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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?
For some reason or not,
The softness was exposed,
and like all creatures who are in danger,
I found a hard shell to call my home.
What else do you expect from me!
When you all join in a world,
So full of sorrow.

It’s a game where you’re neither the pieces or board.
But  authors of  rules.
No matter,
I shall love all the same.
Works in progress for a new graphic novel about Vincent van Gogh. These are trial pieces for both a background narrative and conversational pieces.
Ian Aug 2018
With each step I take,
I slip further into Earth,
A trench of regrets.

This place is my post,
My never ending routine,
A prison of thoughts.

Cresting waves of guilt,
An endless stream of questions,
A sea of troubles.

Towering mistrust,
Lost amidst my constant worries,
A forest of doubt.
Hidden Glace May 2018
The Bare-bones structure of a long poem I'm working on
Keep on the lookout for updates
croob May 2018
My dad's old friends came round to our apartment sometimes:
friends whose real allegiance lied with nostalgia for my father,
who would come round for some beer
and a guilty look at my mother’s ***.

Today, as usual, she let them track mud through our little house, cackling like hyenas
and pretending to admire the art on our walls.
She let 'em do it but then we all went out on the porch and they started to tell me, as mama looked on with pursed, painted lips,
bout the time my daddy’d -
well i never ever did find out what my daddy'd done
*** that's when she slammed down the case of beer
on the patio table.

All three of them paused to look at her.
It was like she’d turned them all off, with a button that she kept hidden in her *****.
for a second they realized how sad she must've been,
they realized he probably shot himself right upstairs
and then they looked at me
like I was a dead little boy
wearing my daddy's eyes.

I missed when they’d been smiling merrily, slapping the table with each joke and
wiping the sweat off their foreheads with their wrists and
leaning back in their chairs, flicking their lighters against their cigarettes and
savoring mouthfuls of chewing gum and dip,
'*** now they were still.

“Now don’t go tellin’ tales to John,” she said, and doled out a few drip-cold beers to shut them up.

They washed the stories down with her alcohol and all just forgot about it,
or more likely,
they'd started thinking about that button
burrowed between my mother’s *******.
croob May 2018
where i grew up there was nothing much to do, except for when a calf decided to escape down the road and we had to track it (rather slowly) in dad's tractor. there were muddied girls, machismo, gunshots, impromptu bonfires, confederate flags, enough dip and ***** to fill the ***** river we all swam in and hungry coyotes turning up in our driveway - but ******* it, at night the stars were fairy lights, strung in the sky by the powerful hand of a god we all believed in.
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