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Elise Jackson Aug 2017
if i said that i wouldn't die for you, i'd be lying.
such a naive thing to say, i know.
but it's my honesty.
it's the rawest thing i can give you.
i'd **** for you, i'd do anything for you.

an open letter can become a treasure chest if you open it the right way.
a technicolor dream of gray, a projector screen of pink.
a hallucinogenic vision i dreamed about a year before i saw you.

this was meant to happen.
all of the things in my life have happened for so, all of this is supposed to happen.
i was always supposed to feel this way.
i do.
i have.
and i always will.

i don't believe most of the things she's said about you.
most, because somehow she'd like the truth to be told.
because you're wonderful, but she'd rather make the bad things noticeable by lying.
maybe she's angry that you don't love her.

it's the miles deep pain i feel in my abdomen that shows me the truth.
it's the heart attack i experience when your eyes light up that shows me your real heart.

it's the knot in my throat when you talk, that shows me you're alive.


and so am i.
Meghan Jul 2017
she
To her friends, she is the angel created to save
To her lovers, she is the demon built to ****
But only a piercing true man enough to be brave
Can see she is an angel made by the devil
Nadia Jul 2017
Some say the word is black and white
Some say not
I argue it's transparent
We paint it with our stories
Our prints are embroidered in its deep crusts
Miss Clofullia May 2017
you drank it all.
alone.

even though there's nothing left
in the bottle,
it is you that feels empty,
transparent,
frail,
like an eggshell that your mother found
in the chicken that your father killed,
that didn't have the chance of the frying pan at least.

you drank it all.
alone.
no Juliet around,
no Shakespeare
no talent,
no tale.

you drank it all.
alone.
no strippers,
no angels,
no thieves!

you drank it all.

some may call it
messianic delusion syndrome,
but I call it..
cheap Chardonnay.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbz9rIxZJBw
let the disgust hide within
the transparent shells
of white crusty sin

They can see through
my dusty muddled skin
but cannot, of what is
engraved deep within

These shells, they are
fragile and blue
and in deep denial
that they belong to you

These shells, they do not crack
they grow old, to only
reminisce and bite your back

-Kaya
Lady Bird Sep 2016
caressing the tree tops stale wind blows
like a stalker creeping on their tippi-toes
transparent darkness across the sky it flows
lost in this view where just a bit of sun shows
blaketing day the night through time it goes
Ayu Prameswari May 2016
If I had to describe myself as colour
Transcolour, is what I want to be

If I had to explain what it is like
Transcolour, the hue is transparent

If I had the brush to paint it on canvas
Transcolour, no stroke nor stain are seen

If I had let you know its power
Transcolour, reflected ray dispersed a rainbow

If I had right choosing desired pigment
Transcolour, I wish I am as me

(May 2016)
Sarah Salako May 2016
she watched her move
gracefully and quiet
she moved with purpose
but she remained silent
her eyes betrayed her though

HOLLOW eyes pierced into mine
they reflected my future
they dug out my past
i stared back at the endless pits that seemed to draw me in
and reached out a hand to save us both

i touched glass because i was looking in the mirror
she was my reflection and her touch was cold
her tears trickled down her face
sad
angry
confused

we stared endlessly
Silverflame May 2016
The music is blasting out loud.
You can feel the bass diving into your body.
Sweating mortals, creating chaos in a crowd.
It’s here where nobody becomes somebody.

Fragile glass filled with colors of a rainbow.
The liquid’s job is to make you dizzy.
Turning strangers into people, you now know.
It’s here where lazy meets busy.

Wanting a good time but is being oddly exposed.
Intrusive questions, stirring up the tension.
Asking polite for the door to remain closed.
It’s here where admiration turns into obsession.

Light is out, except for the lighter’s flame.
Shattered bottles and broken high heels.
Skin meets ground, leading to tomorrow’s pain.
It’s here where your alter ego is truly revealed.
I am not the party type at all. I will always prefer staying home surrounded by nothing but silence.
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