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Anya Feb 10
The strands tangle and twist
As if my finger,
Is the center of a tiny universe
Of interlocking twining twirling black
With a simple twist and snap
Are ripped,
Star crossed lovers
Every Romeo to his Juliet
Are rip, rip, ri-torn apart
The hair from the hair tie

Yet,
Like tentacles clinging on
A stubborn slug, repulsive
Yet in an obscure manner
Admiringly persistent
It continues to hold on

Like a lizard regrows it’s tail
Impossible,
To truly chop off
So too does the hair insist
Upon an adamant refusal to separate

As if hair and tie are one
Interlocked
In a ferocious battle...     Or,
Perhaps, a passionate embrace?
Are they one?

Whether it be so or not
I decide not to bother
Why,  should I take up the mantle
Of the evil stepmother, wicked witch, cruel king...
You name it
To separate the two, lovers or competitors
They maybe

Why insist,
Upon what will never
Come true,
At least,
In the case of any proper Disney fairy tale

Is what I tell myself,
throwing down the hair tie
In favor of writing poetry about it
SB Jan 24
Who was it that decided that a knot should be so painful to untie?

Sometimes, a tie is loose,
It has no purpose,
It is old,
It decays!

So why do we hang on?
Why don’t we just allow the knot to be broken when its clearly no longer functional?

Its quite sad really. How a knot becomes so weathered when two ends just can’t let go.
b Aug 2018
i will spend the week
in hourglass torture.
listening to seconds
go bye.
i cant save them
they live as quickly
as they die.

there is no tragedy
in seconds.
no funeral procession
for time lost.
just memories and
blank space.
the bitter blade
of nostalgia just
sharp enough to
pierce weak skin.

there is no excuse
for lost time.
just a .44 pointed
straight at a mirror.
one victim.
one criminal.
i am as guilty
as i am innocent.
so i am really nothing.

just a quarter
in a crisis.

the king of
neglect.
Em Feb 2018
full of knots
that have tied themselves.
ropes of lies and ideas
crossing over one another.
they tighten every breath
and they become tangled.

why must we try to untie
these cords
that fasten us down
so we don’t float away?

we obsess over detangling
and untying
while we refuse to see
the tapestry
our bodies have made.
a quick poem I wrote just now
Sanny Nov 2017
Cut
An emotionally orphan.

Thrown away like garbage.

Like our blood ties are cut off.

By the scissors of regret.
Saint Audrey Sep 2017
Grinding....

Leaving it silenced, drawn and quartered
Clawing for the scraps left over

Predicament I found myself in
Or, towards the end of it
Slipping from the edges
Forager focused on finding any way back home
Sidetracked by some apparition left crying
Alone, in the corner

Grinding...

Paused, with rain drops weighted, heavy sense in the air
I can feel my lips turning blue and
Twitching

It's more literal than I would dare dream in a waking nightmare
The smell of every molecule tantamount to another realm

Hangs motionless in the air
The stone transposed becomes a rooftop asylum, overlooking such uncouth misanthropic parcels, self absorbed in this grotesque imagery, a veritable wall of self hate puzzle pieces

Grinding...

Low, on an almost ominous note, still grows colder in my ears
Blowing on winds filled with the spite and righteous
Anti holy
Fully rupturing sound of far off laughter of the
New root

My lips still moving
No sound produced
And my mind
Grinding...

I still pray to god for you
Beset on all sides by the same wickedness
Still afflicted by myself

Argue for arguments sake
****** up on the uptake
I thought that you might want it
I guess I forgot all the subtle ways
The fires spring to life at night

Arguably the wrong choice is
Looking at him
I try not to
Catch that glimpse in his eye
Already my mind races
And my bones are shivering
At the thought alone

Brickwork backing
Still swells maggots
And filing paperwork
For entrapment habits

Grinding
Janae Jun 2017
imagine this
there's always the
kiss

right before the end
they have to tie you in
finish the deal

To show they were more than friends
I guess that's always been the trend
To see the happily ever after begin
xmelancholix Apr 2017
drip...
      drip...
             drip...
a leaky faucet that someone didn't quite finish closing off
a cry for help when the ties of the rope aren't tight enough to hold your weight in lies and sadness.
so a slow drip will suffice
but you'll wish to expedite this pain by drowning yourself
but someone didn't quite finish closing you off
so you'll die
drop by drop.

and you used to love the water
the way it was refreshing and cleansing
and reminded you of the feelings we had
I left you on edge
I left you unhinged
I left you not quite closed off

I left you loose and you still poured out for me
I left you with hope and you drip on...
alternate titles:
dripping.. or a steady flow
a faucet
Timothy hill Mar 2017
Of heart breath, blood fills the pen.

Tore from mint the strain reels.

Letter of black huge style font.

To intense the effects of your mind.

Of art and grief wash out from plane.

Your our experience, held more than even change.

A limited mind has no options worth its place.

They seed our reality based on our coscience and apperal.

With grins and napkins on our laps.

Our politeness, is grace and suit and tie apprased.

For who, shall bring the golden loft of breed.
This is of reality, and our mind.
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