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N Mar 2020
When I am alone,
I hear the sound of the woeful ocean
waves crashing inside my mind,
and a distant voice of a sailor
crying out for help underwater

He is sinking
inside the ship
along with his sadness

The sailor and I tried
to drown our sorrows,
but we sunk together in
an ocean of melancholy
alisha Mar 2019
though a joy, a laugh,
for lonely forms.
on grim evenings,
he craves control....

his soul threaded to countless strings
all tugged and ****** by his woeful skin
after several flawed attempts
his burdened psyche
gives a clamorous roar

for he believed
he had been, the puppeteer
EmperorOfMine Jan 2019
Choking on breath
Soul is compressed
Nothing to say
I'll go away.
The sky seems woeful.            
Rain pours from the gloomy clouds.
Hail falls when rain fails.
to be determined Aug 2018
how does one write
without stopping to wash their hands?

a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.
Poetic T Aug 2017
Woeful are the faint breaths
                             of loves allure.

Only to be buried later in
                           shallow graves of misery.
Poetic T Mar 2017
Melancholy moments are weathered upon features,
furrows of my dejection descend from what'd  
evaporated now condensed in droplets of sorrow.

Caustic thoughts sting upon reflections merging    
before me, drowning within contemplation.
I see more in the rain than others see in a lifetime.
44 words
Andrea Vasquez May 2016
She's obviously happy
Obviously joyful
Obviously peppy
Obviously she's had a happy life
What isn't obvious is her tears,
the ones she lets flood out after shutting her bedroom door at night.
Her scars she's hidden after the incident.
The "friends" she left behind.
No one knows
She's dying inside
No one knows
How much she wants to jump
How much she wants to pull the trigger
How much is weighing down on her shoulders.
She acts happy
She acts joyful
She acts peppy
She is woeful.
Blood and death fill her thoughts.
Cheer and hope fill her spoken words.
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
Welcome to her house of many bones
Step into one of life's great unknowns
With broken dreams and shattered heart
In this carnival of freaks she is apart
For the price of a ticket you can see
All the horror, and agony there could ever be

All we ask is to put down your stones
On the left is a kingless throne
No love was ever ment to stay
I don't know why, it's just that way
On your right is the dreams that's died
Where want and reality did collide

In the next room you will find
All the demons that are in her mind
Young man, please step back
These demons will, and do attack
On her arm's you'll see the scars
Made with their talon like sharpened claws

Please don't dottle, let's hurry along
This sad little journey we don't want to prolong
Up next you'll find
Human monsters of every kind
They all wear a clever disguise
You won't even see them unless your wise

Of the shadow men take no heed
Off the sorrow they just feed
The closets doors all are open wide
Not one skeleton does she hide
Please don't be scared, please don't shout
The are free to dance about

Last but not lest I want to show
What happens when the anguish grows
Tormented by years of unbridled strife
In the coffin lies her pitiful life
It's not her body, for she is the walking dead
Heart in taters, screams echoing in her head
Eyes opened wide with years of dread

The light and happiness are always there mocking
You'll find her over there in the corner rocking
Yes she had to be restrained
In the straitjacket she will remain
It's for your safety, not hers
For the pain she endures
Is not for weak amateurs

Exit on the right
Single file, please don't fight
Enjoy the rest of the attractions
We guarantee a hundred percent satisfaction
Unless in this carnival of woeful souls you are captured
Then your only hope will be the rapture
Ady Aug 2014
I am a cold, bleak and weary melody;
Forced out of guitar strings, alone,
a solitary piece made by a starving man.
My low notes bring down the sturdiest ship,
dragging its corpse to lay down on the sea-floor.

I am a low pitch plea of woeful "help me";
a drowning man swallowing water as his
mouth seeks the air.
My voice is wispy smoke of years of no use,
contaminating the very lungs from which it originates
And sleep, she is a blissful siren.
Bringing me to underwater caverns-
chanting and humming melodies as the pressure
takes me down under and my eyes close in surrender.

I am more dead than my corpse will ever be;
just an empty sea-shell-
no pearl, no life.
I found this on an old note book. It dates back when I was in the shallow waters of depression.
Such horrible times, it gave me a sense of vertigo just by thinking about it, hopefully I'll never sink back under.
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