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Janna Jul 2018
There's a hole in my heart

A void in my mind

A deep desire for nothing but want

A need for something like fun

Adventure and thrills

Seekers and pills

Falling into a blackness

So dark I'm turning blue

Such stark it's only true

Helpless and innocent

Forgiving and iridescent

I bond with strangers

Act bold, I'm not the tamest

I am stuck, so stuck

I don't know how to get out of here

This place, this room, this hide

This mask, this facade,

This glass, this wall, this broken bridge

It is all burning up into flames

Watch it, sink

Down it goes deep into

Black Waters

- soulwriterj
Written in a state of fragility and lostness.
IG: @soulwriterj
Em MacKenzie Oct 2018
I’ve had a rough night.
I’ve had a rough decade.
To clear my head I decided to go for a drive,
the cold autumn air, the dark sky, the vacant streets and the glow of the traffic lights can sometimes heal.
Not tonight.
The cold air chilled me to the bone,
the dark sky is without a single star,
the vacant streets create an atmosphere of being on another world; completely desolate, utterly isolated.
The traffic lights are all red, like the anger that burns inside me.
I shouldn’t have gotten in my car tonight.
I have a single headlight, my passenger side burnt out sometime last week.
These things bother me more than they should.

I drove to my old home, where I spent twenty three years of my life.
It’s gone and I knew it would be, they started the demolition in spring shortly after I left it, during one of our coldest winters yet.
But now, a house is being constructed on the lot.
Where once stood a small, modest, cottage looking home has been turned into only a gigantic skeleton of what will be a modern house that holds no unique characteristics.
It will blend in with every other house on the street.
Notice how I say house, not home.
They built right to the hedge, Jesus, they didn’t even leave room for a yard or driveway.
Besides all that, I can only think
“my mother’s soul left her body on this land.”
The same land they’ve covered.
Her temporary bedroom when she turned palliative will probably be their living room, or maybe bathroom.
Whoever lives in this house won’t know that the most wonderful mother in this world died where their house is standing.
They won’t know it was a Christmas morning, and the last thing I ever heard from her mouth was “your arms are getting strong” after helping her to her OMS supplied hospital bed.
These things bother me more than they should.

I usually drive fast and play my music loud,
tonight I’m driving fast to get anywhere but where I am,
tonight I’m playing my music loud to drown out my sobs.
The kind of sobs that hit your body like aggressive shocks.
I hate crying, I despise sobbing.
I don’t get embarrassed, but I’m mortified by my own vulnerability even though I’m alone.
I even fake a laugh and shake my head.
Pretend it’s nothing, and that I’m an idiot, that “that’s just life” and so forth.
These things bother me more than they should.

When you lose the only home you’ve ever known,
are you destined to be transient eternally?
Is it possible to find someone who will love every part of you,
and love you enough to actually show it?
But most importantly,
does it ever stop hurting,
even for a ******* second?
Just spewing out the cold and dark feelings that are devouring me right now. Sorry for the angst.
Talia Nov 2018
Mister psychopath
I can see through your facade,
faking innocence.

You want to hurt me,
tear me apart limb by limb,
to bathe in my blood.

to make me suffer,
it would make you laugh once more.
stay away from me!

Mister treachery,
you're a wolf in sheep's clothing,
you're not who you seem.

manipulating,
only using charm and wit?
that won't work again.

I'll overthrow you,
because you're no longer king!
I, the queen, mean war.
Samuel Hoffmann Jul 2018
I'm just a ******* facade;
It's all just ******* facades.

It's just one ******* sheet of plywood,
painted all picturesque,
with smiles and hobbies and future
that's all.
And if you look behind it,
if you ever care enough,
to look through the painted windows,
or turn the drawn handle
on the brown scribbled door
you'd see a note.
All I am is a note.

Just one singular piece of paper,
with one crayon written line:

"Fooled you."
Okay, so I have been trying to be more positive as of lately but this is kinda a step backwards. But its also a relatively old poem, written maybe 6 months back. Enjoy.
M Solav Sep 2018
Oh it's all hanging threads,
Hanging ligaments with drops of red:
Vines without poles - flesh without bones.

Events roll out in scarlatine flashes:
Eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes
And in silence the suspense grows strong;

The bricks are set, the façade is over,
But from within, the house still lacks a structure:
One penetrates rooms without walls.

