I have burden to carry,
This burden to keep
To hide it till my last
My burden of my past.

A story you won't read
An unwritten plead
This burden cut my wings
I have stopped flying

I'd rather you reach the skies
Be not caught up in the lies
Touch the twinkling stars
Not carry the matching scar.

Sometimes the truth never heals
the burn never soothes
No one can appeal
No one knows the truth.

My end will be the end
the time, unburdened
my unmeasured breathe
intake of relief, no air.

Caught in a snowstorm
A blizzard of words
Going through
My mind
Find the nearest
Icicle
Grab in my freezing
Hands
And begin to write
On a clean
Slate of snow

my words have always been the strongest part of me.
solid, loud;
they scream my thoughts for me when i can't even get out a whisper...
but lately i haven't been writing as much.
my once resilient syllables are now translucent snowflakes
floating in the air, shattering on my bedroom floor
with each tear.
they are unsure of themselves, a string of vowels and consonants
so violently aware
that there's been a change;
my words have finally failed me.
-a.c.b

I'm Sinking fast
Into the pool
Of no return
Perhaps this time
I can write
The words

Feverishly i write
In the moon
Of night
Word upon word
Pile upon pile
Of wasted
Crumpled words
I ask you to critique them
You thought they
Were
Words of love
Meant only
For you
When all it was
Was a poem

In the quest for the existential
need of nuturing oneself

we dangle in the jungle
by burning candles

it is a super humane thing
drawing ink from another

Secret leaks from
a writer's pen

for we were blind

even keeping
the true devil in mind

sacred to ourselves
as we trip by default
over our own thin lines.

Morning drips in like coffee.
I think of you. It is the
hardest time.  I begin the
day in sips. My tongue
burns with greed.

You seep in through the
slats of my sleepy windows.
The day starts with memory.
Your red hair curls
around the sun.  I reach out to
touch you.  I want to kiss
the blue of your eyes across
the table.

I, sadly, drink the dregs of
my morning, wash the azure
off my face and dry my tears
to carry me through to
tomorrow.

Mornings drip in like coffee.
I think of you.

Caroline Shank