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I tricked myself
into trusting that I mattered
as much as I thought you did
and that every gentle touch
meant you'd work to be
everything you said you would
and that each fragile whisper down my neck
was a promise
of affection,
not a signal of coercion,
not a white lie to keep me down,
to have me resting next to your body
in shallow warmth,
lost in translation.

Eyes are windows to the soul,
but you always put down the shutters,
closed them tight when you smiled
and told me it was normal;
I believed it.
Not that I should be surprised I was wrong, right?
mythie Oct 6
Blaring sirens and flashing lights.

Make it hard to concentrate.

On the traintrack.

There are multiple paths.

I must decide which I go down today.

Tomorrow, again and again.

The road is covered in a thin layer of rain.

Making it slippery.

A dangerous ‘venture.

The horns blare louder.

The lights blur my vision.

If I can’t take a path.

I should make one on my own.

The train is coming.

The end is in sight.

And I jump down onto the tracks.
CautiousRain Oct 5
Dear Diary:
A daunting opening,
and a lost, red leather journal later,
leaves the pen ink sweating
down the page
reminding me how temporary
all my thoughts are
and how every smudge of my fingers
is really just a desperate attempt
to forget what we've become.
This isn't how it had to end, and yet it did
CautiousRain Oct 5
Sometimes I think
I have forgotten
how malleable I can be
and how much I want
to mold my body,
like clay,
around you,
soft and vulnerable
pressed against
everything I once stood for;
why must I be so
hhhh drabble from 2 nights ago
CautiousRain Sep 23
He had that sly smile
he liked to give,
almost as if to say,
"Darling, you knew
I had these demons.
Did you really think
I'd fight them all for you
and win?"
CautiousRain Sep 20
You used to tell me
you hated everyone
but me
and ever since you left,
I have to wonder
do you hate me now, too?
Part of me doesn't really want the answer
Just wasted time
Alaina Moore Sep 5
"What's funny is" is a shitty statement to be on the receiving end of, it nearly ever ends well.
What's funny is... Often times, most of the time, it's not funny at all. Curious, that we take humorous language and make it into lighter fluid to burn bridges.
What's funny is... The fire is usually a case of arson brought about by projection of in-the-moment feelings, that are fleeting. Bullshit, that we allow ourselves to make them permanent; just mindless masochistic beasts wallowing in the ashes.
What's funny is... The echo chambers we've created for ourselves are actually prisons. Ironic, that we make up walls made out of bricks of unreachable goals, and get disappointment when we don't achieve them.
What's funny is... Is that the more I interact with people the more I understand why we let ourselves indulge, and indulge, and indulge, to numb the monotony for just one fucking second. Nerve wracking, that every person is just a liability I cannot trust to not become the shackles attaching the weights that drown me.
What's funny is... As hard as I try to remain invisible, I'm forever tracked by a spotlight that blinds me. Insane, to think for one second we are anything but dirt on the ground; let me be dirt.
What's funny is... The numbness, and the pain, are like logs on the fire. Enduring, daily, the pokes and prods to keep the embers going when all they wanna do is die.
What's funny is... I like to dance in the flames but hate being on fire. Truthfully, I aim for embers.
Somewhat outside of my normal style.
Beab Sep 1
Our relationship just words
            I said I love you

You never replied

         Was our relationship a lie?

We always argued
We always fought
                              but I had faith

I would love to see the day
Where our love would not be carried away
By the words, we built it upon

              Was I twisted for lying to myself
I wanted to believe you loved me
I wanted to say we were happy

We would have been proud
Did you know?

                                               because it's true that
Breeze-Mist Aug 18
Who would have thought that
I'd find myself sitting here
Out of all places

Staring down the lights
As they pass overhead and
I do not feign sleep

Listening to songs
Night and morning hours blurred
Not caring who hears

Thinking that I could
Possibly have it in me
To miss this rat race

With that lofty goal
Of my past six years of life
Only five days out
Only five days until I move in, and for the first time I'm not sure I'm ready.
I was hard on this place before, and I have little intention of taking most of it back (except for the really out there outbursts and moments), but I think, for the first time in seven moves, I'm nervous about leaving a place I've felt trapped in. Maybe I'm just nervous about the change.
CautiousRain Aug 18
Speak to me in numbers
Something tangible
Equate your feelings with something
I can calculate and infer
Without asking you to
Work these problems over again.
this fucker has me writing the same type of poem again
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