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Anastasia Jun 5
she wore hightops
and a tattered
old book bag.
and she liked
to tie
her red converse
to it's straps.
and walk
across
the fire escape.

the metal
beneath
her socked feet
was cool
and x-ed
and black.

she ran,
and she laughed
or she ran
and she cried
but she ran
and she ran
for it was all
she could do.
Poetic T Jan 5
Woven flesh knotted with the confines
of my inner plague.
             A misery of reflections that I would
wish never to gaze upon, as I'm my own
               medusa, confined in stone impressions.

And I transfixed upon my own morbidity.



But then you gave me a tattered box.
                    It's confines rattled like aged bones.
A melody of death sombre in its gifts.
                  I collected them and used the
              webs of decay to knit them hanging
                        like lynched memories swaying harshly.


With this chime of
                               syllable decomposition,
I heard your message.
That even though every gift is concealed in a darkness,
                                          there is always a moment
where its brighter than any luminosity given by the light.
Arden Dec 2018
i am pieces of quotes
from my favorite books
stitched together by
song lyrics
and i am glued together by
midnight conversations
and the sweet taste of coffee
and i have the tendency
to fall apart suddenly

and i need you to somehow
be okay with this
because i am created by
the souls who are brave enough
to gather all my tattered pieces
and put me back together
jennifer delong Oct 2018
You
Finding within something screaming
Yearning for Wanting more
Try as , I might
For silence will not come
It pulls at my flesh
Leaving me tattered
Try as , I might
to hinder the pain
It's left screaming
I use my gifted knowing
to try to sooth
to comfort
Try as , I might
I must give up
For nothing will do
Its wanting you

© Jennifer Delong 10/25/18
Poetic T Jun 2018
Thy crows loiter on mornings
fever, blossom brightening to
thee. But when  petals awaken,
onyx lullabies tear each asunder.

Woeful of the beauty of years,
            thy fallen moments collect
like tattered curtains of life.
   Crows sing sirens of despair,
joyful of the passing beauty..

And still they look upon thee,
        no longer petals of years stand.
they wait till your stem of life wilts.
With but a moment of silence when all
has fallen, they bow, wings dispersing life.
KM Hanslik Apr 2018
So much can happen under the guise of
"fate".
I tie my heartstrings up like ribbons and
cut them lose one-by-one, hoping
they'll find a good home somewhere, hoping
I'll learn to not care where the pieces fall.

So much can happen under the guise of
"love".
I tell you tender things and you tell me I make the mornings lighter
but we all fall prey to our own demons sometimes,
and I'm not sure if mine ever really go away;
there used to be a fine line between
doing something because I want to
and doing something because I have to.
I used to walk that line every day, until
some of the ribbons began to break and I couldn't live with knowing
that I was breaking everyone else too.
Now when my feet start sliding from under me, I
call you and ask how you're doing, and you tell me that it's okay
now when I begin to question everything again, I try to stitch the pieces together in hopes
that it will be enough of something to hold me.
To hold us.
It's a bit tattered, but I think that it will be
enough.
Broadsky Nov 2017
I'm sitting at my work desk after hours because I have to get this off my chest. You loved me in ways I couldn't love you back.  I loved him in ways he would never understand. These empty nights of  just sitting alone  haunt me. They bring me back to all my winters past where my skin turns a ghostly white and my eyes sink in like a body on a soft mattress. I felt tattered and worn when I was yours. In fact I have felt that way with all of my lovers, tattered and worn like a favorite piece of clothing, worn so much it's falling apart.
I am again falling apart.
We broke up. We no longer belong to one another.
I hold this blade on my already tattered wrist.
Just waiting to feel pain and relief.

I walk the dark streets at 4 in the morning at winter,
just to feel the cold air on my warm skin.

I walk alone I die alone everyday,
dreaming she will never get over me.
This is about my current girlfriend
Baylee Aug 2016
Like that old sweater
In the back of your closet,
You know the one I'm talking about;
It was your favorite,
You wore it all the time,
And it may not fit right anymore,
But you can't get rid of it,
Well, because it was your favorite
For all these years,
There are so many memories
Tied to that sweater.
And maybe not all of them are happy,
Or make you smile when you wear it,
But it hold the secrets and scars of your past,
So you have to keep it, naturally.
But every time you take that sweater
From the back of your closet to see
If it matches your outfit,
And you decide,
Maybe not today,
You see the faded color,
You see the memories,
And you know, just like your sweater,
You're wearing thin.
Yusof Asnan Jun 2016
Like a bird whose wings are broken,
You are the one that couldn't follow the motion.
You can't fly like the others,
Nor you can blend in with their feathers.

Some part of you accepted that you can't fly,
That you like it down here ; being different.
But at times you just wondered why,
What is it about you that made you insignificant.

-HIY
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