Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
M Solav Sep 2018
In the Melting of Days
We were Swept like the Fog
While a Sunshine of Rays
Made us Crawl in the Mud.
Written in February 2017.
M Preston Harris Nov 2014
I’m here and nowhere else.
Maybe my problem is that I can only see the end.
My flaw is that I look back most and look forward least.
I can’t see the present.
I’m here and nowhere else.
I’m free or so I believe.
I’m free
for the evening.
I’m here and waiting
for the present to fall through into the past.
Nowhere else.
Now here and nowhere.
I’m free.
MeanAileen Jul 2018
High Life

It must be nice
to be as cold as ice
and live with a heart of stone.
No need to think twice
in a fools paradise
when your head is so overblown.
Existing so high
you can touch the sky
from your pillar of ivory and gold.
Everyday you lie
just to pacify
an ego which can't be controlled.
You don't play fair
nor do you care
who's heart you might break next.
Another sordid affair
caught in your snare
treating women like they are objects.
Looking down on all
like you're 12 feet tall
does not make you a bigger man.
Laughing as they fall
watching them crawl
forgetting where your own life began.
Just keep living in excess
desperate to impress
surrounded by all your cool ****...
Because what you possess
when dead from stress
in purgatory, won't matter one bit.
Ya...
Alissa Rogers Mar 2012
In moments of my life
I lie, I do admit.
I try and guard my heart
with my rancor and my wit.

In moments of my life
I gave a piece of myself,
for nothing in turn.
There's always another woman
for whom a man's heart will yearn.

In moments of my life
I doubt I will have a one and all;
one who understands me
when I cut and when I crawl.

In moments of my life
I try and run from my fate.
Yet as I've found,
with growing dread,
I'm already too late.
This is for all the lonely souls like me.
Eli Apr 22
The warmer weather is making a slow comeback.
Days grow longer.
Days are brighter.

As the sun glows warmly,
In the immaculate blue sky,
College students emerge from hibernation.

They’ve been cooped up all winter...
Studying,
Learning,
And convincing themselves not to drop out.

The students sit outside,
Letting the sun warm them up.
All the way from their heads to their toes.

Maybe finals week won’t be that bad after all.
King Panda Jan 2018
the sun beats
loose fence stakes into
the ground
and I kiss each ray
as if it were
my own child

the sky rains down
a corpse of butterflied
snow

its wings—
a brace
to bend my
broken legs straight

my love
begins to crawl
setting the dry
snow aflame
burning patterns
in the mandala
snowfall

sun’s flame
whips its invisible
lion

snow lets the
growl pass through

and my bones
cackle
setting straight
the image of
sunny snowfall
this sunday
morning
King Panda Aug 2017
I am common.
seemingly feminine
but shoulders strong
as barbed-wire.
like a chicken I am  
underdeveloped—my wings
weak and unable to
lift me into the air.
I am preoccupied
in self-identified war
with the 875 square foot
apartment and the pasta
that refuses to boil.
on my knees, I
crawl
reconciling rhyme
and reason for
suffering.
the world has gone awry,
I say to myself on an
afternoon bike ride
through wooded
pain, my face
a perfect plane for
scathing branches.
quick and easy blood
am I.
wretched and astonishing
is the rhetoric I
find in the hollow of
my rib.
I am common
but not so when
written by hand.
patty m May 2014
Turn out the lights

and let me drown

in passion's darkness.

Play blind

and read my body's braille;

find me in pieces

letting fingers

paint designs.

Crawl beneath my skin and

fill my hunger.

Mold me, make me

malleable and melting

as you permeate my senses.  

. . . And l will trace you too,

traveling across your uncharted map.


Darling you are my ocean

my new country, each inch of you

touched and tasted as new routes

are discovered and pinnacles climbed.

Close your eyes

and feel the tickling of my unseen hand

through the darkness

of this forever night.
KM Hanslik Jul 2018
Keep your eyes soft and your dreams
up on the highest shelf so you won't take them down too early;
keep everything that you spill in the dark locked
behind your teeth during the day, don't bring it out before dusk;
like secrets we drip over sidewalk cracks
from cotton-candy sticky fingers and leave our names
dissolved under each other's tongues, the warmth of you is keeping me company
as I try to crawl out of my blood again, they told you to leave
a bread-crumb trail in case your heart becomes too watered down by just visiting
to even remember the vacation at all; you carry
kisses on the knuckles of amputated arms,
driving through parking lots with your seatbelts on,
collections of constellations growing
in the bruises on the insides of your thighs, reminders
of salt & the whites of your eyes;

I'll always carry you around
like scuffed knees and the last time I told you "I'm okay",
I wanna press my fingers into you until your skin is melded
with fire and scraps of things that I could never be,
I hope steel rods grow out of your bones and I hope you gather
bruises before you gather dust,
we are all a little lost and lonely but that never stopped
the accumulation of well-spent nights
coughing up new ways to spell my name
(it sounded foreign before you)
leave this on repeat,
we're going in again.
King Panda Mar 2018
crew-cut,
winter’s rust,
my tongue smudged with coal,
snagged with the bug I rise,
crawl my stare across space to where you lie
perfect in ashes,
un-spread and boxed,
I plant a kiss on your screaming lily.
Terry O'Leary Dec 2016
My chamber teems with tensions, taut, that logic can’t withstand,
fragmenting mental masonry with memories unplanned,
as bitter tears from hazel eyes reduce the stone to sand.

Dim shadows cast by candles flit across the haunted room,
beleaguer apparitions, pale, that stalk me through the gloom,
usurping purloined purple forms forgotten ghosts assume.

