Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I wonder how you feel getting your hands tangled in her long blonde hair as opposed to my raven black hair and if there was a difference between you telling her she was yours when you were drunk, as opposed to you taking me to have dinner with your family when you were sober. and I wonder if I sit outside your bedroom window and burn through enough cigarettes while you’re in there with her, it’ll burn your memory out of my mind. Maybe the cigarettes would **** me before you could.
another poem about you.
Tanay Sengupta Sep 2018
As the moon shines
And the stars decorate the sky,
A lonely owl hymns
While the bats fly.
Lightning bugs scatter around
Like will-o'-the-wisps at night,
Without any sound
Oh, what a delight!
The neighbour's hound is on guard
She will not allow anyone to pass,
No one is allowed in her yard
At this hour, only a fool will walk on her grass.
Her howl pierces the air
Bringing an end to the silence,
She announces she won't share
She will not tolerate any form of violence.
Across the street, few floors above
Two players are taking their turns,
In the famous game of push and shove
While a tiny candle burns.













Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
As usual, I will not explain this poem. I think it is evident by now that I won't explain any of my poems to you. I want you to perceive it the way you want to. Happy reading!
Bison May 2016
In all my mourning glad smiles and little intricate sadness I find my sapphires once embedded too deep to see under the shimmering façade of worldly ugliness.

And the crafts they go down so smooth and the world slides into the inky night with twinkle lights dancing behind and before my so lonely eyes.

Those foolish stars sing ghoulish hymns of forgiveness through the empty air.
And we ourselves are empty but so convinced in our self aggrandizing thoughts of our sufficiency that we ignore their soft whispering voices.

How could we be empty when we tell ourselves that our hearts our souls our thoughts are the only real things we know? But it's all empty.
You and me and everything in between.

It's all flickering twinkle lights that fade before the sun burns too bright.
gleck Jun 2017
Your eyes are rough, warm, divine
Close them, for a while  
put out the fire in me.

Together we are brittle, new, fools
In heart, or my mind
the warmth it still lingers.

But when we reach the end
I'll close mine too; then we can be beautiful.
Umi Aug 2018
It won't stop,
It can't stop, the fire that is rushing through it,
Burning it's content until nothing but ash might be left,
An inferno, a firestorm maybe a rain of embers fueling the misery,
When did it start, that conflagration which consumes my being,
When will it end, this purgatory inside my chest, producing misery,
Without realising it I already gave up all my remaining hope,
After all, there is not much left this fire can feast on in laughter,
Will I be hollow, will I fade to ash and blown away into a soft breze ?
In the end it does  not matter, in the end I will not be able to remember, in the end there is nothing for me left to worry about,
My central has been turned into a kiln, fostering this flame,
It may sting, but I can move on, even if I sink to the bottom,
The light in me will finally be able to carry me out one day
All I need to do for that event to be triggered,
Is to hold on,
And hope.


~ Umi

[M i d w a y - H i m e]
Dark Fjord Nov 2016
by your own star, you fell,
and to all the stronger stars, that thrilled them,
and I followed,
and by my own star, fought for what's up there!

without reserves was such my might
and was cold as those in such a current deserve.
to be a star
Deborah Downes Sep 2016
Fever-flushed children and
Broken bodies
Litter hospital halls like so much
Human refuse
….Wondering why
their need for care is treated so tepidly by a
Society which worships
Profits
Power and
Prestige
….Waiting while
they wallow in anguish as
Privacy
Paperwork and
Payment are
Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles
….Wanting to be refreshed and
restored to some measure of usefulness
….But
Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for  
Silence
Acceptance and
Despair

Huddling for warmth and in
Fear of discovery
they assemble in rag-tag formation
having scaled formidable fences
Seeking freedom from
Poverty and oppression
Searching for work of any sort
….No matter how
Humiliating or
Hard
….No matter the
Cost or
Conditions
Disparaged and despised they labor
in hope that their children will have a chance for success
instead of suffering a similar fate
…..But
Free to Pursue Liberty
in a land where their presence is
Ignored if not Denied

Unkempt in camouflage
One-legged and
Vacant-eyed
he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort
displaying cardboard sign
childishly scripted
in one weather-worn and gnarled hand
while clutching a decapitated jug in the other
Forgotten
Forlorn, and
Discarded veteran
Victimized far more by country than foe
….But
Free to Pursue Happiness while
Begging on street corners as
Upright citizens dispense
Unwelcome opinions or
Pocket change with equal
Self-righteousness


Life
Liberty and the
Pursuit of happiness….
Ideals that slowly incinerate on the
Altar of Capitalism
….Songs forever lost in the
Cacophony now
Played on the
Instrument of Politics
Lisa May 2018
Hemingway once wrote, “Nobody ever lives their life all the way up but bull fighters.”
An alluring career path,
but I know bulls are color blind.
They can’t even see the red,
and that kills it for me.
Hemingway also said, “Write drunk, edit sober.”
I can drink myself into a state,
but words don’t flow as easily as gin.
I’ve taken a liking to martinis lately;
there are 13 different ways to order one.
There are a million better things I could do with my life than google how to order a martini,
but I’m no bull fighter.
Kara Jean May 2016
Everyone has this identity of what we are meant to be, but it does not come naturally. We must learn how to make it evolve.

