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Alanna Hoeveler May 2016
i lost control today
a fool i am, for you flirt obnoxiously in front of my ******* face
i know you do not love me but i still feel pain knowing i will be replaced and that all i am to you is waste of space
sorry for the inconvenience
- a.h.
eli May 2016
if love is a battlefield,
than my mind must be Chernobyl.
a nuclear war zone,
befitting,
I spent years developing a nuclear war head,
that can find lodging in your head.

it lays resident on the pillow on my bed,
my childhood shed,
while bad memories flow like a water drain up ahead,
and may remain with me until death.

maybe such a stigma on depression exists,
because no one still really knows what it is
hell, my mind can compute equations,
spit out essays,
but mental illness?
to solve mine would be aimless.

it lurks, it attacks, it burns
left like a forest fire to churn.
eats up your insides, you feel your ending coming close,
with no conclusiveness a doctor can diagnose.
only if life came with an easy mode,
maybe i'd be better off dealing with this alone.

this is for all the kids
who made Adam's song their song,
or find reprieve at the bottom of a ****,
and find life a little bit too long.

can you hear the siren?
three, two...
seconds to eruption
one...
boom.
no time to snooze.

i wake and
immediately collapse into
pieces.
scattered,
in the people i will encounter today
until i come home
empty,
no parts of me left to be seen.
until i finally fall in bed,
close my eyes,
count 1, 2, 3,
and do it
all over again.
Spike Harper May 2016
Remedy this.
Believe the wound will close.
Pray the blood will cease its flow.
And when the inevitable happens.
Pray that the shattered remains.
Will find its form one day.
These icy shards feign comfort and warmth.
Contort the mind to reach out.
And paint by numbers.
First encounter.
Second chances.
Third and so on.
Down the list.
Until hands have gone numb and colorless.
A life less than that of which what stood.
Shambles.
And somehow still in motion..
Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.
Amy H Apr 2016
entirely possible,
very probable,
highly likely,
that you are
impossible.
it's an explanation
plausible,
that you're impossible.
it has to be the reason;
the exercise was futile,
trying to keep my grip
and ride.
thrown off,
again my possee
gives a hand
for dusty pants
and ****** knees,
while you
keep up the dance
of the bucking bull.
No embarrassment
you tossed me off
so quick;
just that I kept choosing
to try and tame a *****.
A little grit from a little way back.
Yume Blade Apr 2016
Catch waste of time is possible
but
Catch the one we love is impossible
.
.
.
catch your love if you can ....
catch your time if you can .....
.
.
.
Cars driving
Trucks going
Ice melting

Factories making
Workers working
Ice melting

Stars living
Poor dying
Ice melting

Science arguing
God watching
Ice melting

Students learning
Teachers talking
Ice melting

World arguing
States fighting
Ice melting

One teen
Wishing
To help
But not knowing how
In this world of exhaustion
So
Ice keeps melting
Just think about it
xie Dec 2015
Those times I've spent
Ends up being wasted
Those promises that were bent
11:11 wishes to be trusted

11:11 him
Where's the 11:11 her?
I'm an idiot. Fine.
I know I'm not that girl

Coffees to avoid sleep
Alarms not to miss
Words that were said today
"Thanks for the effort" you say

Maybe it's time to move on
It maybe out of blue
But all I can say to you
I'm done wasting my 11:11 wishes on you
~a.v.
Rowan Mar 2016
Hello again, heartless friend.
So slyly in the backgrounds blend.
Your veering vanish, vaguely here.
Your gaze of increments - insincere. 
Healer of the hearted scars.
Swallower of the heavened stars.
The paths in which we dream and delve.
Allow the doubling ones to twelves.

Slices of the eternal elude.
Movements of monstrous magnitude. 
A hesitant dawdle. A lingered delay.
The mountainous sway is steered away. 
Hoarded heaps of hourglass bliss.
Outnumbered by wasted nothingness.
With interludes of want, of miss.
To slowly morphed indifference.

The pendulums that abruptly swing.
The burdens they still hope to bring.
The envied earn of Earth's endeavor.
The better late. The better never.
The eerily empty echoed need.
The blossomed tree from planted seed.
The curse of a continuous grief.
The ever stealthy, silent thief.

The cogs, gears, hours and hands.
The burn of beauty, bleak and bland.
The coziest, surrounding choke.
The whelm from the transparent cloak. 
The running out. The ever essence.
The grand keeper. The watchful presence.
The potential of the plainest plan.
The currency of the wisest man.

What horrors - hallowed by the tick.
Will sound for both healthy and sick?
Will compose secrets, never told?
Will fumble flame to frigid cold?
The end stays always promptly nigh.
For the intimate, infinite blink of eye.
I fear your wasting, more and more.
The constant count to twenty four. 

Unresurrectable and second to none.
Airborne, regardless of having fun.
As retrospective wisdom blinds.
Our youthful hopes and manic minds.
On and on. From time to time. 
Song to song and rhyme to rhyme.  
Betrayer of all mice and men. 
Less of if and more of when.
Of all phrases of mouth and pen.
The worst are "I've done nothing, again".
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