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Alyssa Underwood Jun 2016
O darkest night, what are you for?
Sometimes to wrestle, sometimes to rest
But always to cling to Jesus more

Though senses are dulled, desires awaken
Aching grows stronger, inhibitions are taken
Less seeing, less hearing, more hunger, more longing
Answers are dimming while questions are thronging

More drilling, more filling
The canyons of my soul
More boring, more pouring
Himself into the hole
More stretching, more catching
Away my gasping breath
More tearing, more sharing
In the union of His death
"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them *******, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ--the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."  
~ Philippians 3:7-14

~~~
Kelsey Chupp Sep 2018
i want love to feel
like i am out of breath

throat burning
heart pounding
chest heavy
lips gasping for air

lungs on the verge of collapsing

-k.j.c
9.20.18
B L Jul 2018
The difference between actions and habits,
     is often measured by the person you're asking.  
One bump, one line, one half ounce...
All shared by people you don't even give a **** about.

These chemicals make me sick --
              Limitless...Why quit?
              When it's only ten bucks for a hit like this?
Even Jesus Christ would have gotten addicted,
              if drugs in his day were half this good.

"Yeah, I'm smashed -- but I promise I can drive fine."
      Walk and push the limits of a real fine line...
If I don't **** myself, or someone else... I'm happy.
       Stare death in his eyes, wink, and start laughing.

Gasping as I swerve lanes --
Stay safe, get paid. Mundane daily.
Living a-live.. Eat. Sleep. Dream. Get laid.  
Chase feelings.

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You know me, right?

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You love me, right?

I want to melt with you -- let our souls collide...
Dissolve the boundaries between students and teachers.
        To bridge the gap in the great divide
        No secrets between us -- bleed into the speakers.

Feel the air in your chest, and ask God for a reason...
To stay or leave Him.
He makes excuses...

                                                     ­      ... Believe Him.
Iz Nov 2018
She drove her car into
The canal
Where my heart once lay
And I felt the absent pains
Of the limbs I once owned
And I almost
Drowned with her
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
O darkest night, what are you for?
Sometimes to wrestle, sometimes to rest
But always to cling to Jesus more

Though senses are dulled, desires awaken
Aching grows stronger, inhibitions are taken
Less seeing, less hearing, more hunger, more longing
Answers are dimming while questions are thronging

More drilling, more filling
The canyons of my soul
More boring, more pouring
Himself into the hole
More stretching, more catching
Away my gasping breath
More tearing, more sharing
In the union of His death
"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them *******, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ--the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead."  Philippians 3:7-11
Amy Leigh Jul 2013
apricots and cigarette smoke:
your smile is infectious.
heat leaking through the little slit in the
window: melt like cool frosters on
a hot summer day - melt
into me
lets become solvent
in this little
car; (I wouldn't mind.)

combine together, like our parents
and parents before them. molecular;
everything, anything -
we are science.

I am not afraid, it is
you
who takes the air from
my gasping lungs; - look!
at his beauty; divine.


© A. Leigh
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
These are interesting times
Blessing cursing each moment
Smelling like the '80s
Rhyming with the '60s
Cringing like the '40s
Gasping at '17

It's The War of The Worlds II
Man versus man versus nature and self
A free-for-all melee, just name it
Where bacteria and viruses
     and gas and atoms
Will be our doom in the end
But not before we've wreaked havoc

on all that we love.
and so it was. .  .
zebra Nov 2018
Oh the virgins ravenous vault
college girl ******
a seething abashment
with mixed loyalties
who belongs to no one
ferocious for annihilation
*** blast
poured out from essence
spread shanks
wet spot
hot shots
meditative and gleaming

huge hearted
she is one and many
choking on desire
far flung in Turkish bath fantasies
a singing **** tearing heaps of suns
like burns and spatters
her ***, a high pitched note
his ****, rage at bay
poised hot **** ****
gasping fire

*** criminal's

foot kissing
****** biters
Sylvia Plath was referred to as "The Smith College ******" in some biographical material. I love her poetry, like incredibly, and so by the proxy of her literature I remain very much in love with her both as a writer and as a woman, albeit a vivid fantasy. That love remains amplified by her suicide as I find myself still aching about her now, 50 years after her death. I remain continually mesmerized by the appalling dread, yet sensuality of her draped corpse hanging out of the oven. Her dead body is an ineffable poem of grace in form and shuddering despair. I always want to rescue her.... It gnaws! This poem is prompted by Sylvia Plath, a Goddess of modern language, her youthful passions, and inconsolable despair.
