Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Joanna 5d
The quiet consumes like a hidden river of peace.

There's a strength and a purity
that gives release.

The sunsets and my spirit rises, knowing it's time
to stop asking why.

Daybreak arrives, and there is an array of colors,
as this journey becomes

an adventure like none other.
To read more of my writings go to:
B D Caissie Sep 25
When fishing, sometimes it's not what you catch, but what one releases while there that makes the trip worthwhile...
Flower C Sep 18
Charming lucent glow,
Burnt my skin as I take hold,
Solace when let go.
it may seem hurtful, but letting go sometimes helps, no matter how big of a deal it was for you.
Jeff Lewis Sep 13
My ex showed-up again today.
Although, she’s not been here for years.
I wish she’d go away.

I feel, once more, that stabbing bite;
That poison dagger in my back
that twists at thoughts of her.

Those certain songs I hear at night,
or in some random woman’s hair
re-lives when love went bad.

But painful memories will fade;
at least that’s what I’ve heard them say.
Time heals the broken heart.

I wonder when that starts.
Let go of hurtful memories (do as I say, not as I do.)
Lately I haven't been communicating well. I'm stuck in a abyss with no one but me. It seeps down the edge of my field of vision. Engulfing me so the light can't illuminate me. I am left alone with claws and only my skin to rend. Left alone with my fangs and only my flesh to mutilate. Left alone with sharp things and dull connotation. My toxic thought process has flayed away all of the normal. All I see is what must be ripped asunder. All I feel is the joy of another's pain. All I am is what I have hidden. Step inside to see just how bad I can hurt you.
Zane Smith Sep 6
an outlet
for thoughts feelings
for when you can't think straight,
for when sentences can't form.
an outlet
for flowers to bloom
for tears to fall
for lungs to breathe.
an outlet
for voices unheard
for fingers to type
for brains to process,
for hearts to heal
Hollow Steve Sep 5
depise m3.
Always clinging onto
It wasn't my fault.
The stresses stresses on
And nothing like it
Could ever begone.
It tears me.
You ever rip apart
The flesh of metaphoric
Ofcourse not.
It belongs subjective.
Parallel and defiant.  
It belongs to no one.
This continues onward.
It discontinues.
Next page