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I heard it
I know it
I turned around
It was you
Of course
It makes you mad that I know you more than you know you...
sara Oct 13
I see writing on the walls,
etched up across old toilet stalls,
from people clinging to it all
to people too afraid to fall.

What they don’t know will never hurt them;
clear that love has never burned them.
Heard of lessons; never learned them.
Though, pain apparent; no one heard them.
etchings into trees and toilet walls are only an attempt to cling on to what we are afraid of losing forever


back in the uk, wish that I wasn’t

Sorry about the punctuation, it’s been a long night
Karijinbba Oct 21
Many have heard me,
but no one has seen me,
and I will not speak back
until spoken to.
I am invissible I live between mountains in nature
or in empty homes
What am I.?
Clue: When you speak I speak back yet I look like a forest.
( AM I NOT AN ECOv)?!!
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I'm a lying, cheating loser
With a gun pointed at my head
I still remember everything you said
Maybe I'll be worth more to you when I'm dead

There's a summer sunset I haven't seen
And it's haunting my dreams
The daylight breathes and blows away
The scent of you and everything you'll say

I can still hear the words
But I'm still unsure
If you really meant them
And why I resent them

Daylight, dead of night, any time
The thoughts don't stop in my mind
I think and talk about it too much
Everyone around me has heard enough
Once we were on fire
Young    rebeliouse   free
We stormed the castles and took to the skies we flew we dreamed
We were ablaze our light setting raging screaming fire to the world around us
When our thoughts could not sit in silence any longer
When the kids were engulfed by a wave of fury of the injustice done by this world before we were even here
We screamed and demanded
OUR VOICES WOULD BE HEARD
But now it rains
Now the cold heavy water blankets the restless
The fire has been drenched in worry and stress
The brutal downpour has distracted all with false life or death
The blaze once 100 feet high now nothing but a charred soul

And all the ones put out by the rain
to tired to fight again,
pray on the generation next
That their fire is enough to best the storm
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a shed, shrouding itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, able to accept the modicum of peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the sharpness of broken leaves. The once relieved brow beckons their wild eyes towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash her weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, that formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole and pans over a darkened forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
The only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. *****.
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