#semicolon
a girl; a mask; another mask and another; and another;
semicolons between months and red slices between days
in the space between sunset
and morning.
Dec 3, 2025
Dec 3, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
I laugh out loud, I shine, I glow,
But truth is deeper than most will know.
This bubbly self, this mask I wear,
Hides the weight I can hardly bear.
Some nights I pray to just disappear,
Wishing away this ache, this fear.
But something inside keeps pulling me through,
A whisper of purpose, steady and true.
The smile is armor, the jokes a shield,
But under it all, my scars are revealed.
Still, I keep walking, step by step, near—
Because maybe my being has reason here.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 6:50 PM UTC
i’m slowly breaking 5.27.25 (5:47 pm / 18:47)
i’m slowly breaking, can’t you see
can’t you understand me?
i don’t need to be diagnosed,
i just want you to hold me
and know me and see me
i don’t care that i’m broken in a hundred different ways
i don’t care that i’m cutting and starving
and crying alone and being depressed
i don’t care that the whole world is just closing in
claustophobically
crushingly
i’m slowly breaking
and i don’t care
i just want you to be here
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 8:56 PM UTC
Reader,
stay alive
stay alive stay a
live stay alive stay a
live stay alive stay
alive stay alive
stay alive
stay alive
stay alive stay a
live stay alive stay a
live stay alive stay
alive stay alive
stay alive
stay ali
ve sta
y al
ive
|-/
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 11:05 AM UTC
A flow, a pen, an ink stained palm.
A life, a story, all gone wrong.
A spark of hope in the night, maybe?
No, your hope is grammatically incorrect.
"This is where your sentence could have ended
but it didn't," see?
Nonetheless, it wants so desperately to end.
An incomplete thought, a fragment -
A fragmented existence with an expired due date.
Can you pick up the forlorn pieces?
Use your calloused fingers to avoid getting cut.
You continued the sentence,
But you used the semicolon wrong.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 11:22 AM UTC
A colon stands for something;
a semi-colon stands before something.
I think I am the former.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 1:14 PM UTC
What is this great fruit?
All of life's bounty, in this one root.
The apple of the earth;
From the dirt it doth birth.
Bake, roast, mash,
All else goes to the trash.
The potato's taste is so fine,
Its versatility? Just divine.
***** fries, tossed in pies,
Potatoes are the best, no compromise.
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 3:10 PM UTC
A mark that an author uses to end their story but chooses not to,
A reference for someone who wants to end their life but chooses not to,
A person who reminds the someone to just keep going.
If you have no other reason to stay on earth let me give you a reason,
Don’t end your story, write it and keep writing it. Write what you would want to read,
Write what you would want your parents, children, and siblings to read.
There is something or someone being your semicolon because you’re still here, so stay and keep writing your story.
Be someone’s reason to live. Remind them their life on earth matters and to keep going. Reminders are free and lives are priceless. 💙
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 12:33 AM UTC
Life was void.
It’s she,
Opened the curly braces
Of my life;
My heart,
Imbibed the input –
Stream of her smiles;
The output – “<3 <3”
Got into an infinite loop
On the soul’s own console;
Sensing the love in return,
Jumped to the function – Life:
The Life with various parameters –
Joy, sorrow, warm, pain
Passed through a switch..
That returned “Love” on every case;
Life was full of snickers
At the mistakes of semicolons;
Making the bytes of sweet memories
Giga bytes to zetta bytes;
Now, the time,
As good code must,
Terminating with a graceful
End, Kissing her, Love!
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 1:16 AM UTC
Almost a year ago.
“If suicide is not a sin,
I might not be writing this now.”
Now
“I want to rest now, I don’t think I can still fight.
I’m giving up now. But I’m scared. Can I have a hug?. Before I go to rest”
Jan 28, 2020
Jan 28, 2020 at 1:57 AM UTC
We were both writers.
You with a fountain pen and moleskin notebook
I with anything I could scrawl on -tears always just at the edges of me
and in this way we began to author our life together.
We put pen to paper that first night
drunk on gas station liquor and on not feeling so alone.
Our hungry bodies filled page after page
with what I would come to believe
would be my magnum opus.
In your wedding vows you said that we would
“work together to fill the pages with
conflict, desire, pain and all that makes life real
so that we can appreciate all that makes life good”
You were not much of a co-author though
preferring instead to write alone at night while I slept
How many times did I revisit a previous chapter
only to find that you had introduced a new character
or a dark and bizarre plot twist without my knowledge?
Eventually these discoveries would become as predictable
as the indignant denials
eventual apologies
and promises that would always follow them
lather, rinse, repeat
Over years these edits and additions
would knock the air from my lungs
completely shaking my confidence as a writer.
With cramping hands I would try to rewrite the bad parts
though my scribble marks did little to mask the words beneath.
Words that once had flowed as easily and copiously as I had for you
now came only in fits and starts
each new chapter torn from the bones of my bones.
How many times did the ten eyes we wrote in
watch as writers block turned to writers rage
producing furious missives that would tear holes in pages without warning?
