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Rumors are just rumors.
Unless a lot of people believe in them.
At that point, it might as well be fact.

Even if you've never done anything wrong before.
Even if said rumor seems completely out of character.
It sounds true so it must be.
Surely anonymous person number six isn't a liar.

And yeah this may have ruined your whole life,
but others thing you deserve it so it must be true right?
Those hateful words they used must be hidden with good intentions.
Because it must be true.

Even if it isn't.
If you know, you know.
Beckie Davies Oct 15
I reflect upon your words
I reflect upon the absence of mine

I hear the hurt between the verbs
The cruelty layered upon the consonants

All I see is hate created from pain
All I see is toxic anger submerged in *******

I reflect upon your words
I reflect upon the absence of mine

I was going to bear witness
To your torturous sickness

But my faith is my deliverance and
My God taught me forgiveness.
she forgave her abuser.
Roro Aug 27
I orchestrate your violent butterflies
Fluttering and morphing into bees with big eyes
"Honey shed your chitin and be mine"
Your guardian angel and savior so divine

The strings of your heart as my violin
My grand concerto hypnotized you to sin
Made me your deity, my boat your place of worship
I welcomed your unholiness aboard my precious ship

Sailed through the clouds and into the stars
Set off on a light-speed expedition to Mars
When we returned to wander the Earth's seas
I found myself a slave to all your pleas

Mistress of this vessel yet so caged and lonely
When did I feed you so much power over me?
She was mine but I didn’t recognize
Tainted and defiled because of my lies

Her body and sails were painted red and blue
To much better suit and satisfy you
Irreverence to your deity, desecration to my shrine
I could only watch while you took all that was mine

A glimpse of land and gardens so close
Sparked a flame of hope in my life of shadows
I sprouted wings and the sun began beaming
Lighting up the rocks where waves were crashing

I raised her sails with one final goal
To free myself and take back my control
With cold confidence, I steadied my helm, directed my bow
Crashed her down like Dawson to Davy in the depths below.
Being worshipped and adored isn't always fun, especially when you feel responsible and in control of a relationship. Despite having that power and control, you're helpless and catering to every need of this obsessed person you now pity and despise. It takes strength and courage to accept when it's time to break it off and let them go. Pick YOU
P.S. Montague Dawson was a maritime painter and Davy references Davy Jones [locker] :)
*Read "shipwreck for the outro/part 2"*
Roro Aug 27
To the lush daisy gardens, I go
The farthest place from you that I know
My freedom was what I chose
Shortly after, your heart froze
My fault for not giving you a clearer sign
But all my displays to you were benign
So, alone I searched for the beams of my mind
But its collapsed architecture was all I could find
Immense guilt because of a simple truth
The sense of our doomed future I ignored in my youth
But life and love are meant to be lived
Freed my sense to be gone with the wind
My annoyance and displeasure would spew
Every waking second and whenever you'd call
Because long before you ever boarded, I knew
That we wouldn't make it anywhere at all
Essentially a part 2/outro to another poem about a certain relationship experience I had- I guess it's simply the "aftermath".
I run ,
and I run,
And manage to go nowhere.
Yet you are everywhere.
Without even so much as a glimmer of a memory, you resurface.
You refuse to be bottled up and it shows.

Some days you are steam and smoke.
Other days you're as gentle as bubbles floating by.
But mostly, You show up all washed up along the shores of my mind.
A subtle but ever present memory of You.

But I run. I dodge. I swiftly swat the lingering thoughts that waft through my head.

Sometimes you're a raging voice,
Or the silver sound of laughter rippling through.
You just can't be restricted, can you ?

So tell me how I should best rid you of my life.
Because it seems at this point;
Running is futile.
Em MacKenzie Jul 3
No one could ever dream to have you beat
in self destruction, self pity and defeat,
it’s almost bittersweet.
But you get by, it’s you not I,
you get by with a plan to only die.
Yes you get by, with any chance to cry,
never noticing another’s sigh.

You know with all the licks you’ve been taking,
we’re both surprised that you’re still waking.
Oh and with the hits you’ll keep taking,
don’t be surprised that you’re still shaking.

Let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
slam our heads together; we’ll forget if not solve them.
So what’s your story you’ve got for me today?

