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Life and death been close
to both managed to find
life with Helen and
death
I've cheated many times
both now and in the past
but somehow I've made through the
loneliness
I know I'll make the rest
of the way I still love
her so she's still 
 clinging
to
my heart afraid that I'll let
her go but I never will ever let go my survival depends on
holding her close to all our
memories So I'll keep a light on In the hall
way
at night In case her spitte should one night come calling for me and take
me away with
her
Keeping on In the hallway at night In case Helen spirits should come my
way
Poetress2 Apr 30
It was in late Spring, time for me to go to school.  As I carefully walked down the age-weathered stairs, it was a balancing act between the rickety steps and my black, leather pumps. The stairs won, and down I went, hitting my head on the wrought-iron Banister

"What a way to start the day," I thought to myself as I rubbed my head.  I picked myself up and continued on the 3.5-mile walk to
school.  My head was still pounding when I arrived.

I saw my best friend Bonnie, as she came around the corner of the school.  We had known each other for ten years, and there wasn't anything we didn't know about each other.  "Hey Bonnie," I yelled.  She turned around and gave me a huge smile.  The rays of the Sun made her blonde hair glow.  With a stature of 5'9, she was a real beauty.

The day was uneventful, just a normal day.  Bonnie was in three of my classes; Math, Science, and History.  She made the day go incredibly fast.  We cheated off one another, here and there, praying we wouldn't get caught.  No wonder we were straight-A students.  We were both highly intelligent.

After school, she came to my three-bedroom-home to study.  I liked my ranch home and was proud for everyone to see it.  We sit on my bed, skimming through the pages of our History book, trying to remember what we read, for tomorrow's test.  
Soon it was time for dinner, so Bonnie went home.  We talked later on our Verizon phones.

After taking a shower, I climbed into a nightgown and brushed my teeth.  They were pearly white, always being complimented on.  I said my prayers, then turned off my blue and white lamp.  I went to sleep, hoping I would pass the test tomorrow.
Inspired by me, falling down the stairs on my way to school one day.  I hope I am not just rambling on and on.  Such a silly write.
Do you ever feel
Like
   you
      might
         be
            falling?
Do you ever think
                            That
                         you
                     won't
                   be
             able
          to
      get
  back
up?
Fight that feeling
A
n
d
And take the
                    st
                    ai
                  ­  rs
                      to the top floor.
i wanted to try something new. Hope you like it and can read it! :D
I was
nervous
from the start.
Inside my chest was
a fast beating heart. I was
worried that you wouldn't like
me, even though I arrived ten minutes
early. I was thinking about the best way to
greet you, and then suddenly began to think if
it was a bad idea to wear blue. I didn't even notice
when you appeared, and you must have thought I was
so weird! I stuttered on my first sentence that I had planned for
so long, and I instantly felt as if I did everything wrong. "I'm
sorry." I whispered. "You're doing great!" Did he really
say those words? "Sorry, I'm just a little nervous."
"Don't worry about it." he said as he put his
hand on my shoulder. "You'll do great, I
know you will." he said. "And I know
this because you're
tense
still."
If you're curious about the format, usually when I'm nervous, I think about stairs. I know it doesn't look like stair too much, but here it is! Please tell me what you think, is it too much rhyming, do you like it? I love hearing from others, whether through comments or messages! :)
There is
no elevator
to success;
you
have to take
the stairs.
Success does not always
come easy,
but it will come to those
who care.
Ankita Gupta Nov 2018
I see the floor these stairs lead to, but I can’t tell what’s exactly going on there. I can hear all sorts of voices and noises and I can also hear the silence. Engrossed in deep thoughts, I suddenly feel a push from someone telling me to climb the **** up. Stuck between my curiosity and the frenzy, I start ascending a few steps and then I freeze. I freeze because I saw a glimpse of what’s going on up there. It looked like a charade and everyone looked like they are in a masquerade. It looked chaotic from where I was standing but I was in the queue, I had to keep moving. Gathering up my courage and given no **** choice, I climbed the stairs. For me, this floor gave ‘mess’ a new dimension and ‘disorder’ a new definition.

Like everyone else, I was also handed over a suitcase that was as big as me, but not as heavy as others. I looked at the annoying, masked person who was registering me as the “new habitant” of the crazy land to get any indication of what am I supposed to do, and he ****** his shoulders as if he did not give a shred of care. It seemed I was on my own to discover this crowded mess of a place where everyone keeps shoving into everyone. It was like an unorganized market, only this time there were no vendors or shops.

My adjusting in this new habitat was not smooth or easy, I was bruised, insulted and called names. The earlier days were not that bad, but after a while things started getting suffocating and I found myself escaping to the already filled balcony to catch my breath more than often. The people who climbed the stairs with me seemed to have gelled in barring a few. A couple of months passed and all I wanted to do was climbed down those steps. But guess what, unlike all conventional staircases, these don’t go down.
I did everything I could to feel at home and I also tried making some friends but nothing seemed to work. It actually made me suffocate even more because all I could see were masks on people’s faces and all I could hear was deception in their voices. In the world where ‘survival of the fittest’ is the mantra, I wonder how long will it be until I choke on my own thoughts and die? How long before this environment takes its toll and push me on the edge? Either I survive or I won’t in this new land called Adulthood.
Aashutosh Shahi Oct 2018
Hi! Its me the Stairs,
About which no one cares;
It was me who would get you up,
and had never differentiated
was it you or Mr Trump;


Each and everybody placed a foot on my face,
Remember it was Humayun (Mughal Ruler)
who died falling from the staircase;
I may sound a little odd,
Please don't walk over me in a trod;


Sometimes straight, Sometimes round,
Some climb gently while other with a bound;
I may not be the perfect place to sleep,
Well, I'm the perfect place to think deep;


I have this friend of mine,
Whom I can not talk because I'm confined;
He only goes up and down,
And He works like a clown;


Everybody hates me when they start,
But they don't realise what benefits they got.
*Humayun:-https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humayun
David Abraham Sep 2018
Tear, tear, tear.
Spend classes tearing paper into tiny bits.
Why do I do it?
(Tearing until my fingers hurt.)

Count, count, count.
Almost run into people every few minutes.
Why do I do it?
(Count my bones whenever I can.)
(Count the steps on the stairs when I ran.)
(Count the steps I take and how many breaths I draw.)

I am aware that everyone sees me,
counting and tearing and restarting,
and I don't want to stop even though it's not with a degree of panic.

Check, check, check.
Check so many things again and again,
but not the things that are really important.
(Check that everything's not changing or if it is.)
2154 September 25 2018

maybe using distractions so i won't feel as hungry lol
Sara Kellie Aug 2018
Amazing how their memory fades.
Leaving victims, in their hands
the bloodied blades.
Amazing how they forget their ills.
In the hands of the dead,
a bottle of pills.
Sitting red faced yet silent at the wake.
Lies a blue faced victim
of the life you did take.

In violence
you used your hands for years.
In desperation
they used their hands one time.

Is this how you imagined
you'd pay for your crime.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Did the perpetrator and the victim switch roles? Probably not. It reads as it reads.
Katie Edmunds May 2018
Falling
          F
          o
          r You
                  W
                   as Like
                              F
                              al­ling
                                      D
                        ­               own M
                                                  a
           ­                                        rble St
                                                            a
­                                                            irs And
                                                             ­         C
                                                      ­                 racking
                                                         ­                          M
                                                               ­                      y Head
                                                            ­                                     Open

Everything out in the open, but no one wants to clear up the mess left behind or pick up the pieces.
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