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little lion Feb 17
This morning, the world woke up without me.
Daylight crested above the trees, where bird-songs filled the crisp winter air and squirrels began scurrying through frost-bitten yards.
                                                          ­                                Neighbors went about their day, putting children on school buses before bustling themselves to work. The mailman came and left, dropping off packages filled with useless purchases and magazine subscriptions that sit piled in corners, gathering dust.
Hallways filled with swarms of students eager for the final bell. Lockers slammed and classroom seats filled, my desk being the only one left empty
                                                           ­                               (second row from the front, farthest to the right or left, whichever was opposite of the door. Perfect view of the clock, the whiteboard, the teacher, and everyone who entered and exited the room.)
Emails went unanswered, books left unfinished, my room left untouched... a thin layer of dust began to collect atop my existence that went unnoticed.
                                                      ­                                  
Unnoticed by them, unnoticed by you.
You never noticed me, and you never will.
crowther Jan 10
every book has its own story to tell. but ours are way behind the bookshelf; untouched, unread, and all dusty. its rotten roots had crumpled and seizes to the temptation of dying. yet, here i am, trying to find the perfect ink to fill this pen. if i try other inks, our story would smudge and would turn out to be messy. i would still try to write even though there are smudges all the way. i still try to pave the perfect story that you and i would find it interesting. and trying for you does not matter. so here we are— untouched, unread, and all dusty.
a prose.
Tori Danielik Dec 2019
My temple is now tainted
With pretty white roses and a new fragrance
Don’t worry dear,
It will be gone soon

Isn’t it funny how black and white it was?
And now with the sunrise comes gray foggy mornings
Holding your breath as you hold in your stories
And immediately let them spill out

Suppose it were a key to the new you
Or I am just finally free of myself?
You still miss the white roses
But you won’t say that anymore
The sequel to, “Untouched.”
Tori Danielik Dec 2019
Darkened grime has not spread across my body
Soot-covered fingerprints have not traced the lines in my skin
Poisonous words have not crawled into my veins
My brain has yet to be compromised by this chemical cocktail

Untouched
Is my soul’s home
She is reserved with brick walls and number codes
She sends a warning with guard dogs tall and strong
But behind the closed iron doors
Is her white room

Scared to spill
But wanting to throw paint after taking off plastic covers
Wanting to ruin
But not wanting the hurt
Wanting the touch
But not the pain
And yet
A masterpiece could be waiting

Untouched
Yes, I am untouched
Museum-grade red ropes
Look, don’t come close
And, at this rate,
I don’t know when I’ll be ready
To let go
DIPTI DHAKUL Nov 2019
Connection  were necessary


For connections to touch
yet leave them untouched.
© Feelings Coated
Humaira Fatima Aug 2019
I put back

our broken pieces

differently...

So everytime you look,

you'll find a new 'Us'...

I paint myself

each time with

an untouched

part of your soul

So the beauty of our love,

is captured within us...

And everytime you feel,

you'll find my heart

fostering the love

for you differently!
Daniel May 2019
Places untouched by human beings
will cease to exist
for the human kind
will never stop destroying.

Danny
irsorai Apr 2019
Emptiness crippling the walls,
Steps dragging the shallow bodies.
It's been too long since it was spoken,
& words feel as broken as scarce touches.

Call my name,
I've been lost in my thoughts.
Copyright © irsorai
03/04/2019 - 7:22pm
Lynnia Feb 2019
I have a curious kind of heart
The kind left untouched by all but a kindred spirit
Felt undone and they don’t want to hear it
Synthesize joy but don’t dare go near it
Maybe the breeze thinks I’m flawless
But deep in my mind, it’s a perfect kind of lawless
Take away my thoughts, I’m poor and I’m jobless
But the cycle churns on and I don’t have the guts to stop this
I’m fighting underground, fighting underground
They don’t listen to my sound, listen to my sound
I fear what I can’t hear
If the darkened voice drew near, I’d disappear—
Oh, disappear
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