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Cné Jan 2018
~
Him
sits in an arm chair
slouched and relaxed,
watching her
with a glass of whiskey
in his hand

~
Her
lays on the bed
naked, long legs spread
watching him
watching her.
~
Him
asks her to do
what he had
been dreaming of
even before seeing her naked.
Beautiful scenery

~
Her
strokes light and feathery, at first
delicate fingers tracing
up and down
while the other hand
on her breast
tipping her nip
~
Him
mesmerized by the show
he takes a sip of whiskey
the burn does not compare to
the burn growing in his pants

~
Her
dips a finger inside,
spreading the glistening liquid
found across her inner lips
increasing the pressure
and moving from side to side
~
Him
doesn’t know where to look
as she concentrates
on her ******,
pulling at the tip
she gnaws her bottom lip
he settles on her eyes

~
Her
picks up speed,
the circles of her fingers
smaller and smaller,
focusing on her pearl
shallow breaths growing rapid
as she nears her peak
~
Him
slips out of his shirt
he starts to sweat
unbuckling his pants
to release
the growing pressure

~
Her
tilts her hips
finding the optimal position
to intensify her pleasure
~
Him
holds his breath
to hear the
gasping of her breath

~
Her
eyes on him, longingly,
back arches,
head falls back
and lips part
“Oh God”
in heavy breath
~
Him
“Amazing”
whispers unsure he said it aloud

~
Happy **** Day
elaine Aug 2018
It’s hard to escape this insanity when your world is on fire. I’m left gasping for clean air only to find war smoke.
Papers are thrown, glasses are shattered.
And I am uncomfortably numb.
For all the earth in the world,
For the varied chunks,
shapes and shades
of brown, keep an eye out!

There, somewhere in the dirt,
Next to the writhing worm,
Gasping at pockets of sunlight,
Green life ruminates, and
pushes, pushes up,
through the soil,
intrepid, unlikely.  
It abandons it's old husk house,
what little safety it knew,
and, daring to dream,
thrusts itself into existence,
and feels the day's cooling kiss,

a multi cellular masterpiece,
when yesterday, there was only
dirt.
Cné Jul 2017
HIM
Hello love, ya I just got into town
Well I just thought, you know
If you were going to be round....


HER
The lover of my dark desire just calls.
He beckons with a smile.
"Come hither." whispers husky voice
alluring me with guile.
My heart compels me to comply.
My brain says "This is wrong."
And yet, I find my feet move toward
the magnet of his song.

HIM
Did he ever wonder, about that one time
Does he know that those were mine
You know she would surely die
If I ever left her high and dry...


HER
Shhh ... a finger on his urgent lips,
"the rest let's just forget"
I'm aroused by heated passion
igniting lust within ... I'm wet

HIM
No one can know what tomorrow will bring
But for tonight my love, it's you for me
Behind the gas station I just couldn't wait
I put her up against wall in trance like state


HER
Penned against the wall with parted lips
A kiss to potent to breathe
Not nearly private enough, still
my legs part, spread with his knee

HIM
So willing as I pulled up her dress
Gasping for lust with erratic breaths
No need to be bashful when freaking at night
Three moons were shining vividly bright


HER
I surrender. I give up.
Release me from the spell.
No recourse now exists for me
but succumbing to ecstasy, as well.

HIM
Such passion for life
Breeds a hunger for lust
Fulfilling and satisfying
Yet I can't get enough
Her smell on my fingers
As I take to the road
Another memory
Worn into flesh and bone


HER
{CODA}
A chill descends upon my heart
as I watch him drive away.
And as I've done so oft' before,
I wish for him to stay
And though I know he must go
back to his life there.
I close my eyes and smell his scent
dreaming of all we shared.

by
Traveler Tim
&
Cné
We just can't help ourselves...
Just for fun
Walking through the woods at night
Not sure where I’m at
The darkness I’m looking into
Is  overpowering
A faint light from the sky
peaks shyly through the blackness.
But not sufficient for me
To see where I am going
Paralyzed with fear
I don’t know what’s
Hiding in the darkness
Eerie silence all around
I’m gasping for air
Because I can’t breathe
I’m consumed by the fear
of what I don’t know.
