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Helene Josephine Apr 2015
Inside my head is a pond
Where you swim around making ripples
Spreading through my veins
The waves are making my skin tickle
Pouring out between my lips
As the tide turns them into giggles
Streaming down like a waterfall
While the floodings have me *******
Mystic904 Sep 2017
The burial isn't worth to pour our hearts in
A place to learn lessons, not an exhibition to live in

Down your head for the Truth and dive in
Why afraid? committed a greater sin?

Take the chance, relax and sit in
Shy? In front of The Lord ye believe in?

Its okay to make mistakes the time period you live in
Go down on your knees, pray till you breathe in

Cry till create floodings of sin into the trash bin
The chest shall open then to let the light in

Repeat and repeat the process to feel in
Divinely power which the veins fill in
A step closer towards the Eternal Truth...
Sabrina DLT Jun 2023
Everything has been drained from me.
The blood settles in my limps and my heart sinks 10000 leagues under the sea.
Waves of amber colored ponds drown my eyes.


I lay here, in my coffin, faint.
I lay here, in my hurse, breathless.
Barely gasping for any of air that surrounds and suffocates my body.
You've done it again.  
You've taken my peace of mind
my empathy and pieces of me.


I've decided to look back at those before you and ask them to tell me what lessons I've failed.
They stare at me, blacked eyed like children.
Gagged up and stored in the back of the basememt.
Tattered and tarnished by countless floodings.
Drown and dried  over and over...
They give me no answers.

I lay here with a heart that melts out of it's cage.
A heart that melts through the cage of my ribs.

In my dreams, I try to eacape his tortue to get back to you.
I've climbed  stories, jumped over buildings, jumped into cars and bushes to get back to you.

And then, I lay awake.
Afraid of  waking adventures ahead of me.  
Afraid to ask you why and afraid even look.

I lay here lost and confused
60 hrs of emotional labor unpaid.
Onoma Dec 2020
a poem has come through

all the windows, leaving

her mindspaces on the walls.

carrying sensory input to

the degree of birth.

she's so good to those walls,

that they stand up to fall...

a poem of hallways seeing

straight.

leading and led by, floodings

of light echoing feet.

waited for behind every door.

a poem of hallways let in.

— The End —