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Brynn S 18h
Cycolpitic view
Unedited outlook so bleak
Disabled in ability
Off turns the night
Replace stars with bottle caps
****** glass
Little shells
KMH 3d
My bones ache
Like crumbling stone cliffs
Constantly battered
By a sea of exhaustion.
© KMH 2019
~
im tired.
With a Rose quartz around your neck
You’d figure Shakespeare had named you.

Depression is a heavy obstacle,
One that I can not save.
Could I provide a monocle,
Examine the stone.
It fades when exposed
To too much light.
You’re meant to be brave,
You’re never quite alone.
You’re time is not apropos.

I find you significant.
KM Hanslik Jan 23
a crash course is the best way to learn;
describe the world in ways I cannot understand, and I
will do my best to undo the hinges underneath your skin.
chase the shadows until they leave you alone,
your heart skips like a record, off beat
stuck on a loop but let it rest a minute.
Don't **** my vibe this early in the night,
wait at least until my skin crawls and my shoulders cramp up in my sleep
test  me a few more times and I just might snap
my shell is only so thick;
you're cooking up a storm but I intend to stir the ***
if you find me on my knees, you'd best bet
i've got a knife up my sleeve
best to just leave it alone;
a rolling stone gathers more speed
the nearer it gets to its target.
Burn this fabric
the weave of the grandest way
we wrap our secret selves in
and write little patterns
that somehow pushes apart
from the comfort of speech
to break the truth
into lie-able bits
that everyone can approve of
because they are pretty
then you will be hollow
with the desire
to tug on the dangling strings
that always itch
the nose of conscience
to be rid of the ******
the mold you have been force in
and you will unravel when it hurts
and you will unravel when it is quiet
you will become bare
just shape
just like everything else
and when you find
peace in your own decimation
a single flower will grow
behind your lifes eye
a memory of when you took root
in the self
a lense to see your life
as you mean to live it
Version 2
Ally Jan 14
As the tears run down my face, I tell myself it's okay.
But as the days go on and the pain increases.
I slowly turn to stone.

People may think I am cold,
but the truth is I'm just a girl who feels too much.
I am a girl who cares too much.

I seal myself off in hopes of saving my heart,
and it is not until I am alone.
Under the cover of darkness, that I let my self feel,
what I have been hiding.
I am just a girl, a girl who feels other peoples pain, a girl who wishes she
could face the world without her heart breaking into a million pieces.
Juhlhaus Jan 13
Long ago my mother gave me birth.
From her molten **** in the cooling rain I took shape.
Wind and water gently fashioned me and smoothed my hard edges.
Through riven clouds the bright sun warmed me,
And in the mist life wove me mossy coverings.
Day after day I listened to the wind in the heather
And the cry of the sea birds wheeling overhead.

Men found me on the mountainside, stripped me of my mossy cloak
And hauled me away on a cart of wood, to be used for the glory of God.
With metal tools and hammer blows they fashioned me and gave me hard edges.
They stacked me high on top of other stones,
Fitted me snug and sealed me in.
Through narrow windows colored lights shone on the floor below,
And in the darkness voices rose with scented smoke,
Singing of the glory of God.

Men warred with other men, took each other’s lives
And threw down what they had raised up, for the glory of God.
Scorched by angry flames, I fell from that high place to lie broken in the ashes.
Wind and water gently washed me and smoothed my hard edges.
Through riven clouds the bright sun warmed me,
And in the mist life wove me mossy coverings.
Day after day I listened to the wind in the ruins
And the cry of the sea birds wheeling overhead.

A shepherd found me in the grass, lifted me up
And carried me away in his arms.
He nestled me alongside other stones
To keep the wandering sheep from deadly cliffs.
Though riven clouds the bright sun warms us,
And in the mist life weaves us mossy coverings.
Day after day we listen to the wind in the heather
And the cry of the sea birds wheeling overhead.
I would not have thought a stone could have a soul, until I visited Scotland.
To speak of my pains is my release from which.
It is not merely my drudgery within the muds of self-wallowing.
It is an awakening when I read my own words and learn who I am in that moment.
It is a point from which to move on, a stepping stone.
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