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I cannot grip
warmth
love
you
with my decaying hands


i wither away
Sarah Strack Sep 10
You didn't have to salt my fields
after the war
The devastation had been wrought
cowardly crops
Turn away from the bright sunlight
dying slowly
reflecting on those bitter wars of self
Paul Idiaghe Aug 29
submerged in a cascade of
cacophony, my pieces wade
like fish, into semptember's silvery net
so its plundering pull would heave them
                                                          ­       out
from their misery, grant them purpose
in the mouths of fortunes, that gobble them
as delicacies;  they wither, till my egg-fragile
                                                          heart
unravels itself, savors the warmth
of the virgo sun, and hatches
immaculately, into me.
Lofty unspoken Dreams

     tear at the tattered seams

          it seems we were meant to be unraveled

     to be undone
  
          & burn with the sun

               to be at peace with chaos

          or else

               wither away

                    under the crushing weight of mortality.
dichotomous Jun 23
my hair
is stuck down in the drain
wetting my dress
and drying my veins

my skull
it grew in too late
making me spin
in a hellscape of hate

nothing's the same
and everything's great

my hands
are shedding their nails
waving goodbye
to blood on the trails

my legs
cannot hold their weight
my bones look the same
as the ones on my plate

nothings's the same
and everything's great

my chest
it knocks and it shakes
pinning me down
how low can it take

my corpse
should rot in a case
inside of the flesh
where I used to be safe

nothings the same
i'm going to faint
Myka Apr 27
and so each petal fell
one by one
until none was left

why do flowers bloom
only to wither
in the end?
I've read somewhere sometime ago that 20 is the age you start losing friends and I'm scared. I don't have many to lose.
your eyes are colder now
they make my
leaves wither and die
it hurts  
i wasn’t prepared
for the weather change
wren Dec 2019
darling, don’t bother buying roses
uprooted, torn from the fertile, nourishing earth
they only wither away, glazed with the mourning dew
another bus-ride write. again, not my best... i’ll prolly post again in a couple of weeks, midterms are coming up. it always made me sad when my dad bought my mom flowers. once, they were alight with life, the truest beauty. now confined to a clear water-filled vase, on display for the world, only to die days later. ty for reading. im going to try and stay away from  angsty love poems for my next couple of poems, maybe something happier ;)

^^quick note: mourning refers to tears and is a play on the word morning~
Anmol Mago Dec 2019
And as I woke up

I saw a flower
weeping in
the golden
morning hues

It reminded me
O beloved
of the time when our
love used to blossom
As innocent as
innocence ever could be
and now through
each passing day
I feel it withering away
Dedicated to (you)
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