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Ray Dunn Sep 19
one with the rust,
trickling into the soils--
one more sip i just
gotta watch the smoke coil...
idk im bored and dont wanna do homework
I find myself angry with life.
A low, simmering rage
only too close to a boil.
Once, my mind was
the sharpest of blades,
nothing could stand before me.
Now, it is but a vestigial sort of thing,
a relic of times better remembered.
I am rusted by the monotone
my life has become.
The repetition of every day
comes on as a flood;
I will succumb.
Anastasia Jul 17
I trusted someone with all my heart.
But now it feels like we’re falling apart.
He threatens to tell my secrets to all,
but that's not why I’m sad, why I’m about to fall.
I’m being ripped to pieces but he doesn't care.
Labels me ‘different’ and lets me tear.
I can cry and I can scream,
I can wish and I can dream,
But there is no more trust,
Now only rust
And I will cry,
As the days pass by.
I found this, in my old things. It's about when my best friend and I got in a fight. He and I have made up, but I still think it's a sad poem.
Making new things old
Is what I do
I drain the life
Out of everything
Sometimes I feel as though I’m too needy. Draining the people I rely on for emotional support. I need a lot of love to thrive. Sometimes I remain miserable to save those I love.
i take shelter in your grooves
growing stronger in the curves
like whetstones smoothing and sharpening me down
to make a fine point

i wanted you to build with me
to push
up gently.

see if this rust
can turn into something beautiful
to see if rust
can be turned to gold
Nayana Nair Apr 30
I took my rusted pen, my useless words
and tried to write something beautiful for you.
Words filled with my love,
words that tasted
like all your favorite forgotten dreams.
But I found myself tracing
the only words on your skin.
I ended up rewriting your sorrow.
I ended becoming the face of your fears.
lila Mar 30
did you know
1 in 5 women
will be ***** during her lifetime
but every 1 has a name
and every name has a story
and no one story
is ever the same
mine isn’t any exception

it didn’t happen at all
like u think it did
there were no shadowy figures
reaching out rough hands
to pull me into an empty alley
as i walked the streets alone at night
8 out of 10 rapes are by someone you know

my body wasn’t a rag doll
to be thrown against a brick wall
while ****** objections flew
from my mouth like cannonballs

it was just us
in a space that was ours
a hushed no living and dying on my lips
the scary sweet nothings
whispered in my ear
must have drowned out the tides
rolling in and streaming
down my cheeks
because your hand never once left my throat
and you didn’t stop

i was nothing more than a shiny object
laid out on a dingy sheet
for you to devour
made to please

but when i rusted
i was abandoned
right where u took me
a corpse to rot
amongst the flowers
but if u squint hard
i may be pretty enough
to use again
A Simillacrum Mar 25
Welcome back from the break.
Last time I checked, I was a social outcast,
now I'm a godless heathen by margins
too expansive to measure.
You expect me to do what?
Break down, scrape my face with a muzzle?
No, I think for my sake,
I will embrace disdain,
disgrace, displacement, as if my blood is
dependent on it, just less than water.
Welcome back to
the decadent disaster,
robotic masterpiece of emulation,
emulating emotion it once contained.
It was exposed to Alexithymia,
undiagnosed for too long,
and can't grasp that anyone might return
feelings of love, lust, or interest,
with any sincerity.

Please, touch my face.
Draw me out, as if your hands were the pens
bringing life to still frames.
Please, touch my skin.
Make promises that my rusted metal
must hold more than debris.
Donovan Mar 22
You were a neon island of stability
In this ocean of a city.
Now rust clings to
each of your pumps,
Once tall and glistening,
Now sagging and dull,
Each one infected with
a copper red cancer.
You radiate the defeated
air of a weary soul
Whose lived too much,
Begging to close her grey
Eyes for the final time.
You’ve become a crumbling headstone
In this graveyard of dust.
Nothing gold can stay.
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