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Anne Cameron Nov 2009
Insanity runs rampant
Confusion clouds my mind.
Feelings find thier way back.
I'd thought I had locked away.
Feelings hard to deal with.
Keep comming back haunting me.
Not knowing what to do,
      with what I feel inside.
Confusion clouds my mind...
Insanity runs Rampant...
01/18/97
Redone/11/16/09/ac
Marina Dec 2013
Nothing could describe this moment.
The majestic look in your eyes.
I can't break the stare.
My heart sinks in my chest.
Breath heavy on my neck.
Whispering sweet words in my ear.
You selfless angel.
Touching me with the tips of your wings.
Tempting me with your power.
Haunting me with my sins.
My lips quiver.
Hands shaking.
Serenity filling my soul.
Illuminating me for eternity.
Anonymous Jun 2014
The word disappointment weighs heavy inside my mind
It hangs on my shoulders like an anchor
It seeps from my pores
and causes blood to run from my veins
The girl in the mirror stands hollow and emptied by the world
lost in the desolation of space and time
she does not feel warmth;
she cant even will hot tears to flow from her eyes
she is left in silence-
with the word 'disappointment' haunting her thoughts
Shari Forman Mar 2013
I can’t quite comprehend your role,
The pros and cons vary,
I am quite baffled,
For should I be weary?

The friendly looks you present to me,
Transition to a ridiculous, yet peculiar look,
I’m not yet satisfied with being in your presence,
I’m a bit worried,
For your foe’s life you took.

I don’t know yet,
If I’m your worst foe,
Or your closest female friend,
Oh, please let me know.

It’s absurd how smart you are,
But the bafflement I experience,
I’m turning to dust,
I’d rather die without absurdity haunting me.
Elizabeth Brown Nov 2018
This screen, bright with frustration, draws-
with careful precision-
the shape of your face.
It must grow tired, as I do,
of creating this image.
How can I know that you are real
when I have never touched your face?
Bitterness for a system long corrupt grows within me.
I am full to bursting with love and fury.

These complications breed more dissatisfaction.
Afraid of travel, afraid of people.
Stuck in a seemingly unending loop of legality
for crimes forgiven long ago.
How many moons more must I wait
to hold your hand in mine?
Eight years.

Long, empty time laughs cruelly at our labors
as we struggle to hold together a friendship
(now a bloomed and wilting relationship)
that we once held above all else.
My love for you is unending, a thing of faerie tale,
but I find my patience lacking.
I have waited and I have yearned for you.
I have tried, to no avail, to leave you behind me-
instead, I was greeted with the haunting realization that
nothing compares to you.
No man, no woman, no circle of peers,
can provide for me the things you offer.
I know you feel the same,
though a mix of dread and delusion prevent you from showing me
in the way I need so desperately to be shown.
I know that you, too, feel this pain.

Seamless, ceaseless pixels bring me your countenance,
now weathered with sadness and age.
Once upon a time, I thanked them.
Now, I throw curse upon curse;
hurling all my animosity at those things that carry you to me
in the only form I've ever known.
"I've been living so long with my pictures of you that
I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel."

If I cannot feel your hand, cold in mine-
If I can't smell your hair
or feel your chest drenched with those happy tears of
At Last!,
do you really exist at all?
Mercilessly, cruelly, are we brought before our judge,
The Test of Time.
Eight years; is it wasted?
Wrote this Oct 10, 2018. Computer crashed and I thought I'd lost it. Here ya go, I guess. Sorry not sorry for the pop culture references. These things are a part of who we are, and I bring my soul forth to bear.
Schuyler May 16
you lay me in the backseat of your sports car
body flush against me, tangle of limbs as hands grasp
nothing tangible, your body passed through me like a ghost
the old painful haunting of a memory playing in my mind
projected, big screen my eyes growing distant as you crept into my body
the thief in the night, alcohol breath
enough to make a girl wince
domina, purissima, immaculata sits in the front seat weeping
my eyes sting too, reminded of a pain
your man hands, big hands
calloused from work a girl like me will never know
pawing at the impure skin
big hands, man hands
the force a ripping now too real
working to take something
domina, purissima, immaculata sits in the front seat weeping
her cries harmonizing with mine
one that threatens to break glass, our aria of suffering as you split me in half
rending me in a way so whole yet incomplete
pain without the tender kiss of pleasure
man, all man, all terrifying unholy man
and as you pull me out of the backseat you ask
“was this your first time?”
“yes,” i lie
and domina, purissima, immaculata sits in the front seat weeping
the first time, with consent
Lucy Dec 2013
A picture of Seattle
Will forever linger inside my mind.
Its buildings and brights
its lights
will be ever showing
glowing on my map.
I would see him a few times over
after this very day
all its building
and sneering looks
its crooks.
But once more,
I will miss Seattle
like a withered friendship.
His haunting name'll keep calling
thought I will not be there to answer.
Patrick Jul 2018
I hear a knock upon my door.
Or was it there inside my head, where only ever dread for the things in life I can't obtain remains; No matter how hard I may in one form or another train?

