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Max Sep 8
As the worlds gets smaller these days,
The distance grows.

As life is being made easier,
Why do the feelings get harder?

Why is it that when we look at each other,
That the the eyes are not the thing we look at?

What is progression if regression is it's consequence?
Thinking in a negative or realistic way, I can't tell the difference.
the razor edge
of living sharp and free
is when the roses lose their petals,
the thorns are all i can see
lately, the anxiety keeps settling in my teeth,
setting them on edge:
an unwelcome guest spitting scornful jest
to cause my brain to second guess
every thought i thought wasn't a mess,
exposing my mind -- a train wreck

i scruff my tongue against them
in the hopes of forcing the enamel clean
but this apprehension's made of harder stuff
that even molars couldn't crush;
the muscles of my jaw clench
their unhappiness, an endless throb
of raw numbness, itching to be expelled
through sound or sick or movement

excuses to flee, suddenly,
enunciated by the bitter desperation
to expel what words fail to express;
there's no sudden obligation,
no needs to address. i'm just trying
hard to outrun the foam of fruitless frets
fizzing into overflow, stomach acid upset
i need to escape this monotonous cycle and do something new to let my mind reset
Dani Jan 10
Creeping crawling
Waiting stalking...
You sit there in wait
As if a planned date

Of which, I do not know
Why are you staring little crow?
You sit and watch beating hearts
'Til the harvest starts

I almost tune out the evil laugh
That you bellow from deep within your wrath
And almost forget where you reside
That is, within me, deep inside

Your jar of souls collected slowly
You take your time being unholy
You go into hibernation away from the watchful cavists
You do not mind though, for winters calm brings great Spring harvests

You feast and feast devouring bit by bit
You take piece by piece encouraging me to submit
Fighting the pain,
Fighting in vein...

Tearing me down, nonstop
As if I your crop
Little crow caws in joyous evil song
Release me from your grasp, I beg all night long

You come and go
And reap what I sow
Taking my strength and will to fight
Chomping down into flesh throughout the night

Released once more, you hide away again
I almost forget, but you have written it in permanent pen
You wrote "Never forget, sweet child, I am you keeper.
Sincerely,
The Soul Reaper."
Cavist: A hawk which is of proper age and training to be carried on the hand; a hawk in its first year.
A symbol of strength and protection for me.
Poetic T Jan 5
I was a gift upon the heart of
                                   soiled regression.
Never one to look a gift in the mouth of fallen
                                                                promises.

For the decaying leaves
                                     left before me,
                    were not for lost causes.

                            But fertiliser of new reflections.
bakunawa Jun 2018
she kissed her knees
waiting for the wind
to take her slowly away.
             yet the hands of time
             were far too patient
         making her stay.
               she was in pain
    and way too
           lonely
        and yet
she never wanted company
                 just the storm
                       and she
      doesn't deserve it:
                   neither the rainfall
                   nor this draught.
                         she kissed her knees
                                 and whispered
            out of new words to pray
                            "please."
                she barely even muttered
                                  "just take me today."
                       hands pressed tight together
     and lips trembling shut
                   kissing her
            wet and salted knees
       with her back against the wall
                facing a hard place
           a dead end
                    to a thousand feet freefall
     and rock bottom...
                to dust.
                       she kissed her knees
          with closed eyes
                   and an open wrist...
      waiting for her tears
      to slowly drown her----
              with one more
                   shattered bottle
           beside her
                      and one less
                            plea to say.
                 "just take me away."
      she kissed her knees
           and she hugged her legs.
                 all soaked in her own waste
  and her own faults
              she nods her head
      totally out of lies to
         chant herself asleep
                     until she gnawed herself
               downwards
                         six feet deep.
                              she never became a
         failed adult
                   because life blew up
            in her face so suddenly
                            all she is
                                           is a shattered child
                     waiting for life
                             to spew her out.
                                          she kissed her knees...
whoop a little disturbing? sorry...
umm challenge by Sylph----- a little off the topic but still lol
Paul Butters Jun 2018
If you will indulge me, a Story for you:

"Ending"

I’m safely tucked up in bed now. So frail. When I think how fat I used to be. But I’m very, very old. Might even die tonight, in my sleep. Can hear the wind howling outside.
It’s not such a bad place this. The carers look after me well. If I’m lucky they will wheel me into the garden again tomorrow. Hope that wind dies down and the sun shines. Where am I? Can’t recall the name. This Dim Enta thing. So tired now. So tired…
“And wake!”
What? Where am I? On my back! Ceiling. Face! Doctor Sanders!”
“It’s over, Krol, welcome back.”
I remember. Doctor Sanders. I’ve been hypnotised, regressed to a former life. Lived that whole life! And now I’m awake!
Me: “Did I just die there?”
Dr. Sanders: “Yes Krol, in your sleep. Or at least the person you were died in his sleep… But did you get the full life experience this time?”
Me: “Just about, Bob. I can remember back to being about three. My parents, our little dog, a baby sister. Playing with a wooden train or something that you could ride in. But it seems I died in my sleep…”
Bob: “How far back in time was this?”
Me: “I was born mid-twentieth century, not long after the Second World War…”
Bob: “Fascinating. Better get you into Debriefing, before you forget it all.”
Me: “Yeah. It sure was a long life. Lots of history for you. I can’t get over that that was me!”
Bob: “You’ll soon adjust, Krol.”
Me: “That Death thing was scary, Bob. I was afraid of ‘dying’, as they called it, for most of my life. Thank goodness we found a cure.”
Bob: “Yes Krol, things were really rough back then. But come on, let’s get that report of yours done…”

Paul Butters

© PB 13\6\2018.
A story for a change. Looking to the future...
nicoarty Feb 2018
Just one

Just one
But I refuse,
Just one, come on
If it helps you can’t lose,
Just one I say
Needing a release,
Just one I do;
One works a treat.

Just one I say,
One when I’m low,
Just one when I don’t know where I should go,

One when I’m crying
One when you frown
One when I know I’m not wanted around,
One for each argument
One for each ‘I need time’
One for each part of me I now wish weren’t mine.
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