This need festers deep inside our body and soul; making it hard to breathe, feeling as if you’re going to combust spontaneously.

In this very moment, the perfect epiphany wakes you as if in a deep sleep. It gives you the urge to write everything, especially your goals and dreams, hoping this will feed the want inside.

Everyone’s feelings of the want come differently.

For me, I feel this passion to make the earth quake enough to move mountains, in such an incredibly unique way.

To run as far as my legs will take me, until I feel as if I’m going break.

To love my children as gracefully and understandingly as I humanly can.

To grow in knowledge, while learning as passionately as my mind will grant me.

To let go of the hate an anger of the world.

To let it slide through my arms, down my finger tips, and into the ground where it belongs.

To not hurt others, but instead be a voice of kindness and strength.

To be what others are afraid of seeking and fighting to see.

To let go of all the animosity and pain, and fly free.

To harness and meditate the things that will feed my soul.

To dress strong and full of beauty as the women I venture to be.

By this I will go far. It’s not a question or a maybe; it is a statement to the world that this is who I will be.
This was the first poem I ever post online. It holds a very special place in my heart.
saige May 2018
"enough to make the angels weep,"
you sigh through the ash.

“you still believe in angels?”

“nah." we glow red from this rooftop
sparks melt into the milky way.
"but i might believe in handsome devils.”

i roll my eyes and punch your arm
you smile, crooked as the moon.
the ember of your cigarette flares
a chameleon to the skyline.

at last we can
blame our tears on the smoke.
SøułSurvivør Sep 2015
---

i

blue grey clouds
of crushed
velvet

sunlight
tears
the
seams


ii

embers of
delicate peach
ignite flames
of fuchsia

the orb of
sun burns colors
away to ashes

blown into floes
of white
mare's
tails


iii

tiny bird
settles restless
on the
highest
branch

flits
away


iv

wind
through
the weathered stones
cries then whispers

luring
the children
who lie within our ribs
to break free
and sing
songs
of
play


v

mamalaria
cactus
wears her
wreath
of
pale
lavender
flowers

sings to
her babes
clustered
below

saguaro
listens



soulsurvivor
(C) 9/13/2015
beautiful day rises up
out of the ashes
of a flaming
sunrise

---

To a special friend...
... thank you!
Gather the dead
  for we will burn them all.

Leaves,
skeletons of summers
life
                      cremated.
Toxicity burns
into daydreams
running wild
in sunflower
fields
with
nomadic fiends
a tribe of lone wolves
hearts of gold
seeking the road
less travelled
a clock ticks
for it's time
to be bold
Caladrius Feb 2016
Some things resemble stars
    they glow
                  and shine
and light the way for others through the darkness

multitudes admire
              but only from afar
beauty burns too brightly when people stand too closely

and we know that the brightest starts are those that are dead
                           or dying

Our lives are like stars
         in the end we hope they guide others on their way
maybe as simple warning signs of our mistakes
      and the curse of shining too brightly is that we will burn those the closest to us
but to rightly live means our end is only the beginning
Copyright © 2016 Caladrius All Rights Reserved
empty seas Nov 2018
the fire whispered apologizes in her ear
begging for her embrace once again
she began to waver
just a tad
but then she looked around
at the fire’s history all around them
she saw the destruction, the hate, the lies
and suddenly she remembered
the healing burns
on her skin
her resolve hardened
she would not excuse the pain
fire does not regret what it hurts
it only begs for more to burn

bad metaphors? bad metaphors
Noelis Oct 2018
burns and cuts cover my skin
i might as well call it a battlefield
where many times i lost war against myself
which hurt my heart immensely.

people who know my story often ask me
why i did what i did
i guess it hurts less not focusing on the pain others caused you but on the one you caused yourself.