And so I'll sell a piece of my soul yet again; My price of admission to taste love's glory for but a momentary grin.

With you it was so much different.
My heart is still broke, but my real loss is more than conviction.
I lost my heart, my soul, my vision.
A future bleaker than a demonic prediction.

My mind is racing as I try to relax but thoughts of you come rushing back.

I try to close my eyes to snore but there's always a monster lurking behind memory's door.

And as I recalled I saw my cursed fate,
Always here to be here but never to stay.
I'm airport luggage thrown and lost,
Maybe sought another day.
But I'll still love you through any amount of pain.

I've loved before you but never loved in this way: So full of passion and love for who we both are and could be. I'd marry you now and yet I've never stopped you to say that you're such an invaluable friend, and I'm sorry I can't be okay.

I hate that I'm not only jealous but hurt when I shouldn't feel so deeply burnt by the girl that stole my heart; She's so far beyond my worth.

But she came at night and without a knife she took my heart off it's throne in life, and put it kneeling like she had the key. As if some Divine being that, before we had even met, had my heart beat.

Your love for him is clear even from afar,
And so my heart will beat forever subpar.

So confusing are you truly to me.
The one thing I know is you are the one to whom my soul and heart chose to leave me to be. 

Maybe heartless and soul-less should go hand in hand? Ripped from the body by something far greater than man. 
Something unknowingly more than human, yet divined by human hands.

Ill be content that while I'm still so broke, She can be healed and her love will help her float: And she can finally forgive herself for the wrongs He wrote.

She'll shoulder the pain and strife of life, 
With love beside her every night.
I can be okay but never better,
So I write to myself and you all this letter.

I'm high as a kite,
And just as exposed,
I will never not hear the call of my soul.

Depart away so you can hate me,
And close the chapter of my life called meaning.
I want only for you to be whole.
Regardless of cost, repercussion or role.

My love for you will live until dawn rises untouched by Earth's rock.

Yet ever haunting as a ghost who only ever knocks.
ChrissySue Dec 2012
For some crazy reason i can't sleep.
Every night i lay awake and think,
It’s all I can do.
Tossing and turning
While memories are burning.
Fears and darkness will haunt me.
I know once I close my blue eyes.
That is where the terror lye’s.
Dark images from the medications I took.
Knowing my body was controlled by disease.
Spending so many nights in that hospital room the colors started to blend.
Now I have finally started to mend.
Yet the scars won’t dissipate.
Trying to sleep I lay here every night hoping as I wait.
But each time sleep does greet me so do those haunting memories.
So for now I lie awake and count each breath I take.
Amber Sep 2017
I am not what you think I am.
Colourful, joyful, laughter and excitement.
I am dull, gloomy, serious and calm.
I do not find joy in loudness but in stillness I do.
I do not find pleasure in pleasing anyone because i cannot even please myself.
I am not picture perfect like you see me on pictures but i am raw, a mastering hideous perfectly formed flaw.
I do not have the perfect smile because real smiles do not exist in my real world.
My body is not what you imagined it to be because it is a skeleton out of it's closet.
I am not free as i may seem because i am trapped.  
I am trapped in the flamerous and distructive thoughts of mine that are beckering at what i have become.
I am so afraid of what i have become, i have become so poisenious to myself.
I have become so out of value , i was once a diamond and now i am gravel.
I am used as a road for growth for some and a road of example of an expired female to the rest.

I am done, i am a dead body with a soul trying to live but soon will be ready to take it's life.
There is really no other way to describe myself other than expired, disasterious and into ashes.
I am trying so hard to cleanse all my past, my wounds , my flaws but the more i cleanse them the bigger they fluster.
Maybe the scars of all the heartbreak i have been through has marked the outside of me.
Im fighting a  war with my inner self and outer self.
What is outside of me is building the monster in me.
The last time i checked what is in the inside brings what is from the outside but in my case it is the total opposite.


