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King Panda Apr 2016
**** you, little
you beat me at my
own game!
but somehow I know
we’ll start again
and that time
I’ll win
and you’ll look
to the clouds
shake your fist
and declare
**** you,
you beat me at
your own game!
and you’ll meet
me at the finish line
and we’ll drink
but until then
I’ll come in second
until then
I’ll look at the clouds
and think
of you
with the sun
in your hands
rip, brother
Hg Oct 2018
bouquets of powder
as white as flowers of zinc

skating thin ice
cutting thin lines on the sink

sniffing inhaling
until his nostrils would bleed

skip to the morning
they find his pale white body

he was so nice
in junior high when we met

his younger brother
smiled exactly like him

the death tore the team
they were closer than magnets

but he risked it all
to fall in the flower bed

is that what we get
when we encourage the dope

tuition’s forgiven
still the parents don’t cope

and i can’t imagine
how hard it must be to hold

a part of your brother
right underneath your own nose
Osiria Melody Feb 23
Amazing how a text message conveying
Regarded as a few lines of dejection
Amazing how a photo of joviality,
Regarded as a—fallacy
Amazing how a video of life's best moments,
Ignites a fire of jealousy, a ring of volcanic
comments surging with scorching words

Amazing how my likes and comments strikes
another's conscience,
Belittling their importance since being popular
means everything
Having the most followers means being a valid
member of society
Amazing how the fame of being a social media
phenomenon is the best thing in the world,
Nothing could replace the missed connection that you and I share

Among the shared posts and counterfeit feelings of emojis,
We lose what it means to connect to one another
Rather than living in life's moments selflessly,
Everything is about me, me, me
Not you, 'cause my posts matter more for my

A missed connection of what reality means,
Above the ubiquitous screens emitting blue light,
Fill in all of these captured memories
Not through a glowing device, but through eyes of authenticity
Experiencing what it means to cross the bridge between an idealized world to mundane

A missed connection of what reality means
For once, put down that screen and live in reality with me

It's not very fun conversing with someone in-person when they're on their phone.
Dominique Jul 2018
I pop a pomegranate seed.
It bleeds,
Delicate fuchsia delight,
Citrus scented, warm, bright,
Full of nectar and promise
(now wasted)

I pop another one,
In a soft cove on my arm-
A slight dip between two veins -
And watch the blushing drop
Edge closer to my elbow. Stop.

A third time,
With the fury of fear
Tiptoeing listlessly in my mind,
Like raindrops on a rooftop.  
It is sweet, and ******,
A waste of time but an act of god

I crave the sound and texture of it,
So a fourth time comes around.
By now, the citrus is overpowering
But I keep going,
For the sake of purity,
For the sake of the shock of vibrance
On deathly pale skin.
When my arm is covered in juice,
I give up.
There's no sense in envying the wasted.

Scarlet sticks.
Carter Ginter Sep 2014
White, my hands of ice
Warmed by the chilled blade upon my palm.
A touch of red
Blurs pink.
No light,
Just white, and fade
The frozen air begins to warm
as the water drips from my soul
onto the bedroom floor.
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
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.
Dark Fjord Nov 2016
For my grave:
I dreamed to sleep
Under the snow and stars
And was one with them.

I made this gift
But it had strings attached
And I covered it with leaves
To hide, to sleep
For when they grabbed onto
For when they catched onto me.

I gave the gift
But it had a lid
I covered it with leaves
To hide behind my eyes
Its secrets
For when they fondled my skin, gently
For they who covet
the pennies upon my eyes, not to wake
my sleep.

I am this gift
I am inside my lashes
I am inside my latches
I am covered within leaves

To hide, I grew the ivy
For my eyes, and for my feet
As they gathered to unwrap me.
In these crypts.

