Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Erica Laughton Jan 2014
You think you are the only one with rage?
Rage is not new.
You did not invent rage and you are certainly not king of it
Tender.
Like a bruised, oozing, rotting peach. That is something you cannot
do.
****. you. with my tears.
Tear you until you are nothing but a mangled corpse.
Bleed. Can you bleed?
BlEeD.
Stick my fingers into the softest, fuzziest, bloodiest
and lick your warm
salt. That's when I. will. believe. you. are A
live.
My ****. heart. beats sawdust for you
inside my vapid ribcage.

-EL
Jamison Bell Mar 16
Your dreams have no meaning.
While you were sleeping. Your brain, lacking external stimulus, did its own thing.
There's no mysticism, no foretelling, and not an ounce of deeper reflection.
Get over yourself.
babyinblack Jan 2016
in the winter it grew colder. the trees were losing they're lives. the air gained a cold breeze. I only expected it to be yet another cold winter waiting for the year to be over, like I do every year. I was losing the smile I had in the spring. I wanted it back, but I didn't know how to. I lost it with the warm weather.

I sat in my room pondering, "what's next?" "am I gonna end this winter just as I did last year?" and all of a sudden, in the chill of december, a reason, my reason, for my smile creeped back in.

it was you. the one with the smile that makes mine grow as wide as possible. the one with the eyes I could look into for minutes at a time and never not be memorized by. you were back, and I have a feeling you're here to stay.

with you, everyone's cold winter is a warm spring day for me. every minute spent with you is better than the last. I forget the chill in the air, because the warmth and comfort of being in your arms makes it unknown to me.

you're a light on my dreary winter day. the cold air drips all around me but I don't notice because your warm smile reminds me of being wrapped in the fuzziest blanket imaginable.
Ian Dankowski Nov 2020
There are tales of a thrilling adventure
among the highest pillowy mountains
deep in the fuzziest caves
where movie soundtracks are drowned
in constant giggles

There are songs of a laughter
only heard by the most daring explorers
a laughter of absolute uncontrol
turning unwillingly into the cutest snorting

the smell of comfort loomed from spattered candles
unable to warm the air as intensely as their love
yet everything is temporary
adventures must come to an end
candles must be blown out
and pillow forts must be cleaned up

until their king and queen return
to rebuild what had been torn down.

-Upon my return

— The End —