I feel like my past is haunting me and i see it in my reflection on the mirror.
Maybe this is a way of God's punishment to me.
For breaking all the laws he breaks my outer self inorder to break my inner self.
Day by day i destroy myself by impeckering at what i only succeed in which is my imperfections.
The burning gaze i receive from the monster that i see infront of my mirror lurching and mocking at my past written all over my imperfect body.
I am haunted, haunted by my thoughts, haunted by my feelings, haunted by my imperfection that is lingered by my haunting past that haunts my future.


Maybe this is what i was born for , i was born to be flawless in imperfection.
Maybe i was born to be seen as glorious but as soon as they get to know me they realise how into ashes i am.
I died, I died the day i lost my morals and i died the day i realised how i will never be good enough.
Not good enough for myself and most definetly not good enough for anyone.

I am alone once again.
I am alone yet i have so many people in my life.
But that's the thing, i have many in my "perfect" life that is a living lie and i have myself and only that in the real world of my nakedness and loneliness.
Maybe this is it, this is the hell that i was warned about when i was once innocent.
I died the day i lost my innocence and i was born again in the life of hell in a cell.
My life is a hell in a cell because i am imprisoned.
My whole body is marked and outlined by my past.
My thoughts of my past mistakes are locked in my brain and not willing to rest until i have no dignity left in me.

See what i mean?
I am not what you think i am.
I am not over my past.
I haven't overcome my flaws.
I have not found my confidence.
And i am not perfect at all and never will be.
But with time I will maybe be what i wish i could be and that is perfect in my eyes, unhaunted by my past and set  free by my thoughts.
I know its too long but jus read maybe you'll find a line that you can relate to.
Avery Glows Apr 2016
At the End of the Day,
There is no Right and Wrong.
Good and Evil.
Black and White.
Like the Wind and Dust
Are all but spectrum of
where we stand.
They never exist.
And never will.
In the midst of sawdust
Meteors and stars.
Ashes and ember.
Burning borders in
a deafening screech.
The one and only truth
lies in haunting finality.
Only gaining and losing.
Culprits made accomplice.
And in evil they resurrect.
Only winning and losing.
The winner takes all.
At the end of the day.
Keith Miller May 2015
Her weapons of war are so carnal. Her smile flashes like the shimmer of swords. Her shape reaches out like a spear. Her battle cry like the look in her eye dares to raise the dead in me. But the beast is slain each morning, nailed to the cross I bare on my way the grave. And I am satisfied in the rising tide of strength that comes from not being my own that fills the vast beaches of my weakness and washes away every trace of her haunting footprints in the sand.
not a poem, more of a observation and then meditation. It was the way this random girl looked at me that told me she was trouble. this was a stepping stone toward my decision for ****** abstinence till marriage.
skyler Nov 2018
i miss you
like i miss the stars
in sky above the mountains
when i wander into the city
these street lights
just don't compare
and i miss you
like i miss the river
gently rushing over skin
this empty shower
just doesn't compare
i miss you
like nature
after deforestation
to our love
it was breathtaking
and it's fall
haunting

s.s
Devon Aug 2013
The Scientist makes sense
because this isn't easy
and I am not ready for you to go
so take us back

you're not even gone yet
but you are already haunting me
through the waisted years
when we should have been as we are now

but I know that isn't true
now is perfect because we are finally who we need to be
not to be right for each other
but to just be right

Is it wrong for me to wish
for more time to kiss your lips
and hold your hand
and just to talk
because I love your voice
and the things you say
make me impossibly happy
you make me so **** happy

maybe it's right that you are leaving
maybe i'm just some filler and your perfect girl is waiting for you
and this is exactly what is supposed to happen
or maybe this is karma
finding it's way back to me
In my past lives I must have been the most despicable of beings
because loosing you just when things feel wonderful
is the worst punishment i've yet endured

I want all of the years back
I want them exactly the same
I just want to watch them over
because I need more time with you
I want to see you for the first time
because I don't even remember meeting you
you were just there
and you haven't been gone from my thoughts since
I want the fresh sting of my freshman year
when I was just some weird girl who couldn't say anything right
I want the end of that year
when I cried because I knew you wouldn't talk to me all summer
because you were in love and I was still strange
I want to remember that kind of pining
the kind that was all what ifs and imagination
I want that moment when we became friends
and nothing more
I want to remember what it was like to just be your friend
but I don't want to linger there
and I want that night when you told me you liked me
so I can feel that jolt run through me once more
And God I want today
I want it to never end
I want you with me, kissing me
and telling me everything is real
I want it all back and I never want to forget

no one ever said it would be this hard
please take me back to the start
Priyanshi Dass May 2015
She is standing on the brink of sanity
looking for something to hold on
She is twenty-six years old, watching a world go by
and wondering whether she belonged

