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mel Mar 20
oh to be the envelope that holds your letters,
your letters that will,




ripped at the seams,
soon to be disgarded.
inspired by the book I finished today: Letters to Milena by Franz Kafka
Haley Lana Mar 16
I miss you more than words can express,
but I must try anyway.
The issue, the core of this whole mess:
I'm dust since you went away.
I think of you ten times a day,
tormented by memories:
a wink, a joke you would say -
lost in my reveries.
And I only really smile
when I replay our greatest hits;
It's been lonely for a while,
Gone astray, falling to bits.
I pray, I do, though I'm not sure
if I deserve to have you back,
or if oblivion could even cure
this tattered soul, this crystal crack.
Fare thee well, my shooting star,
wherever you might land;
For I have fell from you too far,
forever changed by your hand.
(for G.)
Bea Rae Feb 29
As the walls close in

The demons inside my head

Steal every breath I take
Ander Stone Jan 26
witnessing the cracks
in your feeble armor
tears a whole
through a heavy heart.

I can feel the scars
upon your broken coil
and the salt flats
below your eyes.

he spilled the blood
of his bitter fists
upon that cardboard frame
the world calls your body.

he cleaved at the brittle coal
that is your aching bones,
yet you still carry yourself
upon the winter winds.

he spat in the ocean of your soul.

yet you hold on tight
to his arm,
as if he is the anchor
that keeps you safely in the bay.

and all you need do is obey.

fearful of the storm beyond,
of the deep blue of endless
you stay within the confines
of a jagged little shoreline.

he is the rope aroung your nape
and you can't help but hang yourself.
this is about so many women that I have known, and will continue to know as long as I live by a sea so black as the hearts of these so called men.
leeaaun Nov 2023
I play a role not meant for me

They want me smiling, but my heart's in strife,
Behind their words, a hidden world of pain.
In laughter's mask, I play a role so plain,
Yet tears within me, silent as the night.

Their expectations, heavy burdens weigh,
A scripted joy, in sorrow, I reside.
Aching truths beneath the smiles they guide,
I play a part, a role I can't betray.

Behind the scenes, a tale of sorrow weaves,
Unseen by those who seek a cheerful face.
Within the script, my heart finds no reprieve,
A tragic act in this relentless chase.

They ask for smiles, but tears won't be denied,
In scripted joy, my true self can't hide.
Alex Aug 2023
There was once a weak little sparrow. She has yet to learn to fly, so she fell out of the nest. Little did she know it would keep her alive. In a small stream she drifted on by as the other creatures burned alive, a fire engulfed the forest she once called home. It nipped the edges of the stream burning her wings, as time went by the fire died leaving the entire forest in ash. A lone witch searched the forest with tears in her eyes for any signs of life.
Only to find a lone little bird, barely clinging to life, desperate to survive. So the little witch took the little sparrow home, trying to save its life. Her wings were badly burned, and she would never be able to fly. The witch did what she could and kept the bird alive, but as time went by the sparrow grew sad. Knowing everything was gone, and she was alone as she looked at the burned forest.
Then the little witch had an idea, to try and turn the sparrow human, so they wouldn't feel so alone anymore. She didn't see the agony that would cause the sparrow, and never expected the burn scars would stay. So the little sparrow was turned human, well mostly. The witch has to teach her how to be human, which took many years. Eventually they lived comfortably, enjoying each other's company, but good things never last.
Someone from the nearby village saw the little witch and her small hut. They were suspicious of her, hating anything different from them. They looked disgusted by the other one, the sparrow didn't look like them. Not only that, but they hated the witch and chained the sparrow, forcing her to watch as they burned the witch. They studied the odd girl, wanting to know what she was, why she was different. The torture seemed to never stop, till she finally broke, harnessing the witches power and the life of the ancient forest that was burned. The ancient forest where she was born was burned by the villagers and the magic went into the little sparrow, hoping she would survive.
She went into a fury, slaughtering the village, leaving nothing left of the ones who tortured her, burned her only family alive and destroyed her home. She when she finally calmed, she was on the mountain overlooking the dead forest and decimated village, realizing she was truly alone.
A cute little short story I did for a character backstory
Our fractured laugh is irredeemable.
It Is reinforcing the heroic microbes.
to brainstorm some tiny schemes.
with a lack of delicacy and tact

to recur the same cynic nights of devastation,
incorporate the sores into our throats; a full-time personification of tangible intrusion, directly to the full portrait of the Meningitis itself.

Distracting the law of the incubation hours for all strains, overpowering the blood cower, and hovering over our jaded hoarse, sneering at our last appalling psyche-knot

After this creative detention,
I’m invoking another forever torpor inside of our hearts' beats to pose another irrevocable damage that would perpetuate a close depiction of da Vinci’s Last Supper masterpiece.

Honey, Light yourself with a viral-bacterial whirlwind and sink into its bleakness beside my bewitching bind.
I'm still loving you despite all my infections.
amid the urge to enfold your tsunami and swallow its combination
Fortunately, we have survived so many different tragedies together, as a full piece of plague
above Utopia.

- The Poetic Soul
about love and illness.
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