That lies ahead

Copyright 2013
All rights reserved
Chrissy Jan 2018
If the ache in the core of my being stops
If my eyes stop flooding dry land
If my mind stops gasping for air
If my sleep becomes tranquil
If I stop thinking your going to walk into my room
speaking the word I longed to hear
"I never left Chris, I'd never leave you"
does that mean its getting better
or does that mean I'm going crazy.
ryn Jan 2015
"You love them
With all your heart and soul
Yet, you can't be with them
But you'll never let them go...
And it hurts..."*
- The Girl Who Loved You


Submerged and gasping
Swept away by the immense wave
Thoughts of you I'm painfully drinking
To my heart I'm but a slave

Caught in the undertow
Find myself submitting carelessly
Brushed aside all that I used to know
Drowning in emotional debris

There's strength in me yet
I need not be killed today
I could break free, I could forget
But fight I do not, instead still I lay

Because you see... You are the ocean
And I am but an invisible speck
I, too, want a place in heaven
Not wallow an inconsolable wreck

I'd get washed over but I'd swim deeper
So we could exist only in memory
My heart betrays but never will I sever
Even if you're the love that was never meant to be
Line taken off TGWLY's "To All The People Who Can't Have The One They Love:", for Frank Ruland's "Let's Do A Line!" challenge.

TGWLY is one of the first friends I made here and she's such an incredible writer!

This line of hers bears so much that I'd shed a tear everytime I read it. It rings so true for most of us. It made me relate...it made me feel human.

Thank you TGWLY for the inspiration and Frank for setting up the opportunity for me/us to acknowledge and give credit to those who've penned down solid lines embedded within amazing writes.
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
The bright blue bottle hit me like a hint of death
      on the breath of Spring.
I imagined it being tossed out a truck window
by underage teens fancying themselves clever
      and mature and immortal

as if the earth had willed upon them
      that her stolen treasure, Aluminum,
be returned or she’d cause their truck keys
      disappear for all eternity.
      I picked up the blue bottle

tried to feel resurrection
      in a recycling sort of way
felt instead only the hollow emptiness
      of mindless eternal reincarnation.
Winter had been long this year and lately
I fantasized resurrection more than usual

at a field where I stopped to listen to meadowlark and field sparrow calling for mates or alerting everyone to the sin of the blue bottle.
Several deer grazed the unseen first greens of Spring near skunk cabbage and coltsfoot.

At a small stream, I cupped my hand into the icy fast water and raised it to my lips, then splashed my face, then splashed some more, more,
then knelt, both knees at the streambed and submersed my face and head,

in self-inflicted baptism
      for my own blue bottle sins,
opened my eyes, exhaled all my blue bubbles, for the longest of repentant moments,
      pulled out of the water
      gasping the holy Spring air
      for dear life

and thereafter walked each step
      in the garden of resurrection.
> As published in The Watershed Journal.
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> Winner Editor's Choice Award, North/South Literary Canon
Azurel Mata Oct 2018
Soft melodies of the deep sea echo
Moonlight dances on my pretty scales
And icy bubbles whirl under my vest
Through my slippery hair
And down into my lungs to clear the way for overflowing foam
Laughter splashes behind my lips as my anticipation rises
Waiting for a night of twisted fairy-tales and uncalled for surprises.

Shimmering bodies swarm in spirals
Grinding in unison with the waves crashing at the surface
We're anxious for overflowing foam and hidden treasures
Purple light pierces the dark like shards of crystals
Casting a ghostly shade on bulbous faces
Pressure rises as each wave surges
Whirlpools of hot breath suffocate our gills
But the sidelines are shallow
And stragglers float motionless

Hair like seaweed at the nape of his neck
Unbuttoned linen soaked and dripping
Her hollow eyes glow green
Like the jelly orbs of a fish under florescent lights
She’s pressed against a boy who has hooks for fins
Searching for the parts that are edible
Tender, Scale-less, Slippery
Nothing wrong with being the catch of the day
Right?

Bubbles rise and pop as the last melodies drown
Schools of us are begging for shiny hooks and bad decisions
A handsome boy has been smiling all the while
He’s caught in a fisherman’s net
Craving salty lips and the spell to make him a man
But fisherman don't care for little mermaids
With hearts like sea glass and no hidden treasures to steal

Sweaty fins splash and cheer
The fishbowl shatters
Sea glass spills out onto sand
We squirm and flop onto land
Gasping without air to breathe
As our mouths and ***** thoughts dry in the sun
Leaving behind fresh meat without mouths to feed.

