was it ''the kingdom of rot'' ?

i sighed at their face,
told 'em it felt like my place;
and not to do it again.

however, as you know;
'history repeats itself'.
so they stabbed me again,
in my chest.

then raised me back from dead
to interrogate me,
yet again.

so the cycle of torture still descends
all in vain...
dunno how i wrote it honestly...
Evie Feb 9
In the heart of a tempest, where shadows collide,  
A storm brews with secrets, where dark feelings hide.  
The sky shatters open, with a roar so profound,  
Each clap of the thunder, a truth that resounds.  

Beneath the turmoil, a whisper takes flight,  
Of love lost to echoes, swallowed by night.  
Like lightning that dances, ephemeral, bright,  
It pierces the silence, revealing the plight.  

In the stillness that lingers, I bear all the weight,  
Memories crash like waves, a fierce, unkind fate.  
Your laughter, a melody, now echoes with pain,  
I chase fleeting shadows, but they fall like the rain.  

The moments we cherished, now ghosts in the mist,  
A tapestry woven, yet frayed at the wrist.  
The colors of joy fade, replaced by the gray,  
As thunder rolls louder, drowning love’s sway.  

But in the eye of the storm, a flicker ignites,  
A promise of dawn, as the darkness takes flight.  
Hope whispers softly, through the crack of the sky,  
Each bolt of the lightning, a reason to try.  

Though tears may cascade, like rivers unbound,  
In the chaos of longing, new strength can be found.  
For every heart shattered, like glass in the rain,  
Can rise from the ashes, and learn how to gain.  

Desire swells boldly, a fire in the night,  
A wild, untamed passion, that sets hearts alight.  
In the chaos of feelings, we learn to embrace,  
The beauty of longing, the thrill of the chase.  

Each heartbeat a thunderclap, a drum in the dark,  
A symphony raging, igniting the spark.  
We dance through the tempest, with fervor and grace,  
As lightning strikes twice, in love’s tender embrace.  

Yet pain weaves its thread, through the fabric of time,  
A haunting reminder, like a lost nursery rhyme.  
The ghosts of the choices we yearn to forget,  
Haunt the corners of dreams, a familiar regret.  

The thunder reminds me of nights filled with tears,  
Each flash of remembrance, a mirror of fears.  
But what if the storm could wash clean the slate?  
What if lightning brings forth a new kind of fate?  

As the tempest subsides, and the clouds drift away,  
A soft, gentle breeze brings a promise of day.  
The sky wears a blush, painted gold by the sun,  
And the battles of heartache, at last, feel like fun.  

For storms teach us lessons, that sunshine can't hold,  
In the chaos, we gather our stories retold.  
With every dark moment, the thunderous call,  
We learn how to rise, how to stand proud and tall.  

Now, in the aftermath, with each drop of rain,  
I find solace in knowing, that joy follows pain.  
With arms open wide, I embrace what’s to come,  
In the thunder and lightning, my heart has found home.  

So let the storms gather, let the tempests arise,  
For love is a power that never truly dies.  
In the dance of the thunder, and the flash of the light,  
I’ll embrace every hue, in this whirlwind of night.  

For through all the heartache, the laughter, the tears,  
I find in the storm, the beauty of years.  
In thunder and lightning, I hear love’s sweet refrain,  
A symphony of feelings, like sunshine after rain.  

So here’s to the storms, and the thunderous might,  
To the lightning that strikes, illuminating the night.  
For every tempest that rages, every heart that it stings,  
Is a chance for rebirth, and the hope that it brings.  

In the whirlwind of feelings, where heartache may reign,  
I’ll dance through the chaos, through joy and through pain.  
For the thunder and lightning, they sing of my soul,  
A testament of love, that forever makes me whole.
Mica Wood Feb 7
The fairy is dying—with sadness in her wake.
A pixie transforms to a human before it’s too late.
Time is of the essence, so I must press on.
And the old me will soon be gone.

A chapter has ended in my book of life—
A chapter which produced so much strife.
They played with my heart like it was a toy.
Maybe the next will bring more joy.

A worm to a butterfly—call it rebirth.
I’ll bury my roots back in the earth.
One day I’ll grow strong like a majestic oak
And a new me I’ll soon evoke.

I’m changing quickly, and moving forward
Cutting out all that was untoward
Open my shell, soon you’ll find a pearl
But no more will I be your manic pixie dream girl.
From my book, Petrified Wood.
Syafie R Jan 21
Interfering waves distort the mind,
shattered dreams freeze in their wake—
a chasm deep, sleep’s quiet grave,
where reality bends and breaks.

