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Ash C Dec 2019
He's there
Reaching that hand out
In disguise of a fellow man

Grabbing you into his world
Shinning that smile
That hides his cynicals

His eyes full of wonder in the person you are
His lies locked behind what seemed to be truth in those gems of irises
Longing in a sickening desire

Love burns you alive from what seeps from him
Painless, numbed by the blindness of love
He holds you like you've never had before

He's there
Glimmering shards of white lights
The pits of fire in those wonderment of eyes
Vemon seep from the tounge.
I found this in my files, having no remembrance of writing it, but it was in my files, so I guess i wrote it. Never finished it. Not even sure what i was really going for besides a man who lies behind perfection.
mysa Aug 2019
i am not who you think i am
all you see is
my eyes
my clothes
my jokes
all you see is an outline
a silhouette
of who i am
don't fall in love with a shadow
nothing is there
i think i mightve accidentally joined my school's slam poetry club. i guess i have to get back into poetry again, huh?
Jen P Oct 2018
If I considered you for a day
Would I know love?

You pull at me
like taffy.

Place a sticky tendril in your mouth,
and deliberate on the sickly sweet
as it coats your tongue.

I look from where you have
taken
and feel
like empty calories.

someday i hope you
and your sticky hands
know.
Jen P Oct 2018
I've always been infatuated with forever

Like
How did his body know when to end?

I'm sitting with pearls in my hands,
know them each by their own cool touch,
Set them down, pick them up
Place one in my mouth
just to know the taste.
Then spit it out.

For what purpose is a pearl
anyway?
Jen P Sep 2018
It all runs out.

A hole in the
bottom of the
hourglass.

Grains so small
fall
so fast,

I can't cling to one
without
losing
hundreds.

So i let them fall.
Watch them
quietly
sift between my fingers,

so smooth and gentle.
Jen P Sep 2018
Invisible girls,
silent girls

Girls who live
behind walls
behind masks
in Wells that delve
deep into the earth

Not alone,
but quiet.
Surrounded by
a drowning sound,
lost even to themselves.

But still
they are

here.

Always
here.
Knowledge has ahead of it, forgetfulness.
The crow does not stop to examine his wing,
His gaze would surely cause him to fall out the sky.
Yet there is a time when knowing is fruitful.
Reflective verse for a work in progress - Crows Cage, a graphic novel about a correlation with the life and works of Vincent van Gogh
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