Still even as my teeth-torn hands turned arthritic
I couldn’t seem to just put down the ******* pen
Because it was our story
and because I loved it
and because I loved us
and because I loved you.
I ended our story with a semicolon
Its already faded form staring up from my ring finger
a reminder that I could have chosen to end my story but didn’t.
You once told me that a good author always employs irony
and I have always been a better writer than you’ve given me credit
;
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
You’re not fully healed
but you’re not still broken.
With every passing sunrise,
your soul earns another token.
You choose to keep going
when all you wanted was to quit,
and look how far you’ve come
from when your heart was severely split.
The light at the end of
your tunnel gets brighter every day.
Thank you for putting down the pills,
the knife, or the gun and choosing to stay.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 3:40 PM UTC
It flashes
Flashes flashes and flashes
It always has and always will
It cares not for it's creator
Nor it's destroyer
As long as its here
It flashes
Flash
Flash
Flash
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
on
off
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 11:31 PM UTC
I stopped
I feel hopeless
I feel emptiness
I feel like its the end
Yeah I stopped
But Because
I wanna take away everything,
every thoughts, every pain, every tears that kept
I am tired of everything and for everyone,
I want to rest...
that's the point.
I want rest.
Stand & Fight again.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 2:51 AM UTC
Trigger Warning: Self Harm
The stencil is made, a bold, yet simple
mark with two meanings. For writers,
the mark is used to continue a sentence;
for others, the mark is used to continue a life.
The Golden Dragon Tattoo Parlor smells faintly of bleach.
Pictures of art and family cover the walls, a shelf full of trophies
shining under the fluorescent lights. Drawers with individually
wrapped needles and ink pots line the back wall.
The buzzing of tattoo guns overpowers grunge music,
voices of other customers overpowering the buzzing.
It only hurts a little bit, my artist tries reassuring me,
but his stories of drugs and arrests only worry me more.
Holding my breath I climb up on the black leather chair.
My shaking nerves show through my splotchy, tear stained face.
I clench my fists, embedding my nails into my palms.
The cluster of needles are hovering over my arm,
preparing to mark a permanent goodbye to the past;
Goodbye to the 10 PM moments, shooting up from bed
sweating, crying, my hand on my chest, feeling my heart
beating ba dump ba dump ba dump ba dump.
Sliding down to the floor to let the linoleum cool me.
Goodbye to the 12 AM moments, curled up on cold tiles.
Razor in my hand marking a tally for every flaw,
every mistake every bad thought I point out.
Short, fat, clingy, shy.
Goodbye to the 2 AM moments, plastering my thigh and
wrist with bandaids, later choosing to trade T-shirts
and shorts with long sleeves and jeans.
80 degrees won't stop me from covering everything.
The tears are there, not from pain
but from the familiar rush of adrenaline.
The sensation of feeling something other
than worthlessness and self-doubt.
A semicolon has two meanings;
continuing a sentence,
or continuing a life.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:30 PM UTC
If suicide is not a sin.
I might not be writing this now.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 5:14 AM UTC
Have you ever seen a sunflower reaching out to the sun, following him wherever he goes?
Or an evening water lily shying away and blushing under her lovely pink at all times when the sun is in the sky?
Have you ever seen a dandelion break herself into countless little pieces and fly away to places unbeknownst, just to make herself full again?
Have you ever seen a rose, apprehensive of what might destroy him, guarding himself with numerous thorns, yet so beautiful that you can’t help but ignore his thorns?
Have you ever seen daisies growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, reminding you to look for beauty even when you can’t?
Have you ever seen flowers? Then you have seen love; for flowers are nothing, but love.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:40 AM UTC
Dawn adorns the sky,
Golden drops of sun ooze through
my window quietly.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 3:37 AM UTC
The dark silently crawled into the dimly lit corridors, the cabins, and my boss's ***** mind.
The cold breeze gently and mercilessly caressed my shoulders, and my boss my *******
I shivered from my head till toe, while his greedy gaze scanned me, from my head till toe.
The off-key beeping of a distant computer troubled my ears, and so did his hungry voice.
My incomplete files presented a pretty sight in front of his hands piercing through my self esteem.
Per his routine, he'd played all what he wanted with my body, and left it there to perish.
Next day in the meeting he tells his employees, "this office is your temple."
"Sure," I whisper.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
I was healing,
The wounds were healing,
The tears had stopped,
The demons had fallen to sleep,
The blood had dried up,
So had the pillows,
I was healing.
But then,
I picked at the scabs,
And I bled again,
And it left behind
A scar.
I was healing,
But now I can't.
I was healing,
But now I have scars.
I was healing,
But not anymore.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC
And maybe,
I wrote your name
On my heart
In pen
Which is why
I can't erase it.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC
You're more than
the blade to your wrist,
than the noose to your neck,
than the sleeping pills to your lips,
than the pen to your suicide note,
than the footsteps to the edge of your windowsill,
than the 'broken' to your 'dreams',
than the 'bruised' to your 'heart',
than the 'troubled' to your soul,
than the 'pained' to you.
You're much more than that,
I promise.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
In the end, even
wilted and withered roses,
are, well, roses too.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC