Pearl Ra1n Apr 10

We were flowers, twisted ‘round each other in red thread
speaking soft words under soft rains – hard park benches
pretending we didn’t love what was in the other’s head.
We were flowers, one flower, ‘round and ‘round in red
lipstick that stained and teethmarks from words left unsaid
We were pacing old trodden paths digging old sodden trenches
We were flowers, cut at the stem bleeding love bleeding red
Speaking cold words in floods, sitting on lonely park benches.

Kayla Perkins Apr 2

I can feel my heart
crumbling down...
to a pile of ash.
Or like someone is pulling a thread out of it
And its slowly fraying and dwindling down
Til all that’ll be left
Is a pile of tangled thread
Trying to pretend
To be a heart inside my chest.

I know it's not smoothly written but I can't describe this feeling any better than this
Dead Lock Feb 20

My head is a tangled mass of string and wire

They don't connect

They don't lead into something greater

I am full of yarn and old embroidery thread

TheEndofForever Feb 10

I wrote you some poems
I wrote them a lot
I read them today
Because I knew I forgot
I forgot how it felt
With love in my head
I forgot what you were like
Before you unraveled this thread
I read them today
It's not like the stories always said
Things changed quite a bit
...Maybe I don't know what love is

Mysidian Bard Jan 22

It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.

She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.

At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.

What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.

"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.

Lady Bird Jan 16

torn by the blade of lies
the core of the hurting soul
hanging from the thread of love
a trapped heart no longer whole

Meg Dec 2016

sewing the open wounds shut
hurts just as much
as the wounds themselves

zeph the deer boi Nov 2016

My own family mocks my creations
With my patience wearing thin
I cut the delicate fabric
And wait to sew it back up again
And I repeat these actions
It's an endless battle
Between myself and my family
Can they see the thread?
Can they see the patterns I've created?

boop I'm tired...
zeph the deer boi Oct 2016

hand sewing everything with thread tied in knots
putting patterns in places they don't belong
binding them together in desperation
but it seems the thread of life was unable
to keep my patchwork from tearing apart at the seams

in a club at school we have to creatively express ourselves by writing a poem, drawing, singing, or acting out an emotion. I wanted this to be for sadness but I'd need to add more and I felt it was good like this. maybe this could be stressed out cuz they're trying so hard to put their life back together but nothing seems to work...

My love I write poems for your beauty to praise
Let me declare my love comes from same origin
From edge of eternity to the edge of eternity chase
Remains in vogue sagacity of this honorable action

Love beauty and truth come from eternal resource
Lover and beloved are well aware of this real fact
Whatever is beyond this is but dejected remorse
Eternal promise with eternity takes love real pact

Lover and beloved are images of same in mirror
They celebrate in chain the odds of time and tide
Either they are taken to the prison or to the altar
It is force of love which keeps them side by side

My love pain is a test in love for pleasure to come
It is up to the lovers how they plead it or concede
Life is not a bed of roses but strangely troublesome
It is a deed indeed without color caste and creed

Let me love you like partridge loves the full moon
Let me throw my eye brows in your path to tread
Let me seek light from your beauty in importune
Let me embrace you before life breaks its thread

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

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