Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Abbigale Dec 2018
My head is a pub

My thoughts, the chain-smokers
Clouding my mind and vision
With fumes of false perception

My emotions, the drunkards
They stagger from one wall to another
Wreak the most havoc

Together, they rage a war with my sanity
Destroying my pub's peace

And there is the blaring music,
sounding from an overhead television
A voice convincing me,
I am rotten to the core
As I sink to the floor
And tears well up my eyes
And my soul melts

I had a meltdown again, Mum...
Late night sad boy hours
**I never actually post here much tbh
Clara Sep 2018
Is this it? Is it?
Can it be?
Is this who I am now?
Can need **** the wish?

How will I fare?
Or will I just fail?
And do I want to -
oh, what do I want?

What oh what oh what oh what?

If a dream is a wish
made by the heart
do we **** the heart
when we give up the wish?

The dream - it's dead.
Can the heart beat without it?
This new beginning...
Oh, it feels like the end.
September Roses May 2018
Does my life want to end itself
I know I'm not one to have these thoughts given a bubbly personality
But every day it seems my life drifts farther from reality
I cry
I scream
      to no one

Maybe if they find me leaking out the back of my skull
They will look back to find signs they know would tell
But there were no signs
I'm that good


Every waking moment tests my grip
As my eyes twitch my mind slips

I've lived a life of shattered smiles
Broken songs
****** up lies
But I put back the pieces so well every morning no one can tell
I'm that good
For all worried
I'll tell you don't worry
It's just poetic
bones Mar 2017
//
I can turn you into poetry,
But I cannot make you love me.
Frankie Nelson Mar 2015
I think, at our cores, no matter how jaded and cynical and bitter and burned we might claim to be — we’re optimists. We like to believe in love and happily ever after, and we like to believe that something is out there waiting for us. And so that is why we hold onto the could have beens, and all of the futures we painted in our heads but were never brave enough to admit. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that maybe, deep down, the way to get what we wanted was just to have The Talk with the other person before the cut-and-run. And that’s on us, and will ever be.

When you’re given cute words and quiet moments together, it’s very easy to see that inch and take a mile, but unless you follow through and ask for what you want to receive, you can’t blame anyone else when you’re not given it. But at the very least, if we are all constantly floundering through these almost-relationships together — because after all, it seems like everyone these days has an almost in their history — we can collectively learn, and be a little braver, and say what we want next time. Because after all, we’re optimists. We have to believe in love to survive. There will always be a next time, if only we can lick our wounds and find the courage within ourselves to try again.
M Eastman Jan 2015
I don't know what I'm doing anymore
but I know I'm doing it all wrong
raenona Oct 2014
you hold my hand as if it's made of glass and you're terrified to shatter me. i've never been so fragile to someone. how did i get so lucky? i can't look at you without my heart driving full speed on the express way. i wish you could hear the way i think about you because i'm sorry i never know what to say and when to say it. but it's okay because someday i'll have collected all of these thoughts and i will put them down on paper. i'll read that paper to you with shaky hands and tears in my eyes and afterwards i'll say
"i do." and think to myself, how did i get so lucky?
i just hope you will, too. and, you know, maybe you won't, but at least i had the privilege of spending my time with the most beautiful blue eyes in the entire world.
Morrissey Smith Jun 2014
If I get twelve followers will I be like Jesus?
No offence to the Jesus Fandom

— The End —