Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
nadine Nov 2019
the nights devoid of holiness
always seemed
to find itself tangled
with the crestfallen visage
always plastered on mine.

a close acquaintance of mine
would be the moon--

glimmering and illuminating
the regrets and mistakes
emblazoned deeply
onto every fibre of my being.

my dreaded moment has come--
the clock made itself known;
reverberating
through the fragile threshold
i dared to call my home.

once more,
it made me a fool
for believing
i could be liberated
from this labyrinth.
make it stop.
Ackerrman Oct 2019
Pupils gaze into the sun, I am stunned,
Unearth the power of Raa in your eyes,
Revel! As we lay for long hours, sunned
To death in the warm embrace of your fires.

As we wrap our lives around each other's
Souls as stinging nettles cradle soft skin,
Our life embers trickle, rumbles, smothers-
Nothing. Just- blood. Scars, filth under cover.
And you tickle the hair under my chin...

Time swells and the kind universe cradles-
I can't- stomach this ******* orange juice anymore!
I choke on the bits, I told you before,
How many times- and where is that *****?
What do you mean- “Lucy has gone before”
Good Lord, where has that ***** gone now. That *****-
Cotton wrapped ‘round faithful fairy fables—
Grandad? Is that you? What did you send me for?

This dream bred a silk no spider could weave,
Heavenly nirvana, none could conceive...

You. Child like, notions of freedom. So naive,
Your ****** up little attitude is hard to conceive.

Lucy? Lucy, is that you? -You ***** tease!
I am confused, did you drug me again?-
I shall follow wherever you may lead...
-You’re no better than when you’re on your knees-
Don’t leave me, like a little frightened Fen...
Just ask and I should spend my life on my knees.

My light is yours to – blank –

Tie the rope to the tree and ******* hang.

Lucy must be with Grandad, that’s why I
Can't find them- can't find my love- my bee.

How long until this moment passes by
Lucy, do me the Honour. Marry me.

Lucy?

Lucy.
So I watched the penultimate of Bojack Horseman season 4, and wow, I am pretty sure I have PTSD. Anyway, the episode inspired me. Here is a poem about dementia.
Kayla Gallant Sep 2019
Filthy lies

Spread across

Blank canvases

Young minds

Spoiled

Like milk

Left out in the sun
warped young minds becoming who the world told them to be, So much wasted potential.
Autumn Jan 2019
My body doesn’t feel like my own
It feels as foreign as the forest
Empty and quiet
Unsure of the way back home

My conscious feels distorted
Warped beyond my belief
Balancing on my frontal lobe
Threatening to fall

My limbs feel like tattered branches
Clinging desperately to the trunk
Only the bark is so thin and frail
That it can barely support even itself

I am not myself anymore
i don’t feel like myself lately
Jade Oct 2018
Heart skips
like a warped record,
trembles over scarred vinyl
until "I love you"
tastes incomplete:

(I)                love                 you

I                  (love)               you

I                   love                (you).

My Swan Song mewls off key,
cascades across the
marred terrain of my soul
in a thick lacquer of tears.
Notes flatline
in unison with my
waning pulse
(waning, like the face
of the moon on the night
of my eighteenth birthday).

My breath
resigns to static,
dances in slow decrescendos--
sputters its way
towards nothingness,
slipping rapidly from
my consciousness until
I no longer hold
any recollection of the music
(or the poetry).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Avaleen Aug 2017
Let’s waste our youth on these mindless games
On these pixelated screens
Warped from reality
All. Of. Us.
Let’s pretend our world doesn’t exist
And when it burns to the ground
We’ll be left standing in the ashes wondering what went wrong
Poetic T Jan 2017
The warped woods were unique in there standing,
as when a certain assentation was perceived they
would no longer reach for that unattainable  
objective of what was beyond there ambition.

So they would seek in sense the joining of there
aspirations to be more than what was perceived.
When one of such long longevity was to be entangled
with another then a connection was implemented.

In the holds of a veil, only stars shine on the appendages
that wait with leafs of needing of daylights caressing.
But as night slept within that moment a conjunction
of seeding woke upon the dawns yawning.

The aurora swept over the conjoined branches that while
separate were void of happening. Upon the moments
that the rays of sunrise kisses caressed everywhere,
then the destitute became vibrant and what wasn't was.

The Woods were of two root systems, when conjoined
whisper's of the planets  echoes where opened and a
footstep was a milestone of miles instead of impressions.
the animals were like children playing upon this system.

Always making sure that when the sun decided it was time
for its rays of life to sleep that they were back at the focal
point. Those not lost were sleeping well, but those that
were eclipsed as night suffocated the land of sight were stranded.

With every motion of the warped woods, each day was a
verity of randomness. But each was cautious of there time
so not to linger in lost solitude, to never taste the air of there
homeland. The woods of everywhere but steps to the unknown.
Next page