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EmilyBatdorf Feb 1
My heart feels blocked, my fingers unable to unlock its doors.
Perhaps time moves too fast
for it to be processed.
Or maybe this icy chill has crept in
through my thick curtains and made its home
in my chest.
My heart, my mind are numb.
Where are you emotions? Where are you poems?
The words don’t pour out anymore,
I’ve seemed to have lost my voice
or maybe I’ve gotten used to being silenced.
Laiyn Davis Jan 31
So you cheated, which is something I honestly expected.
Doesn't mean I’m not destroyed, I'm really quite affected.
I was hoping it wouldn't go this away, and together we would be great!
But at the end of the day I was your cheap thrill, a way to increase your heart rate.

Because i need a break from you, girl worried about getting to the next base,  
That is, before I escalate the situation, punch someone in the face.
An interesting experience, and I hate to sound cruel,
But your breaking my heart Tuts, i hate being another's tool.
And your best friend assured me you cared a whole lot.
“Yeah, I'm sure.”  I said after, just wanting to smoke some ***.
“No, she really does, and loves you, this is all a big mistake.”
“Yeah? If it were truly like that I would be great”
I think a better word there is ecstatic.
But my imaginary friend was back, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

I loved holding you, and I'm sure you felt the same.
You were my Peach, in this ****** game.
But you took the game too far, why oh why.
And now the other boys are busy, making, a Peachpie...

Some like to scream, and others just love to pray…
Me? I just hope I don't get in the way.
But you, you proved my hypothesis right…
Do remember when i said i loved you, late that night?
Then you broke my trust, dashed me into pieces.
So here am, righting yet another thesis,
Against the name of love, put Cupid to shame,
******, I’m liar, here I go screaming your name.
Beautiful Peach, you wound me so…
And now, I’m completely out of ammo.
Do i ever want to see you again, i don’t know.
But you made a man into a shadow..

So in conclusion.
Not a single man, woman or child, should be deluded.
If I take you back, will be your last chance.
But, I’mma need 50 in advance.
For Her.
Talis Ren Dec 2018
I looked in the fruit basket
And instead of cherries
I was eating hearts

I guess at some point
They became identical
Because crimson
Is just one color
Shane Rowe Nov 2018
I just want to cry
I can't seem to do that lately
My mess is all bottled up inside
But the cork is ******* on tightly
Tears don't come as fast it should
What an unnerving feeling
My emotions has betrayed me
Has drained me
I am feeling nothing and everything at once
It makes the room spin slightly
A hole where the loudness started
Has grown bigger each day
Sneaking its way into my dreams
To torment me awake
I lay in silence til dawn breaks
I do not feel safe
Sleep, old friend
Come as soon as you can
It's 3 am.
Persephone Oct 2018
Where did my feelings flutter too?
The ones that make my body sparkle
And pound my chest with joy
The ones that spew anger and shout rage
The ones that throw tears at my eyes
And sooth relief into my veins
The ones that turn my thoughts into dreams
And my dreams into life
The ones that left me ohh so unlonely
Why did they go?
zb May 2018
they kneel in the
corner of the room, unaware
maybe uncaring
most definitely unfeeling

apathy: a symptom of depression
in their case, undiagnosed suffering

over the years of fighting
a disease that wanted them dead,
they learned what the worst part was.
not the self-hatred.
not the permanent exhaustion.
not the intrusive thoughts.
not the suicidal urges,
not the emotional instability.

it was the apathy.

they had periods of time,
hours, maybe days
in which they couldn't feel anything
a horrible numbness
like saltwater crawling in their veins
like their skin was drawn too tight
like their heart had stopped beating
hours of nothing.
days of nothing.
terrifying, but not
because they couldn't feel fear.

the apathy was an infection
they could not find it in them to care
they could not find it in them to smile
to laugh
to cry
to shout
to love
they could not find it in them to live.

the apathy was the
emotional equivalent
of a sensory deprivation chamber,
the kind intended for torture;
a horrible lack of sensation
designed to bring a person
to the brink of an indifferent insanity.

years later,
and i have recovered
i have grown
but in the darkest moments,
when i feel the saltwater
lap at my ankles
when i don't feel the terror
i know i should

i wonder
if this time is the time
from which i can't
recover.
i wonder
if this time is the time
in which i will forever lose
my ability to love.
Poetic T Apr 2018
Soiled nappies
        filled with discontent.

That the world is
     always uncomfortable
     and full of discomfort..
Ani Naser Apr 2018
[ ]
i am rubber, i am glue
i feel nothing, i feel blue
hi, i’m [       ], who are you?
fighting fire with fire but where is the fire?
just charred husks of what once was and what could have been
just emptiness, memories that i can’t remember
emotions i can no longer feel
sharp corners and fine points turned to dull nothings
wishing to be whispered sweet nothings
wishing for the sweet and wishing for the nothing
everybody loves me
faces and smiles turn into pictures of stock
if you knew me like i knew me you wouldn’t love me
maybe i’m not upset that they don’t love me or that they don’t care
maybe i’m upset because they do
how do you love [       ]?
how do you worry about and talk about [       ]?
how do you look at [       ] and feel something?
i wish i could feel the emotions you do
concern for my well-being
worry and panic because i lose myself
maybe you do love me
maybe i don’t want you to love me
calling myself names to evoke a response
words go through me because there’s nothing to stick to
i’m not rubber, i’m not glue
bounce off what and stick to who?
Damian Murphy Feb 2018
A broken heart
I would welcome
If truth be told

Over a heart
That would become
Unfeeling... Cold.
Emily Miller Feb 2018
Under the cover of night,
A savagery blossoms in everyone,
Thriving in the privacy of darkened corners
And behind locked doors.
Inhibitions are lost,
And veils removed,
And the arching,
Writhing,
Wild things emerge.
There is one exception,
A predator that sinks into the shadows
And observes.
One who calculates every movement,
And plans,
Meticulously,
How to create the perfect night.
As the moon inches closer to the horizon,
And the purple of the dawn
Begins to rise,
The predator manipulates her prey into the necessary positions,
Guiding them into the right movements,
To say the right things,
Punishing,
And rewarding,
For following her rules.
“Sometimes I wish that I were like the other
Animaux de noir
So that I could release myself,
Instead of cinch
And draw in
Defensively.
But meticulousness is all I know
And to design
Carefully
Methodically
Does not keep one warm.
I must plot every second,
Every reaction,
And list the rules for my prey.
Take away their sight
Their speech
Their movement,
And once they know the isolation of the sensation of touch
Without control,
Without authority,
They may earn them back,
One by one,
Until they can give me a definitive answer.
What is it that you want?
What do you need the most?
What do you want to do first?
And what will you do last?
Predictably,
They plead to give me what I already knew they would give,
To do the things that all before them have done,
Because they are puppets,
They’re easy,
They’re all ****** to be the same,
And I,
Night after night,
Will remain
Just as meticulous.”
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