The tick-tock clock of time rewinds within the mirrored hall
and pendula suspended, pause, while creatures creep and crawl
on images of effigies, through memories that maul.

The madness of the midnight mass! Perchance it interferes
with spiders spinning spiral threads which bridge the chandeliers
when weaving minds' discarded coils to silken souvenirs.

Reflections graced the vacant gaze of idols as they fled!
Their futile, feigned, far-flung farewells now hammer in my head,
marooned like frozen silhouettes in footprints of the dead.

My lovers smile through marbled masks before they turn their backs
(like furnace flames deserting ash or phantoms fleeing cracks)
with faded, painted, wrinkled faces nightmares carve in wax.

Sometimes a gust disturbs the dust and secrets reappear,
which dance in silver slippers through the dusk of yesteryear -
it's not the screams that drown my dreams, but whispers which I fear.

The hangman posts a letter home, his message indiscreet
about the vestal ****** in the café (where we meet
to savour tea and crumpets) down a one-way dead-end street.

The rapping and the tapping at my tattered, time-worn door
repeat reports of migrant myths, of tales of nevermore,
strung far across a sullen sea, most shipwrecked near the shore.

Forget-me-nots, enwrapped in rain the while a wan wind blows,
recall the faintly fickle fates this drifter undergoes –
alone, unknown with tracks interred in teardrop undertows.

My feet, no longer tied or tethered, traipse within a squall
pursuing profiles long forsaken, buried in the sprawl
of spectres spread amongst the dead, some tattooed to the wall.

At times, the belfry towers toll of anarchy and gin,
of smoke and mirrors, rolling dice and other things akin,
impaled on forks down byway roads, and things that might-have-been.

The skies outside, beyond the night with shutters shut and drawn,
begin to glow on shattered shapes escaping ’fore the dawn
as clouds undone beneath the sun release this captive pawn.
Mohamed Nasir Sep 2018
Poetry is the air poets are the breath
poets sparkle like jewels of paradise
flourishes in garden of great poetry

poets matured like pearls in oysters
of vast ocean of their sub conscious

no need to ****** it from jaws of
crocodiles or to combat dragons

don't have to climb Everest
cross the burning Sahara
crawl in the dark belly
of the Pyramids

all they've to do is let the ink flow
let inspired words pass through prism
minds let contrive and conceive aglow.
Brody Blue May 2018
Sunday's bell broke the recess
And three times, as professed,
The gavel rapped before the rooster's caw;
The horn was blown, the drum was beat,
And in the top of ev'ry street
We swooned with the wounded at the wall
And we said nothing but our prayers
But if someone's heard something,
Nobody cares

And now, with the yellow moon
Fix’d beyond the clouds that loom,
It soon would be a day the devil owned;
High on horseback, thru the mud,
They came an’ bathed their hands in blood
From the thumb up to the funny-bone
And we said nothing but our prayers
But if someone's heard something,
Nobody cares

And, by and by,
We will crawl
Before we fly
High above
The Middle of
Utopia

Lightning made the thunder ring
Until the dawn, when suddenly,
Light divided darkness in the east;
Thus, once more, the wheel has turned
And prov’d itself a vip'rous worm
That gnaws the bowels of the beast
And we said nothing but our prayers
But if someone's heard something,
Nobody cares

And, by and by,
We will crawl
Before we fly
High above
The Middle of
Utopia
A song about an honorable man.
Bella Jul 2018
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness
where my eyes can see
but it's like my head is just pitch black
and I almost wish I couldn't see anything,
like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while

sometimes I get stuck in this space
and I feel like my tears and my thoughts
are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat
blocking my airway
suffocating me from the inside

maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment
that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat

maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings
that don't take over my mind
crawl through my head like little worms
eating away at my brain
my thoughts
my skin

have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again
felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind
Shiver through your body
like it was a demon you let in through a memory-
through a word

maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed
because I wasn't strong enough
my depression fills me to the brim
fills my head and my chest
my arms and my fingers
I can feel it moving through my body
I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
every last vein, nerve, *****, and tissue
how can you expect me to have the energy to fight
how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone
to open my mouth
how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel
I feel so worthless
in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything
it's taking everything but my skin
and it disgusts me

can you imagine the feeling,
having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately
It felt like you needed to be cleansed
like you needed a shower
take that feeling
now imagine it being under your skin
imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you
imagine all you wanted to do was to
GET
IT
OFF
and you can't
no matter how hard you try
you can't scrape it off
you can't claw It off

imagine you're scared of spiders
now imagine you're covered in spiders
and someone's holding down your arms
so you can't get them off
imagine them walking on your skin
in your mouth
crawling on your open eyes
in your ears
you're cringing at your own skin
You can feel them going down your throat
Their disgusting tickle in your stomach
in every crevice of your body
their tunneling under your skin
and you can't get them off
what are you supposed to do
but cry
My best friend's mom who doesn't believe in depression asked why I never told her I was depressed...
Luna Nov 2015
Memories ought to come and go
Though to fade or to tarry
You cannot choose

All you wish to hold
Will be forcefully taken
Those that you bury
Will forcefully crawl out of your skin
Luna
Camilla Green Nov 2018
"Hello, hallway, linoleum tile,
I can't really see you but
I hope you're there."

Green spiders crawl through my smoked-up veins,
their spindles weave their webs of red
under eyelids gravitating towards sleep.

Retinal film flashes; each blink is an
unprocessed, scared, broken reel.

"Put your hands," he says, "on mine.
Breathe, look into my eyes."

Shaking fingertips touch his; snowflakes
gently collide with sunny ground.

They were afraid to melt,
even though they might want to.
I wish it had been 33°.
Next page