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Tatiana Feb 19
Somewhere, there is a house upon a hilltop
that still has the shakes
of life that once lived within it.
Shivering with memories
of children's feet pounding
through the halls as they played.
They were the blood racing through its veins.

Yet all races must come to an end.

Now the house is nothing more
than a reminder of the past
that's unsteady; it shakes
like hands that have held too much.
The house is nothing more
than gaping windows, knocked out doors
and peeling paint;
that shudders in the terrible breeze.
Memory has always been rather shaky
Vexren4000 Mar 2018
Shaking hands,
Reverberating buildings,
Shattering glass,
And panicked peoples,
Quaking earth,
Exposing new land,
And shifting plates,
Of old eras rising again.

┬ęBAS
Nay Nov 2016
although the inside of my complicated mind shakes
the only thing that shines through the cracks
is *You
some people meant so much to the others
they could even gave them the will to keep on living
inside this ****-is world
I hate to say what's already been said,
Yet I feel it necessary to do so;
"You're like my own personal brand of ******."
Addictive.
The more you give of yourself to me,
The more I need.
And then when you go,
With no warning,
I am left alone to deal with the shakes,
The trembles,
This cold turkey that you have left me.
Beau Grey Apr 2016
A man and wife go to lunch.
Premium burgers, shakes and fries.
It's cheap and he can wear his sweatpants.
For every one couple,
there's twenty single fathers
with his children.
(a depressing ratio)
It must be custody weekend.
At the Heartbreak Hotel
tables for two occupy singles.
The men picked out their best shirts
and the women painted their lips.
Looking only for a conversation,
they leave with a bill
priced with another Sunday
of shattered hope.
Viseract Mar 2016
A broken soul, a slight shake
A piece missing, she would soon take
Become whole again, need and be needed
And to this concept she has conceded

Set on someone as broken as she
And be the very best that she can be
Her heart demands it, her mind commands it,
And together they continue to plea
Tribute to you, Georgia K.
Cat Fiske May 2015
I try and paint my **** *** feet,
with black nail polish,
but my medication,
isn't allowing me to feel my hands,
so they shake,
and the only reason I know,
is because of the darkness they've painted,
over my fat uglyer now blackened toes.
just a poem about me painting my nails
601
I remember this place.
The small noises you'd make.
In the corner where the bed frame,
Lays and still shakes for me in my head.
Quakes.
Falls silently dead.
Again.

601.
Paper thin walls.

I remember this place.
The shapes your face made.
The way your waist played.

3 intimate words.
Each one, a shaking, slamming door.
"**** me harder"
My body does it's chores.

Once more.
I've torn my self away from the floor.
Crawled into the bed and wore,
Your body around mine, your arms, your legs, an infinitely warming form to explore, to spread apart and reform.
Each move of mine,
Unsure.
My Limbs and yours
Consort.
We are the wind and the beating roar.
We are the storm. We are the storm.

Your lips felt like needles on my neck.
Your body was sore, your body was tense,
body, sore, tense, aching was your spine.
And good god, you know I'll message every part yours, with every part of mine.

— The End —