An artist’s child she is, playing with fire;
uncertain if the rug would be pulled from beneath her feet
or if it would just burn in magnificent flames
scratching into her eyes calling forth her tears

She is everyone and no one
She is an idea, a rumor, an imagination
and the last piece of a puzzle that no one tried to solve

She is the pain in pleasure and the pleasure in pain
She is the terrifying beauty of life

She is addiction with a veil of innocence
clinging on to her like a possessive lover

She is curiosity with wide beckoning eyes
She is sin, a devil’s temptation
with delicate grace as enchanting as a lost nymph

She is the woman lying in his bed cocooned in sheets
stained with her blood
with a red so bright that it threatens to claw his eyes out

She is poetry with lyrical verses of wild hair
matted with dirt and blood,
ends curling down the edge of his pillow

She is music with symphonies of chattering teeth
and rustling clothes against smooth ivory skin,
borne of a night as cold as the heart she accused him of bearing

She is forgiveness with serene smiles on lips
as soft as a butterfly’s wings and a small hand outstretched
to clasp his and paint it with red pigments of defeat and strength

She is death with haunting eyes the color of warm honey
that his mum used to feed him
on rainy afternoons he spent curled up in her lap

But he has never been so peaceful
in his entire pathetic existence,
For if death is as exquisite as her
then perhaps death was what he had been searching for all along

-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്‌
14 October 2014
Derrick Twidwell Jul 2014
Oh this pain you left me
I can't stand to have this on my shoulders
Day in day out you stay in the back of my mind

You just stay there haunting me
All you are to me is a nightmare
But I'm fully awake
Leave me be let me move on

You never loved me at all
It's plane and clear
Your talk was so cheap
You meant not a single word to be true

I truly fell so painfully in love with you
It's plane and clear
My talk was never cheap
You meant every single thing to me

You just stay they haunting me
All you are to me is a nightmare
But I'm fully awake
Leave me be let me move on

It's so plane and simple
You are gone gone forever
I realize that but can't comprehend it
I have this chance to move on

This chance I'm given
I see her plane and clear
So tell me why you still haunt me
Go away never come back

You just stay they haunting me
All you are to me is a nightmare
But I'm fully awake
Leave me be let me move on
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2014
A dark moonless night,
Envelopes and hides the field.
The puddles upon the ground,
Have lost their crimson hue.
The twisted stiffened bodies,
Hidden in long deep shadows.

His perch atop the Bell Tower
A lofty lonely isle amid,
A sea of waste and death.
His filthy hands still griping
His instrument of war,
His eye straining at the glass
Searching for movement
In the silent depths below,
Finger on the trigger,
Sweat upon his brow

Three days have come and gone,
Since he climbed those stairs
And took his place among
The pigeons’ and the bells.
He had been a mere boy of
Seventeen three long days ago.
Now he felt a hundred sick,
And tired years old.
And even the pigeons had
Deserted him and flown,
Or been shot to pieces,
From the troops below.

His fingers took inventory,
Only sixteen rounds remained.
He had fired his weapon
Over ninety times and
Never once, had he missed.
Haunting ****** pictures,
Of their devastation continuously
Replayed in his head.

An hour ago he heard
Its treads and engine
Churning in the dark.
The tank had come for him,
Would **** him at first light.

Strangely he felt no fear,
Resigned and willing,
To make of this,
A final, fitting end.
Grown to a man and dead,
All within four days span.
It is a tragedy that any man of any age
is compelled to make that climb, to fire
a weapon, to take a life, to give up his
own. Wars are an abomination.
And sadly it seems mankind will
never understand that.
Somehow we always find a reason.

(Inspired by a dream last night.)
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
We stride in a faultless line
Heroism at our shoulders
And pride reflecting from
Our eyes.

The things we come across
Are haunting
As the horrendous
Monster of Fate
Tends to intervene.

Despite the dreary, odious
Scenes displayed
Before me,
We keep marching on.

As we strode, I saw
Tragedy unravel.
The poor sought salvation
And Dreamer’s hopes
Were evaporated to dust.