I gave away
All I had, quietly
I had with leaves
Because I so loved them
And leaves leave me freely
To hide inside gently coveting
climbing The door.
these days... are made as a text and a pick of us get me and my gift i am the ivy to: attatch and snow now covers. eyes with lashes... eye with leaves... hides me - grewsome ivy. my eyes gave away, quietly, all i had. till this day, .... i can't see what neighbors i had and until then, this day had crept, quietly closer... i was cut down as the ivy.
Makayla Jane Nov 2018
Last night I stared at my scars
And I realized how much I missed them...
Feel free to share revision ideas :)
Nikki No Love Jul 2018
Tears in the skin
Tears from your sins
Tears in the mind
Tears from what lies behind.

Cut from within
Cut in your skin
Cut down your wrist
Life is so brisk
You like the risk.

They say "sticks and stones may break my bones"
But their the ones who always had homes
"Words will never hurt me"
What if you just left them be?

Deep cuts in the thighs
Deep cuts from your lies
Cut from what you realise
People are evil in my eyes
Hold my hands behind my back with ties

Sticks and stones will break my bones.
Your words will tear my head, my heart; tear my skin.
And I reflect what you have said; your sins.
Marcella Faye Jul 28
Don't try to test my patience
And my trust,
Because it's like you're
Testing the water,
By cutting it with a knife,
And I can assure you,
It won't work.
Don't test my limits.
Pure of Stars Sep 2018
with tears drawn out on her face
she turns towards her razor
but reaches to grab her pen
for it is once again her savior
for many writers and poets, writing is our escape, a way out of our problems and situations.
Carter Ginter Jul 2017
I'm sorry it has taken so long
For me to recognize your light
Yet I'd be lying to say that
I'm blind to the darkness you reflect
Off of each curve and thicker
Piece of skin with the images of
My past pain swimming across the surface

Although I've hidden the old scars behind New ones
filled with ink, the stains
Never truly lift from my pale limbs
Leaving paler veins that bulge through the art
But I hold no shame for those choices

My bleeding scars reflect a beautiful life
Within the death I felt looming too closely as
I was forced to be an adult in a child's body
As I begged for death and was given life with
All the prospects of becoming whole
Only after endless trials of trauma

Whether by blade, glass, and metal
Or starvation, pressure, and pills
I tried to paint the picture of a dreamland life
Across the human limbs that I blamed for my pain
Due to my distorted perspective of perfection
Because the shapes never fit together
And the moment I reached "enough"
It always became too little

Not small enough, not flat enough
Not worthy of love
Too masculine, too feminine
It always seemed wrong
But now I know that
My body is not the enemy

Through the dysphoria
My body still breathes
And I am no less human
Even if my reflection does not reach my skewed standards of decency

Because perfect does not exist
Because the shame I've been dealt
Is not my responsibility to carry
I can learn to love my body
Without skipping meals and
Without the sweet relief of pain
Because I am only human
And our bodies are all beautiful
Because they're ours
Inspired by conversations today
Umi Mar 2018
Cutting through the darkness with a blade burning in an ominous yet in scarlet reddish tone, roaring as if it had the strengh of thunder.
The wielder in pure fury, swinging, swaying it around to pierce through the sinning gaze of the inhabitants of that place.
It is a true blade of banishment, viscious, without mercy or kindness,
raging evermore in an unending, continous rampage, gaining stengh.
Of course, one wouldn't expect any mercy but purgatory on this cruel and also blood drenched battlefield in which only sorrow is reaped.
But whereabouts of the heart already have been burnt away,
As the warped moon embraces the shadows of the fools,
The end had been brought near on that day which mortals fear,
Heat being spread with each slash, likely to set the soil ablaze,
Thus is the strengh of a sword which holds in a world of nightmares, likely to never desired to be ever seen before

~ Umi
Carter Ginter Sep 2018
I take solace in knowing
That in a few hours
I get to choose
How much to bleed
How deep to go
I get to make the choice
And take control
Over this one thing at least

I want to feel the pain
I want to stain my arms
I am and deserve
I am a broken human
Waiting to feel alive
Seeking high after high
In drug after person
After drug and
I am lonely but
I want to be alone
I don't want him to see me
See the ways I wish to bleed
Just let me be
Until I become
A self-fulfilling prophecy
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