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It starts out small,
Quiet and pathetic.
The kind of sobbing that gives bystanders the feeling of
Awkward pity.
She whimpers and every once in a moment,
She chokes on top of her hiccups.
She sounds like such a child.

It grows.
The ******* sound grows.
The crying is a little more panicked, more chokes force through.
It sounds a bit more like she is heaving on misery.
She can’t make her lungs work
The way they need her to.
She cannot breathe without her lungs
Catching on regret
And frustration.

If you look at her,
She is curled up inside her own body,
Wrapping her arms around her core.

Oh God, it’s growing louder.
Can’t You fix it?

She is screaming now.
She shrieks in some sort of pain that we don’t know,
And neither does she.
But she feels it.

The noise of hysteria rips out of her.
She can’t control this anymore.
She is pushing and gripping at the hair on her head
Trying to simulate some degree of comfort,
But there is a excruciating pain swelling against her ribs inside of her.

She screams so loudly.
Her fears reverb
Back
And
Forth
Against the walls of my mind.

She can’t breathe without
A crescendo of panic
Crashing into her lungs
Like a flood of salty, bitter water.

I look at her and I wonder,
Who is she,
And how does she know my pain?
Cody Haag Feb 2016
Our obstacles are no burden,
They revolve around serious issues;
Baby, it is okay to cry,
Here are some tissues.

Every couple fights,
That is very true,
But I promise to be collected
Through and through.

Here are some tissues,
It is okay to cry,
Wipe your face
So your eyes will dry.

Lean on me now and forever,
Here is my shoulder,
Lean on it always,
While our love grows older.

How bold it is;
Cease it shall not,
For love is something
That cannot be taught.

It flourishes on its own;
Then it must be maintained.
However, it is the type
Of thing that could never fade.

Here are some tissues,
It is okay to cry,
Wipe your face,
So your eyes will dry.
Joliver Jan 2016
The late night tears
That build up in my chest
But never flow
They feel as if a sob
Died in my chest
Before all the raw emotion
Could escape
Its corpse just sits there
Dead weight on my chest
That suffocates me
And I can't lift for the life of me
Nirvana Jan 2016
All I wanted was a
       little more appreciation
             and all I got is
           much more pain

             All I wanted is
           to be your friend
             and all I got is
                ignorance

            All I wanted is
        to embrace you in pain
             and all I got is
             cry and strain

           All I wanted was
       a glimpse of your sight
            and all I got is
             lonely night

          All I wanted is
      a few words to share
         and all I got is
     you don't even care

         All I wanted is
       to cry at my top
        and all I got is
           silent sob.
beside your brother-in-law, they placed you in the ground. they buried you by my great grandparents in an unpopulated town. by early September, the grass was cold; but they made a spot for you, so they wouldn’t be alone. dressed in black, i took a step forward; i grasped some courage, then reached for a rose. there were tears in my eyes; there was hesitancy in my step. they lowered your coffin as i took a deep breath. i swear i tried; i tried to be strong. but i remember you healthy, and now you’re just gone. so here i am; i’m faced with a choice: cry quickly, move on, & live, or socialize and listen, & try to forgive. they’re all here, grandma, your friends and your family; they came. you have no idea how great an impact in these lives that which you have made. i didn’t tell you that i’d been halfway lying, about the mistakes that i’d made. i regret not sharing my poems with you. i’m sorry for the excuses i always made. i’m sorry that i didn’t just sit with you to visit and crochet; i tried too hard to be busy until it was just too late. and i live with that regret everyday. grandma, i miss you. i love you. i know where you are lain. your beautiful soul is flying with angels, but your body’s in this dying grave. unrelenting overthinking causes a heart to stop its beating, and this gut-wrenching under-eating has got to STOP. my stomach’s bleeding from the constant hunger to feel needed. to be heard & to live in peace…once more. because grandma, i went back to your grave on September 7th this year, but i could not find your site. and i started to cry as i wandered aimlessly; to try to lay down the letter to you that i started to write. they told me that you’re better off now, but i’m not so sure i can go on living like my heart didn’t get torn out. my hands shake as i hang my head in shame because i cannot bear the thought of someone looking at me and finally noticing that i am broken..and hurt. frankly, i ache inside because, though i was there when you were buried, i know not where you lie. i forgot to pay too much attention to the site of your grave. maybe it’s because i was afraid to admit that this would turn out to be a familiar place, a desperate space, an earth-shattering, sob-crying, soul-dying, terrifying thing! grandma, i am afraid. because this…this is where you are lain.

© Melissa Carlson 2015
Baylee Sep 2015
Is it normal
To cry
For no reason?

Does anyone else
Sob silently
To fall asleep?

Do you ever
Get angry
And lose it?

How do you
Control it
Or does it
Control you?

Are you ever
Enraged; depressed;
Does it stop
Will it?
celey Jul 2015
my tears don't threaten to spill
they run down freely
fiercely
without my permission
i never really did learn how to choke down a sob
i was never taught to do so
Deena Jun 2015
Tears.
In my eyes.
Tears.
On my cheeks.
Tears going down my face eating me.
I don't go outside often.
I avoid the sunlight,
And sleep in a coffin.

Your stereotypical vampire,
This is another sob story
For a ritual campfire.
Not an individual
To be admired,

But how I long to be
Blown into the nose
Of fame like *******
With no shame.

I'd be another meteorite
To crack under the spotlight,
Diagnosed with blocked sight

At a dead end
As inspiration deadens
And the debt of regret sets in.
Nothing would be more pleasant.

(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith
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