But nevermind what we saw
Nevermind reality; it’s inevitable
So, we keep marching on.

We walk along deserted
Paths, overflowing with
Calamity.
And not many stayed
For the march.

One by one they ran, fear striking them in
The heart.
This cycle continued until I walked alone.

But, I kept marching on.
Mark Tilford Sep 2015
This thing I cannot see
That is always staring at me
It moves from room to room with me
Wakes me in the middle of the night
with it's constant bite
Just out of spite
Then it ducks out of site
So foolish of me not feeling any fright
I am sure not being of it's delight
Always turning my head quickly trying  
to catch it in a second of sight  
All I see are small images of electric light
Moving at a low level of flight
Always in the darkest cover of night
When walking through the house it gives me chills
Making me ill
Praying that it will see
the guiding light
It just want leave
Then it dawned on me
It's not a Ghost that is bothering me
What is haunting me
is my inner me
!!
K Balachandran Jun 2012
Freedom was,  
that field of  grass, tall and verdant,
undulating rapturously,
hand in hand-
with wind's sinuous dance.

The grass hopper ruled it all,
his mind, knew limits, not once, in his life,
he was a wild horse, in the jungle of grass,
but a great  regret he had,
gnawing his heart,
like malicious cancer cells
that would eat away all his grace,
he tried and tried
but never could whistle,
not even a haunting note,
like a nightingale.


His consort would
try to soothe him, with words
"How you make me swoon,
with your soulful croon!"
his eyes would turn bloodshot,
she would then  back off,
feeling left out, not able to share pain.
" Grass hoppers  
are left with no hopes-
they are a cheated lot,
left to rot"

he audaciously believed,
his face remained  always, cadaverously grim.

A boy and a girl, who ran away together,
reached there, to escape the torturous world
tasting freedom for the first time,
stood watching the grass hopper-
with admiring eyes,
and  hope brimming in their hearts,
they were so charmed by
the green freedom he seemed to enjoy!
Here, the wind swept grasslands,
looking up to the  heavens,
were a world apart,
even the muck didn't look crude!

**"Look at that grasshopper,
bless him, how carefree, he is
I wish I could be like him"
She wistfully said.
ta Dec 2017
i love it when it rains,
when it pours,
calming what pains,
the scatter of our devours
releasing what remains,
reminiscing what was once ours

it is such a soothing,
calming feeling,
to know that my tears
aren't the only one
falling,
flowing.

flashes,
crashes,
the remaining of our memories,
the haunting melody of our lullabies,
all gone,
all done.

goodbye, big-hearted ego.
just let it all go.
see you, long lost love.
you’ll always be kept in my trove.
farewell, my lover.
it’s all over.

(rhyme, chime; t.a.)
10/28/17
Leah Aug 2013
Why does it have to be so hard?
Being fitting in the castle again, again,
and again.
The vicious circle.

Attempting to shut down the part of me
which it's made who I am
but fiercely intrigued.

You wouldn't
understand that in art and in our lives
what possibly most vulnerable is
An elegant, riveting and haunting inquiry
into tragic, damaged and heartless in the state of mind.

One for surrender,
and the others
is non-existent
If there's the other way around
the possibilities for salvation comes up with it.

Where are you standing up on?
thought i'd document it here how i really feel at this moment, okay?
Tana Marie B Dec 2011
And I keep trying
to have hope
faith
something
anything

my hands are open
waiting to grasp
you
someone
anyone

but then the clouds come
they
cover me
completely
utterly

then the rain starts
so quickly
haunting
pouring
screaming

ugh, what a cliche
just me
all alone
in the rain
sweet rain
12/4/11
bones Aug 2015
Moonbeams tread softly

on shining wire   

death waits

haunting shadow

hoping for cloud

and an unfortunate sole

to step forward..
Green Coleman lanterns hung over the water , craving the humid night , nocturnal creatures bathed in the artificial lights ....
The metronomic crash of breakers on the aluminum hulled vessel , baiting hooks and tying gear by flashlight or sheer memory .. Horned Owls , Killdeer and Whippoorwills filled the dark night with haunting songs , the crash of bass and topwater shellcrackers would chill the blood for a moment , cause you to breathe in deep  , exhale out loud .... The aroma of lake water , insect repellent and cigar smoke , chewing on a plug of Bloodhound , strained eyes concentrating on nothing but that bobber , waiting on that tasty fish to take it and run ....
Working your piece of the lake till the early morning Sun ....
Copyright February 21 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Slabs are slang for Black Crappie fish ... Very popular in the South and very tasty as well ..
Gwen Feb 2015
Some days I long to be held,
and others the thought of someone even shaking my hand makes me cringe
I still can feel hands on my throat
and the touch of an unwanted, wandering hand.