A memory from the depth is brought up,
A storyline used to link so many dispersed dots:
Leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging sources, hanging roots:
Scars over the sun revolving in loops.

And the conduit narrows down,
Leaks a single bolt of light to glow:
An empty room as throne and crown

And a thorn, pain escaping death,
A frown of estrangement in the face
Of all that's known - what's most unknown.

Spectators stare deceptively
While promises of relief are spared;
They too are suspended in the air...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging loose, hanging dead;
Waiting for the artisan to ease the noose.
Written in October 2017.
Juanita Apr 29
We met in my dreams
Where I feel most at peace
As only then
I can truly be Me,
I fell in love with you
But you fell in with
Her,
Now I’m awake
She is not.
Sally A Bayan Oct 2018
<>

There is power over what's in front,
what's behind, cannot be vouched for.

any one, anything that accost me, are
all taken at face value....just as they are,
disregarding love, or dislike,
or, what dwells deep within.

when not shrouded, i am most useful
some say i'm cruel
others think, i'm kindest
but, i am just being honest.
with the least of light, i try my best,
i earn praises...they come back, they need me
sometimes i am bathed with hatred
i end up in the attic...or given away,
just because the truth is unacceptable.

the area across is most times regular,
a man on his table...what hungs on his wall.
occasionally, it becomes spectacular,
countenances, joyful, or sorrowful
come to and fro...all sorts of accolades
a mix of emotions...each day, an array
of lively colors and moods......a parade
of varied appearances feed my view
it's not what i want...it's what i am given
any time of any day...any season.
whatever the reason
someone or something
stands  to face me.

when night is late, and in complete silence
that man by the table....ever writes on paper
and gets them all wet...with his falling tears,
he writes of volcanoes spewing fire, of rain pouring,
speaks to himself, then to me, of betrayal, promises
lost, of broken vows, and shattered expectations.
i am speechless, yet filled with his pain ....he is restive
til the wee hours of the morning....then i see light in
this visage, his face...giving an end to the dark
giving way to another day's noise,
......a facade.....

Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 11, 2018
Mos Jun 2018
The tangible entity of consciousness is fleeting
Scene:
A elegant party but not quite extravagant
Clinking wine glasses echo through transparent walls
Twenty-two hundred lulls over the city like that of a shadow
This isn’t an ungodly hour nor is this a typical night
It starts when She enters in a red gown that elongates her figure
A pianist smirks in the corner — a grin that’s almost sinister
The clinking of wine glasses abruptly stops when its replacement of grim notes fills the glass house
The attendants still seem cheerful
(How peculiar?)
A stranger pulls her into a waltz but his eyes look hauntingly familiar
Unbenounced to her, He too dances with a stranger
Both on separate sides of the glass room
Both dancing with the unknown
Yet each pair seems to recognize some prominent feature
Nostalgic for what has never been
(How do you preserve a memory in reality?)
Through the glass house mirrors sit in obscure angles
One could see that within each reflection He and She were projected into the other room
Each glance towards the mirrors posed no questions
For both pairs seemed identical
Now their lives may have been content in accepting this dance with a “stranger” I suppose
But that was not the plan of this party
For guests grew tired of sipping on Beaujolais and listening to solem tunes
The pianist presented a different song, more lively yet equally eerie
Their feet paced with the new rhythm which called for a spin
(An act as dramatic as such was only proper for the scene)
With a grand gesture She turns, finally seeing the glass barriers
And for the first time that night He and She were face to face
A perfect dilemma to entertain an audience
In a frenzy She tried to speak
“I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”
But each plea for affection deemed futile
For the grin on His face became that of the pianist
Her emotions were a downward spiral of gray shaded confusion
And with a sinister laugh He (or he) smashed the glass, shredding all source of reality
He was the hallucinogen and She was angry at him for making Her feel
And each guest cheered “bravo” demanding an encore
But this tragedy, dear friends, has come to the end
She’ll never know how the stars look where he is
(Is such a loss truly a loss?)
This poem is for two people
mjad Aug 2
You broadcast your faith
Singing praises in your posts
But is that how it really goes?

