Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aly Oct 2016
It placidly withers
like little Dahlias
settled on top of the cold marble
on the second week of November.
Leisurely fading
on the back of my brain
bestowing spaces
for new memories.
Until it becomes a blur
tiny dapples
freckles of different sunlight
augmented on different days
Until almost immemorial.
But then, he also withers
and so do I
and so does what we have.
Until one day,
it was nothing
but ashes
of the old fire.
Hannah Reber Oct 2016
That ghost,
That ghost which stares,
That ghost which stares into my soul...
Where will it end up,
Where will it go.
In the dark
In the dark he goes
In the dark he slithers away.
Never to found in the light of day.
Living in the panic,
Smiling at few,
Withering away,
To be loved only by the moon.
I don't know where
I don't know how
I don't know when
I don't know who,
All I know is that ghost
That single ghost
Lurks in the reflection
Lurks in the eyes of you...
Lurks in the eyes of me...
Pardeep Nov 2015
withering away behind my skin
as they mold me to their standards.
silas Sep 2015
"tiaras and teacups"
reminds me of the innocence we all held at one point

"broken hearts and bitterness"
shows you how misery can change a lot about someone
you thought you knew

published 22nd of september, 2015
Kerri Jul 2015
A horrid jealousy invades my heart
because I can't accept the harsh reality
that I am not yours,
A flood of tears sweeps my outer soul
and I recognize my non-existence
as the razor is pushed deeper;
inserted directly into
my soft, tangle of emotions.
You hang my heart on a leash
and drag it on the ground.
But why do you lead me on?
only to melt sugar in the rain,
Look at you...
knotting my stomach
and withering my soul.
Why can't I let go?
Maybe if I cared more
about myself than I do you.
But I don't.
Another one of my intense high school creations!
Danielle Barlow Jan 2015
Autumn is coming to a close,
and winter is drawing near.
Life is as fragile as a rose,
and mine is withering, I fear.
I just don't even know anymore. The pain is bad, but this feeling of hopelessness is worse.
SM Jan 2015
I will always remember the day Grandma exclaimed how much of a joy my brother was. She would call him her perfect little flower.

As a child, it didn't mean much to me. But as I grew older, I came to realize the truth behind her words...

He was a daisy blooming in the spring. Where as I, a dead rose, slowly withering away. However, it wasn’t my choice, nor was it my brothers

Because a flower doesn’t get to choose what it grows into. It’s gardener determines how to raise it, how to treat it, and how to tend to it's individual needs.

Society was my gardener.

My point is, society labeled me as a dying rose, so eventually, I believed them.
Poetic T Dec 2014
I wish to shed the skin of yesterday
It has memories
Which I wish too forget, I tried to
So this time was purged, but I awaken
Each day having to once again,
Wash thoughts to not remember, I
Shudder through my mind,
"I shed my skin each day"
Shadows still persist in the cracks
Each day my lucid thoughts
With moments when I think I a free
But then *milliseconds

It returns like a possession
My mind is withering
Will silence only set me free,
I have tried to shed my skin with each new day,
But this is never going to leave me,
Is silence the only way nothing
Is the only way to cleanse this
"Persistent memory away"
In silence there will no longer be thought
As I am free forever of that memory, buried **within..

— The End —