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Jupiter Mar 29
There's a pain in my chest, its a stinging, throbbing ache.
I knew the day I had lost you, it was the day I was left to wait.
you smelled of lavish perfume, and I knew it wasn't mine.
how much does her love cost? cause mine didn't cost a dime.
Nigel Finn Jul 2018
If I told you about the fifty mile trek I took,
with ice accumulating on my beard,
and shivering to sleep in the tiny hollow,
would you believe me?

What about the time they thought I was a terrorist
trying to assassinate the queen?
Or the time they took everything away from me;
my clothes, my hair, even my name?
Would you read it as fiction?

"That kind of thing doesn't really happen" you might say,
and I no longer care to argue my case anymore.
as you explain to me how, in a modern day society,
these kind of things things really work.

I wonder whether I should care,
as I nod dumbly to your every point,
telling me why you know, definitively,
that I am lying.

This is why my poetry shall refer only to emotions.
Nobody reads emotion as fiction;
you can feel it as they tug at your own-
A broken heart, a smile, a stray giggle.

Whether I made that journey is no business but my own,
but the cold I can describe perfectly;
Not biting, but stinging, and numb in every other sense.
The fear giving way to tears, which froze on my cheeks.

Besides, if this really is fiction, if I had really
made all of it up inside of my head,
would I still lie to you?
Of course I would.
Certain people sometimes say sharing their emotions is difficult and, while this may be true, very few people will deny how a person feels when they express themselves. Sharing details of certain experiences, however, is far more likely to taken with a pinch of salt. I don't much care for it in most instances.
at the urgings of the needle's keen tip*
she'd respond with such a caustic delight
corrosive was its thorniness of quip

on the pointy end being put to conic flight
an outpouring of stinging did rain free
she'd respond with such a caustic delight

never not thinking of the spurring's tee
compelled by a so driven tong's tine
an outpouring of stinging did rain free

yet the rejoinder was not very **** fine
applying her barbing tool time after time
compelled by a so driven tong's tine

browsers saw the regularity of crime
sticking in too much abrasive acid
applying her barbing tool time after time

the mordant seasoning far from placid
sticking in too much abrasive acid
at the urgings of the needle's keen tip
*corrosive was its thorniness of quip

The Terzanelle is a poetry type which is a combination of the villanelle and the terza rima forms. It is a 19-line poem consisting of five interlocking triplets/tercets plus a concluding quatrain in which the first and third lines of the first triplet appear as refrains. The middle line of each triplet is repeated, reappearing as the last line of the succeeding triplet with the exception of the center line of the next-to-the-last stanza which appears in the quatrain. The rhyme and refrain scheme for the triplets is as follows:

1. A
2. B
3. A

4. b
5. C
6. B

7. c
8. D
9. C

10. d
11. E
12. D

13. e
14. F
15. E

Ending Type 1:

16. f
17. A
18. F
19. A

Ending Type 2:

16. f
17. F
18. A
19. A

Each line of the poem should be the same metrical length.
Jennifer West Jan 2017
I know it stings,
But don't let it poison you.

I know it hurts,
But don't let it destroy you.

I know it burns,
But don't let it consume you.
Inside, a shrinking breathing
With heaves and sighs.
Outside, nothing
Except the slight sting of the eyes.
BH May 2014
Those three words feel like a swarm of bees buzzing in my mouth and making it hard to think, I'm scared you can hear them stinging my lips and tongue,  I'm afraid to open my mouth and say those three words to you because I don't want you to get stung, so I will swallow them down and let them sting my insides  all the way to my bones where they can make a home inside my skin.

— The End —