Is faith really your focus; your motivation
For getting drunk and partying
With evangelical consistence

Is God lighting up your life
As you light up a blunt
Faith is just your innocent front

Don't let yourself believe we fall for your facade
We know what you really do
and so does God
Asyura May 26
No matter how ebullient one seems to be
You never truly know what’s happening behind the screen.
Joshua Michael Sep 2018
A part of you i saw
A part i think you've never seen
It was beautiful and serene  

Why do you hide it
Put on a brave face
A hard closed facade

I've seen your heart
The love you have hidden
Behind your coarse surface

Set your heart free
I promise its safe
I'll gaurd its gate

Set your heart free
Let your truth grow
let our love flourish

Allow me to love you
...
trf Sep 2018
H arrowing abundance rife with result
O ur minds narrowly try to cope
U nder pressure facades and near **** haute
R estricts the leisure of bare beauty
G rowing impatient by the cover of makeup
L oving imperfection is now a rare duty
A ttributes of wear benign hope and
S ecede scars born of cataclysm while
S carcely inhibiting a chance to forgive them
everyone is beautiful and everyone is ****. shine a light on anyone, make your decision & determine which way you'd like to be perceived
Jimmy Bowman Feb 2013
I can see behind those rocks.
Beyond the solid facade.
They don’t fool me.
You’re eroding day by day.

You may beat scissors,
but remember I've got paper.
Deep within the rock pool
there lies a spectrum.
A Sad Alex Sep 2018
can not be found in the flesh
For as warm it may be
As soft to your fingers it is
It will lay soft and cold eventually

can not be found in gold
Yes, it never loses its luster
But many coins you need to muster
And no number will fill the gap in your soul

can not be found in others
For the laughs may distract
The facade will crack
And still you will be empty inside

ilusive as it may be
It follows you around
It never left
For within you she rest
Waiting to be awoken
And while the rest might feel great
They serve as nothing but crutches
On your own you must stand
If you are to revel
On the pleasures life offers...

To improve one self
To look on path troded
It´s essence

To know there is more
With hunger jump forth
It´s rushes

To balance the mind
With the desire of the heart
It´s key

And once held in hand
You will understand
That happiness flies like a bird
But behind she left
Tranquility
And the knowledge
That you can get it again...
Katey Dec 2018
You pretend to be okay,
You put on a facquade
I know. I understand.
I do too.
We try so hard to pretend to be okay that occasionally we even feel okay.
Micheal Jan 2
Imperative it is that my true face remain hidden.
For eternity my identity must remain a mystery.
Externally I display composure.
Internally exists a warzone.

Can I ever live without this mask?
Until I become like everyone else it seems.
My status as the odd one causes constant ridicule.
Be it my interests, mannerisms, or appearance, it’s always something.
Pointing and laughing are the only forms of acknowledgement I receive.
Apparently different is taboo.

I look forward to a day when acceptance becomes normality.
Maybe then I can take off this mask.
I may then be worth something to this world.
Until then, I must preserve this façade.
ARuckus Sep 22
Sick of the facade. WHY NOT USE A WHIP AND ROD? Sick of these trolls, all they do is just scroll. Hit DELETE, RINSE and REPEAT. They on patrol looking for they next victim, lookin', and searchin' of how they can whip 'em. To all you Trollers out there, scrolling, meme'ing, sick of the facade.
These Trolls go on a roll and just scroll...
They are bullies in disguise hiding behind they cell phones and keyboard.
They taunt and sneer, while they smear your name, for their own fame, with no care for the game.
Throwing elbows and jabs, no penalty shot, cause they got caught
with their pants down, so now you need to sit the **** down, shut up, cause you in line about to be ****** up.
Bunch of ******* critics and hypocrites, with only one ticket to their own show. ECHO.... No one around, BLAST that's MY sound comin' round. Gonna shoot you down off your own pedestal, knock you down, off your high horse. Bunch of geeks, with their tweets, thinkin' they have some treat to give you, like you somethin' special. All they are is a bully behind their mask, a coward in disguise, who just hides. ****** losers with no end game. ******* tweet patrol, they are just weak patrol.
Just a facade... Undercovers is what they are...
These people are leeches, all I hear from them is screeches.
With a flick of the wrist, Nigel gave me the full gist.
It's just a mirage. Well, I give you applause, but this is SABOTAGE.
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