I am no stranger to your sad tales,
though you push them right off the rails,
and my own attempt is except and always fails,
I’d have better luck pitching them as sales.
As you’d get by, just for a high,
only to try with your plan to die.
Yes you get by, it’s always you not I,
claiming life’s got you in it’s eye.

You know with all the kicks you’ve been taking,
it’s a wonder you’re still not breaking.
Oh and all the tricks you’ve been making,
are you shocked we think you’re faking?

Let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
you act the saint and cast I as the goblin.
So what’s your story, exaggerated allegory, today?
Let’s cut right to the root of the issue,
my hands are full but do you need a tissue?
I’ll say sorry, just ignore me and what I have to say.

So open up the bursting flood gate
direct the flow to where I seem to wait,
it’s truly my ears that suffer the most,
I abandoned thought not my post, though I now am late.
But you get by, and still yet defy
magnify on your plans to die.
You’ll always get by, call it a lie,
focusing on rain ignoring you’re dry.

Oh with all the trips you’ve been taking,
It’s no surprise you’ve been strongly flaking.
And with the drips and the lies that have been caking,
you can’t comprehend anyone else aching.

So let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
I’ll start a list and another separate column.
So what’s your story, for attention or glory today?
Let’s cut right to the root of the issue,
hands on your neck and checking your wrist too,
it’s mandatory and obligatory, but morally grey.
rosie Jun 6
you turn my problems into yours.
to talk to you would be
a grand mistake as
conversations take effort by both parties

sometimes, you just need someone to listen to your problems without feeling judged

I'm sure you would know all about that now, right?
listening would make you less self-centered
if only you tried to understand others
message sent 5:23
message read 5:31
Sarah Delaney Jan 24
I may never forget that night that you took what was not yours
But I must thank you in some odd way,
For you showed me who was there for me and who was not when I was at my lowest.
And I have found that cutting toxicity out of my life was necessary.
For if they cannot be there for me when I am  broken, they cannot be there at my peak.
Orchid T Aspen Dec 2019
If I could save even one person, maybe I would speak.


Her flesh wrapped around her like kudzu on a tree, parasitically engaged in what others yearned for.

If you can't rely on blood, who do you have left?

So I stayed. Because no one would come near. How kind she was. How gracious and loving and loved.


Her skin became cold. The very ***** dedicated to masking her advanced structure became like a marble slab left in the snow. That flesh that cradled her meaningless meanings hardened like the exoskeletons she imitated.

She was an insect through and through.


And even if cold was the absence of heat, the left-behind contraband someone else came to cherish, she emanated the very invasion that enveloped her.

She radiated her icy salvation.


And so when the time came that I was able to touch her...
When it was upon my own flesh I would feel what she refused to feel, she grasped onto me.

As if she longed to drag me into her abyss with one last throe, one last labor of love for her blood.


My fingers never fell off, but I was frost bitten. My organs never failed, but I was shredded apart by the sting of the sobbing wind.


I didn't become her marble carcass like I should have.


She didn't take me with her.

I couldn't save her anymore.

Not even if I had devoted my life to doing so. Never again. She left me behind, and I was cold too.


My skin is not chilled to the touch. My muscles are not the remnants of a frozen cicada shell. My skeleton is not made of the icicles left to melt in the sun's triumph.

My tendons ache in the wake of an ancient breeze that blew by far too late.


I am not a slab of cold marble.


I am a starkly darkened visage to behold and not be held, forever turning over and over,
never ceasing and always yearning for that which never was, and that which will never be.

I was only for their sake. Never mine, even if I pretended.


This endless daydream that expands before and behind me, that twists in tendrils that are deplorably mine and

soak in the oily water that inisists on being my keeper... I will not let go of the ribcage it offers to my grasping hands.

I will bear who I am. I am my sickness.


I will plunge into the needy and engorged expanse of shifting flowers and lodged viscera.

I will continue to encase and cease.


Forever in my head.
Forever in my skull. Forever tapping in my cage. Forever clipping my scrawny wings. Forever sincere.


I loved her, and I couldn't
save her.

She was dead, and I couldn't save her.

She was alive, and I couldn't save her.


What remains?
Irreparable me.
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