so please don’t ask me again why i did what i did
because each day it’s harder to resist.
Noelis Sep 2018
he tortures me in the most caring way
his cold touch burns my flesh
his lips are so close to my ear, whispering
but i can’t whisper back
because Daddy told me not to
and he’s—oh God his touch feels so **** good
i want to scream his name but all i can do is bite my lips
i feel his smile on my ear
at this point my body is shaking
i’m desperate for his lips
and just when i’m about to finish
he stops and says
“bad girls don’t always get things their way”
T Sep 2018
The fire of the love that I have for her it burns deep within my soul......for the way I feel about her I have no control
I believe that fate brought us together.....and even with all the strife we shall be together forever
I do believe in the stars and in signs
And the power of the full moon when it shines
This flame that burns within......has always been there and it will when the final round does begin
The stars have always pointed the way.......and that's where I should be today
But somehow the light has grown dim
And now our life together does look grim
But fate works in strange and mysterious ways......this is a game of life and there are so many plays
To be with her forever means so much to me......to open her eyes wide so she can see
This fire That burns deep within me......her and I were meant to be
#she must know that my love is real....and she ignites the flame and fire within and the love in my heart that I truly feel
ryn Feb 2015
.
•    
re-
     kindle
    the spark
   that governed
    this game•the fire
  that once burnt as bri-
  ght as sun•all of this once
before, had a name•but now
is weak from the time it had be-
gun•there was a time when it wo-
uld consume•......it would defy the
odds....just so it could burn as one•
frantic and desperate for the magic
to resume•uncertainty has carved
itself into the heart that has come
undone•winds bearing ill no-
tions revealed as the enemy•
stitch up the gaps keep-
ing out the rogue
gust•
  pro
tect
  the
light that burns ever weakly•rejuve-
nate the spirit that harbours broken trust
•rekindle me now... i'm still in the game•
the heart                   save the     you will
isn't                              candle           need
ready                           and              to see
to make                         nur-              me    
sense                            ture             with
of the                             it                 this
dark•                             to                  in-  
                                    fla-              sig-  
                                   me•             nia
                                     ­                     as my
                                                         mark
                                                         •
.
English Jam May 2018
Boredom on a Sunday is inescapable
I try to hide it behind playing my musical instrument
Trumpeting with my trumpet - blowing my own horn -
I'm praying no one interprets that last sentence as an innuendo
Anyway, I'm nodding off, signing out of reality
The world goes hazy in a second
And I'm ****** into the vortex of a dream

Weird how when a dream begins, we immediately understand the situation
For this scene, I'm spewing blood from my spleen like a bottle of sauce squeezed too hard
It stains the leather of my vehicle
My foot is pressing the pedal to the floor, and the speedometer is twinged in half from all the pressure
The monolith of a highway I'm speeding on shakes as though giants stomp upon it
And the wail of a siren drives me into a frenzy as I try to escape the inevitable
Their polychromatic lights dance at the edges of my eyes, spurring rhythm into action
Even though they must be aeons behind, my heart melodramatically pumps in my chest as though the police are in the backseat
Blood bursting through my temple, thoughts wheezing by like someone's let go of hundreds of balloons  
Up ahead, the road twists itself into a knot of nothingness
My hands are wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly, I fear I might never be able to release them
It's a slight movement: right hand goes down, left goes up, but it kicks the vehicle sideways
My body slams into the car with a satisfying crunch and my mind spirals to spaghetti strands
Oddly enough, the world becomes rinsed with blue wash and I'm underwater

My train of thought becomes peaceful, melodic
I float about, running on the inverse of the waves
Here, even a scream is joyous as it sounds all bubbly and childish
Suddenly, a red streak runs across the ocean, chilling me to the bone and erasing all my bubbles
The sea becomes glittered with red and blue streaks, a warning
Bullets stab at my spleen, reminding me of the pain that was, and still is
And my body gears into a full 360, concluding my return to the real world
Or is it the dream world?
Oh well
Either way, I'm back in my car
Carelessly freefalling from nowhere
Weapons, glass, blood droplets, pocket change, pedestrians...all breeze around slowly
Pleading with me to wake up
Then

Everything crumbles, and I smack my **** head against the window, splattering my brains everywhere
My car flew from the sudden turn and I crashed, I think
Now I lay, grasping onto consciousness while pedagogues staple me to the ground
The Lawman towers over me, grinning madly at my defeat
The most barbaric insult, however, comes from the radio, still magically working
"I fought the law and the law won," The Clash idly sing
One of my favourite songs turned into dark irony
The last I remember before blacking out is the scarlet and marine lights clashing forevermore

When I wake up, I'm face-down on the stony and icy floor
The cold burns me enough to wake me from la la land
The iron grip of the handcuffs feels very real
Words are forced into my head, not by my own design, but sort of like they've been placed there
An argument as to whether existence has a meaning is taking place in my head, and I can't stop it
Sort of like how in a dream, you can't control your thoughts or actions
Wait
This is still a dream, right?
Right?
laura Aug 2018
ensorcelled - the day burns and burns
the dusk is filled with ashen husks
and white flies swirling in the wind
different kind of bittersweet day

like a girl who ditched you at a good movie
a sunset lighting the boughs up at 2PM
like a good day despite the world on fire
pretty and futile; like throwing selfies on an insta
Next page