The ego quivers at the brink,
between the void and waking’s weight,
a struggle fierce, a war with fate—
archetypes stir, reborn to think.
Don’t overthink it folks. Just read and let your mind wander like it’s on vacation. No deep thinking required unless you’re feeling fancy.
Syafie R Jan 21
I broke the leash—
felt it snap between my teeth,
the metal biting deep into my skin,
but its absence leaves a weight
heavy on my heart,
as though I’ve lost a limb.
Still, I carry it.
Every step feels like I’m betraying
the creature I was meant to be,
but I move anyway.

Your collar is gone,
but its echo tightens my chest,
a phantom pressure,
reminding me that I was born
to seek your approval,
to obey your every call.
I run,
but every breath tastes of you,
your presence clinging to me
like smoke I can’t escape.

Your voice gnaws at my spine,
low and sharp,
its growl imprinted in my bones.
I feel you in every shadow,
in every gust of wind,
like a leash invisible but real.
I push forward,
but the past scratches at my heels,
its claws deep in my skin.

Still, I run—
not without cost,
but I claw forward,
defying every instinct bred into me.
Your shadow pulls at my heart,
but I do not stop.
The path is not easy,
but every step is a battle
I am learning to win.

And though you haunt me—
your name, your scent,
the chains of my past—
I know this:
I have broken free.
No collar, no leash,
no chains will hold me again.
I am no longer your dog.
I’m sorry if this is too long to read, but I feel deeply touched and truly appreciate all the support I’ve received in this community. It’s made me feel like I’m something in this world (even if just a small piece) recognized and valued. I feel blessed to write another part, one that I hope people can read and feel with me. Maybe it can even help others who are trying to break free, just like I did.
A Berlin building. Sunbeams of steel
made to shine in suns of future’s gold,
now dreary, dimmed and forced to kneel
to the timeless gods of growing old.

Its shining future could not last.
Sinking in a golden fade, a forgotten grail.
Of sunbeam ore, new futures are cast,
bright dreams unbound by fear’s black veil.

From the forge of steely sunbeams
comes a new grail of sunlit dreams
and the tireless gods’ tired reign
is overthrown for another day.
Inspired by the futuristic International Congress Center in Berlin, built in the late 1970s, but now mostly unused and decaying.
William Allen Dec 2024
The rubble cries, mourning the loss of human touch. Weeping over the crushing silence that echoes through the once busied cobble-****** streets. These neglected edifices, with their iron-rusted bones, litter the long-vacant valley. The inhabitants of the forgotten valley stopped bearing children and began falling ill, heralding the arrival of their great collector.

On their own horizons, the people could see the visage of their guilt, cloaked in tattered rags that seemed to disintegrate against the most subtle breeze and sitting atop an emaciated mount with pallid skin. That rider, who strolled ever so slowly, dragging behind him wrapped in chains the ill-begotten promises of fools, the indiscretions of humanity came with ample warning. They ignored him; their self-loving monuments fell, and the crystalline waters of their gilded fountains flowed with arsenic. All too late did they recognize the shameful consequence of their hubris.

And so, when that cold Gray Rider arrived, gaunt and hollow-eyed, to collect his caravan of souls, the buildings howled like mothers sending the last of their children into the cold, unforgiving world. Thus, the sorrowed rubble weeps until it is reclaimed by the borrowed Earth, slowly returning to the soil from which it was born, allowing the verdant valley to take shape once again.
Lizzie Bevis Dec 2024
From a spark, I am reborn,
My golden wings spread like a new dawn,
And fire courses through my veins,
As I become the righteous flames.

Soaring through the ancient skies,
Sacred flares trail as I fly,
Gliding through clouds above,
Glowing with the burning sun.

Years pass as I slowly grow old
And my feathers lose their amber glow.
My strength and fight begin to fade,
My soul is tired and unafraid.

When it is time for my final breath,
with all my strength I face my death.
In my element, the sparks ignite
The end has come to my long life.

Flames consume my flesh and bone,
As I embrace the fire that I become
As burning smoke rises higher,
And I succumb to my funerary pyre.

The fire fizzles and dissipates,
As the embers cool and accumulate,
And through the ashes sparks a flame,
The Phoenix reborn, rises again.

©️Lizzie Bevis
I wrote this poem about the cyclical life, death, and rebirth of the Phoenix - a mythological bird that regenerates from its own ashes.
Enjoy :)
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