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Seema Jan 2018
On the bed I lay
Bubble by bubble I let my breath sway
Deep below this ocean
Where there is no escape way
My fate struck bad luck on this very day
Friends and families gathered today
For a cruise tour over the bay
This happened in the month of May
The boat caught up near a far strait
Where current flowed in massive state
No one knew we would meet up with a blow
When the boat began to move slow
The engine stuck alerted the crew
Knowing so, our fears grew
The captain immediately called on rescue
Most people had life jackets on
While I was left alone in the queue
One sudden bang and I was thrown below
Lucky I sank holding onto a rope let low
I thought it was my death fall
But few hours later, I realised it was a rescue call
I was saved from death
Which I was about to meet
I never reached the seabed that lay to my greet
I got lucky as I am alive and safe in my own bed...

©sim
Spilling imagination. Fictional write.
Aishwary Nigam Dec 2017
Don't turn away.
Cause I am the same person, you couldn't take your eyes off once
I know it's hard, being ignored
Meeting the same person for the first time everyday
I am sorry for everything's faded
But I want to make it up to you
Can we live in the past?
I know you loved me then
I know somewhere you still do
I promise, I am the same
I am the same
I am the same
Wait, who are you again?
BEX Dec 2017
you are a cancer,
growing in my bones.
killing me slowly
from the inside out.
an evolutionary mistake
wrought with good intentions.

i am a virus,
moving from
one body to another.
killing each more efficiently
than the last.

we are a tragedy, my dear,
not because of what we are,
but because of what
we could have been.
Den Dec 2017
I still remember that one summer afternoon.
I saw you while I was sitting with my worn out desk,
Drawing a new cartoon,
And aiming for a better picturesque.

Freckles were visible upon your cheek,
But your eyebrows weren’t that on fleek.
Maybe it’s because of the cut you have there,
From a stout man in front of you, bearing a death glare.

In one blissful moment, my trash bin went flying,
As he was about to punch you again.
He then took a step back, looking like an ugly duckling!
You saw me through my window and gave me a smile that’s so inane.

It was never okay when I had too many hideous drafts,
Drafts that were always behind my beautiful crafts.
But then, I knew that you needed them as your defense.
And so I had them, even if they would cost ten thousand cents

My parents would always scold me,
For I was the very reason why our front gate was always messy.
But I didn’t care enough
As long as you stay safe from that dickheaded buff.

Then came a time when you didn’t show up.
I was badly ready for my defense gaming,
That I lay my head on my desk, playing Mom Jeans’ Death Cup,
As the sun’s power is already taming.

Days passed, crumpled drafts were already overflowing.
Still, I am waiting for you, my darling.
I am running out of paper.
But still, my hope will not waver.

When I cannot take it anymore, I went outside.
I was dancing through the streets like a happy bride,
And then I stepped on a crumpled piece of newspaper.
“A 17-YEAR OLD BOY WAS KILLED WITH A DOUGH SCRAPER”
Currently reviewing for my Science exam tomorrow but, I saw this from the pile of junk inside my folder.
Stewie Dec 2017
There’s something beautifully romantic about tragic love.
I don’t understand why people say that two broken people can’t build a content home.
I search for people who have broken pieces like me,


                                    And I found that in you.

Two lonely people can be alone together.
Two broken people can be broken together.
You make me feel like home in this desolate conservative town.
Rebel Heart Dec 2017
Lost in the illusion
Of this painting they called life,
A small girls sits shivering
In the corner of her bathroom floor
...
Inside of this masterpiece
The girl paints more of just that,
Her tears watercolors on the canvas
Of the tiles lining the bathroom floor
...
These tiles now cold and hard
Eating away like acid on her cool flesh,
The comfort of the childhood memories
All washed away from within the walls
That once gave her peace of mind.
Bubble baths turned to ****** ones
As she brings her art to life
...
The words thrown at her
Outside of the world in her bathroom
Now painted red in bold font
Inside a canvas unseen
By anyone but the bitter ghost
Left to rot in the corners of the stone walls
Under the bubbles of the water
That ate away at her crimson tainted flesh
...
The tears stop falling
While the water still runs
Over her treacherous heartbeat,
Down the curves of her spine
As she desperately attempts
To wash away her sins
Not knowing the paint was permanent
Forever etched into her skin
Burning demons into her own canvas
...
Years later,
After many hidden portraits..

Her fragile body aches
As she paints one more masterpiece
To tie the rest of her canvases together.
And with a final stroke of her brush
A tear slips down her face
Rejoicing in how long her art lived
In secrecy before she ran out of paint
...
  She finally paints her signature
  Onto the tiles of her bathroom floor
  Her legacy or a warning to those stuck like her
  The world won't ever come to know
  All they knew was her heart ran out
  Of words to say and canvases to paint
  As she took her last breath and spelled out

           **Mise en Abyme
Pieces of another dark poem found in the archives written officially on this date 7 years ago... and yet what inspired this or rather who still remains much of a mystery ~BM
Amar Nov 2017
Blood drops drip from both hands of the clock,
I notice, it's not been moving;
The thin blade edge gleams,
Ready to rip red slashes on a sheet;
Someone will stir for love,
And then bleed slow death tonight.

It could have been sunshine,
A path tumbling along green mountainside,
Or a bird taking flight;
Or, what if, the night was touched by a playful wink of moonlight?

Could I perhaps once be free,
Of the magic that lines my fingertips,
That throws dark clouds upon the morning,
The crash of a landslide down the mountain,
And the wail of hurt into the bird's call?

Could I find, if I tried, a story that ends in clasped hands,
And finding little rooms in each other's eyes?

I notice, the blood clock hasn't moved,
The sound of falling droplets drowns the ifs,
And ticks over time;
I wield my weapon,
And skin gives like butter.
Seema Nov 2017
My child I dearly pray
The wrong doers will pay
Your life was priceless
To some meaningless
You had a golden smile
Tho so far, so many miles
If I had you here with me
You would have been alive to see
There are those who have lost
Beautiful innocence by cost
I am deeply hurt reading about you
My heart cried tho I don't know you
The red t-shirt you wore last
Will alway remind me of this past
Why your family had to flee?
Why authorities ignore your plea?
Why the boat capsized in the ocean?
Why was there no precaution?
Why the world had to see you washed on the shore?
Laying face down on the Turkish shore
Such a beautiful child, how many more!
The aches getting worse as I see your face
You left every heart to break where we trace
It was not you fault, Oh baby boy!
You were thrown off board like a broken toy
May the good spirits guide your soul
Don't you worry, these ruthless will burn in hole
Even hell might reject them for achieving such goal
You were a Syrian prince, one can hint
Your tragic death would stay as an imprint...




©sim
Wrote this in 2015, after this tragedy shown in all news channel.

My prayers goes to thee and the others who were also the victims, R.I.P Thy Souls in peace:
"Aylan Kurdi, three year old
Brother Galip Kurdi, five year old
Mother Rihan"
George Krokos Nov 2017
If we could make something
just come out of nothing
it would then be magic
and seem almost tragic
if we didn't all believe
it was there to deceive.
--------------------
Written in 2016
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