Rainbow confetti was stuck in the grooves of my scales
Wet clothes left on the floor of a steamy bathroom
Gasping and moaning into tile
Who's face was a handsome stranger
Because this meat shouldn't go to waste
And I'm drunken with desperation
For overflowing foam, jewels, and shiny hooks
But I'm just another fish in the sea
Tumbling in the waves with my rainbow confetti scales.
A school dance
Bison Jun 2016
I climbed time like a tree
All your branches looming above me
And I tried my best to
Break not one twig
But I tore
Out your leaves

And they're spinning so far down
To the salted ground
And it's all spinning around
So far down

I left hearts in the soft soil
Like a silver serpent coiled
Sugar coats my tongue
Whispers on my lips
And the poison
Melts through my teeth
But I still
Bleed black truths

And they're spinning so far down
To the salted ground
And it's all spinning around
So far down

Soft shimmer in your backdrop
Sad hearts gasping, don't stop

Soft shimmer in your backdrop
Sad hearts gasping, don't stop
Noor Sep 2013
I see you, not a distant silhouette,  but a man
I'm gasping for air, choking on rage, sparing you, staying my hand

I'm looking into your eyes as you watch my brothers die
For this lesson in War I want to send you a present:
A 7.62 millimeter round at over 2,500 feet a second

I shouldn't, so I won't
But I would if I could
To thank you for teaching me to hate like this
Nicole Alyssia Mar 2014
She sits across from us in silence
Little do we know, her world is caving in
Gasping for air-
Drowning in her own skin

Her cries for help murmured by the sweet sound of denial
A comfort she knows all too well..
Desperate to belong,
Her sense of self begins to quell

The mirror is her worst enemy
The pain runs deeper than the surgeons knife
Completely broken inside
She contemplates taking her own life

Fixated on her reflection
With each glance she slowly dies inside
If only they could feel her angst,
She wouldn't hide behind her disguise

No matter how hard she tries to control
It's something like a fearless haze...
Creeping through her unconscious....
Creating the craze

She flashes us a smile,
Pretending that she's fine
Yet, she prefers to stay alone
Imprisoned by her mind.
September Roses Nov 2018
What harm could it do?
To play around one's breathe
To grip something tightly
An innocent gesture

Passion so involved
It's just a spur of emotions
A moment of breathlessness
What's wrong with cutting off some air?
People are poisonous anyways
***** and sick
You're just polishing
Taking them somewhere brighter for a moment
No?

Can you feel their veins
Can you feel their pulse
Hear them cough,
Is it really that bad?
Tighter and tighter till the knot is tied
Feel air struggle in their throat

Something might sizzle inside you
Now dont be alarmed
The adrenalin of life flowing under your palms can be overwhelming.
It's only normal
To feel excitement
At their strained
Heavy
Breathing

Isnt it almost like a melody
The raspy struggles?
Notice the resistence of the gasping
Clench your fingers
Weigh them down
Feel the life leave their lips
And the pressure leave their lungs
Let them choke
Almost satire, but not really? But satire? But not?
Karina Rose Mar 2012
A mouth full of gasoline + a match stick for a heart, she whispers to him nice and low set me on fire

She’s willing to stare disaster in it’s Eager eyes.
She wouldn’t dream of running before her Time with him is Up.

With his Arms like Alcohol, she can’t help but feel Altered when they are around her.

With his Body like running Water, she’s as good as Drown.

With his Smile like Oxygen, she’s not Gasping for Air just yet.

With his face like a love song, too bad she’s never been know to carry a tune.

With a matchstick between her lips + her heart of gasoline she waits for her moment
to set him on fire.
I dedicate this poem to all the attractive men I have ever seen :)
Mae May 2018
The sky cries for me
I walk alone
No thoughts or feelings
Just a desire to go
To the river
Into the river
Just to float
And maybe drown

My blue hair ripples
Cold water makes my body panic
My lungs are gasping
I fall under
Riding the current
Wherever it wants me to go
I float back to the surface
Thanks to my empty soul
Today's not the day
Perhaps tomorrow
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
Hard light and star struck breath
Pinched corners filled with stifled cries
Rash rushed hands in tangled hair
Heart fought racing growing frenzied
Flashing lips tapping tripping touching
Pulling tearing rough handled love
Frantic touches in lost time
Stolen fevered passion crushed together
Harsh rasps gasping in ears of flushed faces
Tight hot lives against the wall
Pitched cries smothered and lost
Falling hands bunched against lush hips
Running lights lingering on glistening cheeks
Sultry lingering brushing back errant hairs
Hands snaking out while looking both ways
Lost in the traffic of people flowing by

cc030711
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