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Aparna Sep 2013
Handcuffed to a post, body chained to death.
Rusted irons pulling his spirit towards ****.

Shackled souls who cry in hope.
His name in blood on white-washed walls.
Mike Groves Jun 10
This thing I thought I could grasp,
Desperately I try to hold on to it,
This thing I never truly had,
I knew this illusion couldn’t last,

It disappears as soon as we reach for it,
It’s as thin as the mountain air,

For a moment we lie to ourselves,
placing it safely and securely on a shelf, "I can keep this here and never let it go."
Even though it is a forced perception,
A contrived illusion ,the world's largest deception,
Once we leave the room...
As soon as we lock and bolt the door...
we will not be able to see it anymore.

We never realize the freedom there is in letting go,
understanding that no matter what we do, the answer may still be no.

We would be happier admitting this concept is completely fictitious.
We could break this circular pattern, this cycle so vicious.

I've spent too much time trying to hold it in my hands,
Making myself the victim of my own laid out plans.
Ray Parker Nov 2017
you’ll never recognize me
i’ve changed my hair
and stretched my skin
you’ll never find me
i want to evade you
escape you
confuse you
make you think about
me
and how i should be
i will not crawl back into the box that made me
that shaped me
defined me
confined me
**** the box
and **** the logic
i am not who you want me to be
get over it
empty seas Oct 24
i went through
every poem
about her
and made them
disappear

maybe now
it'll be easier
to feel better
to feel free

i have no more poems
about the good times
for the bad times
outweighed them

i feel freer
although i am sad
my most popular poem
is gone

it is for the best
i am freer
if you noticed my number of poems drop down randomly in the past two days, that is because i deleted all my poems about my manipulative ex
i was going to leave them up as a testament to our time together (unsurprisingly, a lot of those poems were actually quite negative). I am usually unafraid of the past but my poems about her made me cringe whenever I saw them. I deleted them to make me feel better.
Hartaz Kaur Jul 19
Mama told me to keep her close.
Certainty provides clarity.

So I give her my hand,
And in barter, I quest a true friend.

I have a doubt, I turn to Certainty,
But am met with the silent treatment.

I press further,
Only to be reduced to resentment.

I wonder. How can this be?
Desertion in times of desperation?

Certainty, existing and non existing, remains an illusion.
A body, that will never affirm any supposition.
control is a rich red hue,
control is warm, and deep.
it’s a destructive power,
and a stinging force.
a delicate line
between pain and serenity.

control is a rich red hue,
control tastes metallic.
like a cog in a machine,
and it comes around like clockwork.
a jagged dash
between insanity and knowledge

control is a rich red hue,
control melts like wax.
it evaporates within seconds,
and it dries within moments.
a recalcitrant scratch
between delusion and control
control is the sand dunes left behind once the red lakes dry up.
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