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Collins Mar 2018
There's a spark in your eyes that makes me jealous...

Even hope doesn't shimmer that bright.

...

look in to my eyes.

down, down, down it goes.
this abyss of nothing whole.

galaxies made of broken pieces of me.
hollowed voices drift from every chasm of a fractured soul.

this darkness is greedy.

so close your eyes, and pull yourself away.

before

these hollowed voices beguile you,

before

galaxies transfix your gaze and siphon your light.

so close your eyes, and pull yourself away.

Because there's a glint in my eye, that's beginning to make you jealous.
AstralPotato Mar 2018
Tears welled up endlessly
Like a little fountain not knowing when to stop
Feeling nothing
Feeling empty

Coldness should've freeze the flow
But it didn't; it never did.
It was from that thought
That things never really end up the way it should
I was feeling empty last night that I can't even sleep. Even though that was the case, I feel like crying without a reason. And I just had to scribble these things.
ht Feb 2018
And like that
my voice has been stolen away
Anxiety barricades like invisible steel walls
Trapped, I’m left banging with clenched fists
A prisoner within my own head
My brain a chemically imbalanced warden
My mind in solitary confinement
i've been denied bail | h.t
'Tis damp, cold and lonely - not much bigger than a closet
But the little room within me is mine.
It has no niceties such as an address but
To one side – when pressed upon hard enough –
The walls open revealing the many hidden chambers inside.
But the walls have no doors and until now no one has ever
Stayed long enough to find out the secrets hidden inside.

Then here you come along – you who has scarcely warmed
Yourself against these thoughts when I feel that look.
You spin around and around in the small wit that I am -
With the most perplexing look I have ever seen.
With words I press upon you to sit here within my thoughts
But the case of your look is the case all by itself.
All I can feel is your resentment for bringing you in here.

My hard planked thoughts and plastered breaths are not
Favorable - even to my own sensations – as if I am trapped
In some sort of desolate, silly omnipotence –
But I dare not mention my little hidden room within.
Though not a thing is left to be wished there is nothing
As terrible in it as the knowledge that you think I am possibly
Absent of the capacity to supply you with your inner most basic needs.

The glow of health and happiness somehow leaves your cheeks
And your brisk lively conversation seems forever removed.
Like a stone in the road, I seem to bring you
More distress and I wonder what stupidity had led me
To bring you here to fumble around in my mind.
As if we are both too delicate to communicate -
Our tangled tongues and fingers say not a word.

I want to say,
“Please, please press harder against these walls
And you’ll see, you’ll see that the muscle and tendon
That covers these internal walls are
Just a parody for my own protection.''
I feel the mistake of moving this thought closer to you now.
At first you squirm to get further away from it
But in doing so you struggle and push against the thought.
But herein - a single thought falls from my mind.

I watch as you ****** it up an unfold it and
Proceed to open my imagination to this wrinkle entitled
“The Little Room Within.''
I watch you as you read peering through my facade.
You proceed to pull out another wrinkle
Then another - and another
Until the room within me is no more.
We enter deeper and deeper inside of each other
Like children on our hands and knees –

– And I –

I
follow
you
all
the
way
to
the
inside
of
me......
Here I'm trying to express something inexpressible. That separation of body and spirit depicted here as the little room within.
Sneha Thakur Jan 2018
And then in her deep conscience she pondered ,If anyone would carry her shopping bags as she went up and down the escalators , brawling to make them still and herself stiff.
She wondered , If those drugs were a magic bullet that everyone aspires or were they a summon to death coming prior.
She wondered if the nights will always be this fore saken. Will it always go the same way? Or will someone sing lullabies to her and swirl with her curls.
She wondered , the series of events , synchronized in her life. And imagined what it would be like to lead a normal life.
She wondered and wondered about life. But her wonders were just awful and never suggested something good about it. So oh! She did always wondered why did she wondered grief , if it rather could be glee.
What you said
Was true
And still
Some things are undo

Tolerate has to be done
Like every time
Your hands play it's role
They're my dime

Tell me
Is it wrong
To keep your soul
Nor to have them whole

Is this temporary
Can't we just let it
Happily in this
White solitary

Always there will
Be a tragedy
It's either my fantasy
Nor your reality
Tony Luxton Oct 2017
Their backs to cold wet weather. Summer again.
Another pair of feet joins the queue.
The shelter won't house half a bus load.
Puffs of breath wind whisked away.

Secretly seeking sun in others' smiles,
that star has left their universe.
Stony stares keep their queue places.
Vital signs of stamping feet,
and fingers twitching keyboards.

One shy solitary smiles, a contact,
no contract needed. Granting her
his daily nod, his thoughts return to bed.
We are,
Intangible
And,
Isolate.
Words are subjective to the reader; emotions are solitary to the subject.
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