H

A copse of trees,
slender silver fingers
reach
from the earth,
filling the air
with silent screams.
The leaves they shed
lie at my feet.
They crunch beneath
my heavy heart
the way your
teeth
crunch against me
in my dreams.

The velvet sky
swaddles us in
indigo night.
I try to feel alive.
I can't remember why
the flowers do not grow...
I have no
idea where all the ravens
fly when they do not sing
for home.

This place looks dead,
as dead as you feel.
The memory
of you is all
I will ever have.
And now
it does not feel
like a memory at all.

"I think I made you up inside my head."  
Sylvia Plath's poetry
still rots beside my bed.
As if all those 8th grade
library print outs
were waiting for you
to give them purpose.
My melancholy wasn't deep,
my life had no real meaning.
Like a heroic tragedy,
I needed you to inject
true injury
into her hollow phrases.
Madness wasn't enough.
I needed to really love,
before real love
could be ripped away
from me.
Nobody can ever tell
you
how much that hole
aches,
a necrotic wound
that can never be
repaired
or filled
or patched.
I would say my heart
instead grows ever larger,
pulsing angrily
from an infection of the soul.

You aren't real
anymore,
but this pain is.
Years of abuse came rushing back
after one moment
of uncertainty from your direction.
I had thought love
must be perfection,
and I was wrong.
This isn't a love song.
This is my head
in the
oven, and
a note caught between the
pages of
The Pigeon

Fucking Sylvia Plath...you never liked her. This is just my emo Dr. Suess phase all over again.
-B. Monkey
Oskar Erikson Jul 13

It's about being broken enough
to where scars are reminders
of the days you could remember
exactly what hurt
you.

Anyone Jul 12

I cant help but wonder,
What gives evil such drive
to conquer, to destroy ?
What gives things like
greed, lust, and hate
such power over creation ?
What makes chaos and ruin
pleasuring ?
And now to think
they're to coexist
with us is hard to believe.
Black is black
because it repels all white.
That only means
its we who chose
to turn against our Light.

Oblivion Jul 7

I'm sorry
All I know
How to do
Is to ruin things,
Like people,
And places,
And memories.

Maybe someday we can both forget.
Arpan Rathod Jun 22

So many 'I Love You's
left unsaid,
and
they're rotten
ruining
my insides.

shiv Jun 11

i. Do not think she cares about you; her heart is a wasteland and love is the rain the land knows it will not get anymore.
ii. Do not think she feels like you do; she will tear you apart in her effort to love.
iii. Do not think her being happy is good; she destroys everything she touches, ruin is more natural to her than joy.
iv. Do not care about her; no matter what emotion she is expressing all she feels is scorn for you.
v. Do not get close to her; she is a flame and whatever good she once possessed has long since burnt to ashes under its heat.

gee Jun 2

in the blanket of night
i know of ruin
and on quiet early mornings
my grave-heart
is still

Lisa Ann Jun 1

I poured my all into this one
wine glass that was our love.
Now all that lies are
shards of crushed glass
and the love that once
was ours.

ashattack Jun 1

archeologists brush dust away from bones,
like memories from empty homes.
here i sit among rubble and ruin,
amidst broken picture frames strewn.

this is the scene i remember the most.
my words are written, jagged,
in a notebook forgotten, ragged am i
as my eyes shine like broken glass.

my bones turn to rust, to dust.
i brush away my remains from this grave
of a home i no longer remember.
among portraits i am no longer a part of.

november comes around with its bells,
bellows loud that i am not welcome here.
it brings fallen petals of blood red rust.
i am stained with agony and painful lust.

for a time that does not forgive,
and as the cold sweeps in i know,
november is the time of sin, for me.
i was born in a time that does not forgive.

the picture frames will not let me back in.

i / am / absent / here

eh. free write about ruin.

It takes a great deal out of you to admit you're wrong.
We don't ever like to own up to it.
Being wrong isn't on anyone's bucket-list.
(At least no one's I know)
I will say one pro of any apologetic situation:
It is a terrific weapon.
A decent apology can bring most anybody
to their knees.
Frankly, I think we should all relish the opportunity.
Make amends for losing the battle,
and as a result win the war.
However don't take this weapon lightly.
It will jade you.
Ruin your concept of sincerity.
Not just for yourself, but for others.
We must never forget that sometimes we really are
Sorry.
I apologize, dear friend, I seem to have ruined your dinner party
with all my talk of apology.

A cynical look at the difficult task of apologizing.
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