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Metal against metal.
Food is no longer warm against the tongue.
The clink of glasses breaks the white,
still emptiness surrounding the family.
Apprehensive glances are exchanged
when politics are discussed
as the future looms over them like a prophecy
that makes it all feel doomed.
I wrote this thinking of Spain's politics, which are tense- we have literal murderers (people who used to be part of a terrorist group who placed bombs on supermarkets, killed children, assassinated a mayor, and exploded cars on random streets) and delinquents on the presidency, our president is a power-starved hypocrite that excuses his corruption with the fact that his party is the left, and the far-right are homophobic, transphobic, racist and misogynistic jerks. They don't allow us to get over Franquism (A fascist dictatorship that took place decades ago), and they constantly bend the past to their liking in order to manipulate us into voting for them. The people at power act as if, if the right gets to the government, our country will suddenly become fascist again. What’s worse? That I say all of this being a proud leftist, queer person. Our left party no longer defends what it was made to, but only seeks the best ways to get money in their pockets. We can no longer vote without forgiving corruption.

The funny part of this is that it could have been written about any country, specially the US, which is basically the new ******* ******. It is scary to think that right now, I am like a jew that lives outside Germany and sees his siblings get harassed. It makes me sick.

When we talk about politics, I get this hopeless feeling that I will never be able to medically transition and that the only thing stopping a war from taking place in my country is this universal fear of confrontation every hispanian has. Even though I know that that second thought comes from panic rather than objective data. We are so good at ignoring our political situation, that we think we’re doing great most of the time— until it gets brought up.

So yeah, you’ll hear me listening to punk music like it’s the **** national hymn (I’m tired and sick and that is all I can do to rebel)
Lisa 16h
My hands linger on the barrier tight,
Fingers twitching in the failing light.
Blood is drumming, hot and loud,
A whispered thought beneath the shroud. There’s a pressure blooming in my head,
Like every word I left unsaid.
It hums behind my aching eyes—
A silent song that never dies.
Half-lidded eyes, I am silent and watching
There waits the void -
                
         Gaping
                          
                    Calling
                                    ­  
                              Pulling

There's a gravity that pulls me near,
A silent whisper I half-hear
As the yawning void draws me in,
slow and thin,
I can't help but gaze, its pull a curious haze. It's promise I have not destroyed.
It sings in shadows, soft and low,
A voice that tells me where to go.

But still I hover, still I stall,
One heartbeat shy of letting fall.
I want to leap, to drown, to fly—
To find out what comes after why.

The wind shifts, and picks up my hair.
I blink and turn—no fanfare.
Just the concrete path, and the noise of life—the cars, the birds, the sun burning bright.
I shift my weight. The void still calls.
It tugs at my feet, my arms, my soul.
It's hold trembles. The strings snap.
I step away as the chords retract.
The mouth closes. Now threadbare—
fraying, curling...but I don't care.

I am stalwart. I am serene.
No longer caught in what has been.
The path ahead is cracked and wide.
I don’t look back.
I walk.
I try.

Maybe this is why.
First post here.
I wrote this in a moment of tension—between fear and curiosity, between holding on and letting go.
I think I’m still somewhere in between. If you give this a read, thank you. If you do and something pulls within you.....I know.
stillhuman Jun 24
Cig
They tasted better with you
and I could kiss the space
your lips had been
the same ones that would turn to me
and be so sweet

And you would spit out the smoke
from talking lips
take a pause and concentrate
for it tasted the same as me
sharing a cigarette had never felt so intimate
Can’t shut my eyes
Can’t miss a sound
Even if it’s lies
I want to hear it—I found

I catch titles, labels
Can’t stand that
My head is wired with cables
But I feel like an acrobat

Balancing between
Either being unheard
Or unseen
"Politics" is just a word

But it makes me grasp for air
Whenever I hear it voiced
Perceive it as if I am not there
Yearning to belong and be rejoiced

Nevertheless, I pay attention
To all the names and surnames
I feel a tension
My brain’s on fire, I can’t calm the flames
This is about hearing all the complaining about the current state of Dutch politics and listening but not understanding ('cause no one explained it) and also having a very bad fear of missing out
you spoke with your back turned
like nothing was wrong
the kettle sat screaming
its blistering song

your eyes crack with thunder
I don’t look away.
I taste every stormcloud
and swallow the rain

you asked if I loved you
then smirked at the floor
i said it too slowly,
you moved for the door

We fought in the hallway,
half whisper, half snarl.
Your silence more cutting
than anything sharp.

you find every fracture
then press where it stings
You say, “it’s devotion,”
and tighten the strings.

We moved like a secret
too brutal for light—
no prayer, just breathing
breaks open the night.

Your hands then remember
what you never confessed,
you kiss where you hurt me
and ask for the rest.

but still, when you’re shaking,
and all fury’s gone,
I gather your pieces
and whisper a song

I stitched up the silence
you gave me to keep
and rocked us together
til sorrow found sleep

We curled in the ash
what didn’t survive,
and found even ruin
leaves something alive.
Consilius May 11
I live between two worlds,
with my pain I weave the bridge.

In on I am, in one I wish,
in both I drip blood stitch by stitch.

If you want to know where I am,
look for the intention behind the font,
outreach of what we want,
the tension in what we don't,
when we reach out for the water in the pond.

To sip from the stillness's flow,
one must stand and one must go.

For that's the contract between the living and the soul.
neth jones May 3
i lust insist
tense under ruttish restraint and expectation
                                                     ­             trussed
28/04/25
Elemenohp Apr 10
It's never been like this before.
Not as far as I can remember.
Your words, your mind, your voice, your smile...
Familiarity, down to strange details.

The way I feel I can read your mind as you debate an approach.
The way you likely notice me, pretending to not notice you.
Yet we both avoid meeting a gaze as the distance closes...

Smile, greeting, small talk, laughter...

...Touch....

And time stops - if for at least a second.

...Breathe, smile, banter...
A few seconds of silence and I've tripped on the tension.

Quick diversion. depart.
Kat M Mar 11
Killing me harshly is the pleasure of a thousand lullabies
And am I the one that pleases thee
Till I am standing not on my feet but on all of my limbs
Little ****** of sensation filter their way into your soul
Yawning at a time like this doesn't bode well for your aspirations
Never mind the things that seep out of your mind.

Fragile glass fingertips grace the pillows of nothing
Racing to feel again and touch something
Any excuses to sensationalize your memories
Negating the reality of past experiences
Clinging to the thought of a paradise
Expunging the ruby tears that rain down from your eyelids
Smothering the lipid-laced treats that linger on the tongue

More than ever shall we dance again
Over the river bending into the graveyard
Rolling down the grassy hills
Across the metamorphosis of a Tiger Lilly
Let me bloom into the unknown
Escape the neglect of myself.
Sooth the soul and let it keep fluttering
Feedback Welcome!
Taÿpen Feb 23
How are we so far apart in this bed?
Sleeping with venom in our hearts
Tension fills the room when we’re together
It’s love and war between us
Since when did we become enemies?
Fighting on opposite sides
Two atomic bombs ready to explode
The battle line was drawn when the arguments lingered long after malicious words were spewed
Like a gunshot what’s said can’t be taken back
The wound stays hidden under layers of resentment
Building like mold until it festers over the foundation we’ve made
What remains is similar to a war torn country.
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