Years have gone by,
Yet the ghostly haunting of your lips on mine will not fade.
But hell, I "wanted it anyway"
I wonder how in the hell you looked into my sobbing eyes,
and decided that turned you on.

But it was my fault for wearing shorts instead of pants,
despite the 93 degree mid-July heat.

After you were done
You held me and asked for me to call you back.
You left me crying by the road side,
With my hair in knots and dirt on my new white shirt
Hours passed as I tried to walk yet couldn't because my whole body felt numb,

My best friend laughed, "nice hickies on your neck"
I cringed inside and had to lie,
hoping no one would ever know those hickies where the bruises you left when I tried to scream.
I don't know if this will stay up.
Dylan Baker Jul 2013
This city has torn me to pieces
and scattered the unwanted bits
through these cobblestone streets.
Through 3 a.m. deserted corridors
and starless skies,
through the litter and muck
along the banks of its timeless raging river.

A haunting memory
is left behind a locked bathroom door
in a new friends apartment on Lyon St.
across from the empty museum.
The rumors of attempted suicide
still linger in the air.

The shell of a young man
is found in the basement
of a crumbling house on Veto St.
Swept beneath the rug
under a pile of beer bottles
and empty fifths.

A scarred outer layer of skin
is found in the drain
of a ***** clawfoot bathtub,
in a dark studio apartment
on the corner of Douglas and National.
Along with a well read copy
of Bukowski’s Women
and a bowl of maggot infested rice.

A heart,
freezer burned and half thawed,
is found on the counter
in a split level apartment
on Lydia St.,
just before the hill.

As for the rest of me,
that I’ll leave for us to find.
Maybe somewhere on the back roads
from there to here,
in the hazy twilight
fit for discovery.
Elizabethanne Jun 2018
I live among ghosts now
Because magic always has a price.

To bring you back-
I had to revive dead versions,
Of who I used to be.

- This love is haunting and raising things that were better left dead has consequences
- You are here , but you love her
Mazen Edlibi Apr 2018
Fears find its voices before the sleeping Child inside me!!!

The faint voice of hope Still breathing heavily to let me feeL its presence....

The unseen but felt hope, touches my strayed soul to get me back to right path...

Peace was my theme!
Loneliness was my rule!
Mystery was unknown touch!

And still looking for answers, and tired of searching for logic of each question!

Mind is screaming for a sleep!
asleep that it won't think further of the unknown!
still That music is haunting that spirit inside me, begging me to play that craziest Chapter in my life that still to beplayed.....
That chapter that I didn't write with fear... ... with Measures...... with known Results......
And.......
AM I considering my options with "Chances"!
LennieLynn Jan 2014
Hot tempered
An unborn member
Fearful of joy
She is her own toy
Caged by society
Confused with bisexuality
Locked up in her own thoughts
She could of cried but her throat is clogged
All corners of her mind
Seem not to be kind
The monster haunting her
Is the sadness of a young girl who died in a massacre
May she be set on fire
She should of yelled louder
Her walls are getting tighter

Silence.  

No more struggle
The pain is over
She wakes up to see her own daughter
Quiet and still
She remembers her strong will
Beautiful she lays
Small and perfect
With eyes like her own
The creation worth living for
Her daughter so tiny
Asleep next to her
She knows there is no hiding
Only to face and deal with the struggles
For her delicate little child
The constant reminder of why she is alive

They're always the same problems
And they may get worse
But she takes a deep breath in
Because she knows how much she's worth.
How much she means to someone
To know what it's like to be alone.
Well that is a feeling she will not let her baby girl know.
DaRk IcE Apr 2015
Twisting and winding entrapped in the depts of my solitude
Violently grasping the threading rope that can no longer hold on Mind bending pain surging through my warped image ever so disgruntled
Distorted memories haunting me from angry demons harboring hateful grudges
Try fighting an entity thats made of smoke
My troubled soul begs for mercy against your merciless taunting of my insistent love
Is it my aggravated death you seek? Am I so repulsive to you?
My voice is disgruntled to your shield, my eyes gauged to your scold, my heart mangled to your rage.

— The End —