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Logan Robertson May 2017
The Belle Rang His Bell

night sweets for knight tiptoeing into her suite
his horse's beat, turning her hoarse red as a beet
please my boughs, she pleas then bows
he rode the road, horse's rose to red rows
as waves mete, cries of more amore for their meet

Logan Robertson

ardnaxela Aug 2018
Leave her faces imprinted in the pillow.
Leaves her voices hoarse and the cotton warm.
Leaves the fabric soaked in tears.
Leaves her hands in place until her breathing is shallow.
Leaves her mind helpless against this attack.
Autumn nightmare
yúyīn Jan 2017
Red looks good
Running down my skin that is..
I shouldn't cut
I need release
Sobs wracking my body
Heavy breathing
Chest feels empty
I feel empty.. just a shell
No substance,
But all these unwanted emotions
I need release
Throat hoarse and raw
Guilty fingers shaking
Hot tears threaten to escape
I need release
Just one tiny cut
Or maybe a few
I need release
One slit, then two
That familiar sting
That familiar red
Uncontrollable sobs
Lost Soul Feb 17
RIP to the little girl that i let die
you left me so quickly
i never got the chance to say
i'm sorry i didn't fight for you more
i wanted to protect you
so i lock us behind my bedroom door
but as the days went by
i looked in the mirror
and saw you die a little more inside
the sobs grew louder
your voice grew hoarse
leaving your throat as dry as powder
.....then you stopped talking at all
the world would disappear
through your tears
as you stare at the wall
one day i woke up and you were no more
i screamed your name
but you never came
you died in the middle of this mental war
i'm sorry little girl i let die
you left so quickly
i'm sorry i never said
RIP to the little girl that lived inside me
Xyrrio Jun 2016
Vacant much like unused time,
Head that pounds to an unkempt rhyme,
Chilled to the bone have we become,
When misery has grown to be our unsung song.
How have I learned to be this way?
To tell the truth I dare not say,
For the truth is still a lie,
And for what remains inside will **** not I.

A chest abounds heavy in guilt,
Oh how I wish for no one to feel what I have felt,
Lungs cry hoarse in desperation,
What can you do when your last love, was your only inspiration?
Songs for shattered thoughts and piece of mind,
We have learned much about taking up wasted time,
Wasted time is merely an illusion,
Something like this can only add to today's confusion.
Written by Tristan
Rachel Rode Jun 2018

I am somewhere deep within my mind

Curled up tighter than the grip of your hand around my neck

I am trying to forget

But the memories are vivid like blood on crisp white sheets

I close my eyes

But you wait behind my eyelids

I scream at you to go until my voice is hoarse

But you remain


I begged you not to lie to me

But that's all you did

I used to ache for you

Our desire so hot  

Just a glimpse could ignite the dry pine forests around us

Now the thought of you is like ice forming around my bones

You make me sick and I can no longer stand the sight of you


Leave me alone
Abby M Dec 2018
Hoarse are the birds in this garden
Coarse are the feathers they wear
Strange are the songs that they’re singing
Songs that tell strangers “beware”

Deep in the shadows lies Beauty
Long overgrown by thick vines
Lying in silence she’s staring
At naught but the passing of time.

Footsteps are scarce in this garden
Scattered with leaves as it is
Darkness has snatched it from Beauty
Her once cherished garden is his

Crying in silence lies Beauty
Watching her poor garden rot
If it lies only in darkness
Her toil will soon be forgot

Soft sang the birds in this garden
Bright were the feathers they wore
Sweet were the songs they were singing
But now there is Beauty no more
Rizna M Rameez Oct 2018
Silence speaks
Into your mind
Words tumbling
Whispering, growing louder
Screaming, hoarse sobs
Frustrated roars of pain

Was she hurt?
Oh she must be mad now, what have I done?
Can't they hear my screaming?
By the fact
That I am silent?



Inspired by Kulenthiran Sir's piercing emphasis on 'silence is powerful'. A good man, with a knowing, fond attitude to and of life.

(Your house is a work of art, sir, it in itself portrays your passion for literature, appreciation, life, and the beautiful things in it. And it is to be praised that you have delved so deep into it, yet not lost yourself to it like many great minds have [Einstein's biggest flaw]).
guy scutellaro Feb 2018
when I walk towards the dog his eyes follow my every step.
eyes  blue like hard candy. lips curled above white fangs
smile at me with a smirk of someone who has awakened
from a bad dream.

I think I hear him sigh and as I kneel beside him. His cold eyes catch some light from the pulsateing drum bar sign.
"what do you see?" I ask. "what can you feel?"

Inside the bar I order a shot of bourbon and as I put the bourbon to my lips I see the dog standing on a barstool next to the fireplace. His lips are contorted tightly above its teeth and his eyes pulsate red light. After staring in disbelief the impossibility of situation dies. His eyes flash quickly several times. He knows me .

I order 2 shots of bourbon and walk over to were the mutt was sitting. He is not there and I'm beginning to wonder if I have imagined the dog when I feel something ice cold rubbing against my leg,  I look down. The mutt winks at me. I crouch down to put the glass of whiskey in front of him. Then I touch my glass to his.
"I've learned to moan without making a sound. " I tell my friend as his stiff tongue stubbornly licks up the bourbon.

He slowly turns his big ****** head towards me. "Out of the lowest the highest reaches his peak,"  his hoarse voice whispers. Causiously I stroke his head. He growls but it is not too menacing. it becomes more like a contented humming. The faster I caress the louder the droning becomes. His eyes dilate and I become mesmerized watching them grow from a warm yellow radiance to a terrifying hot white.

And with a vicious snap the dog sinks his teeth into my hand.

I **** my hand loose. Quickly I stand up and punt kick the little ******* into the fireplace. My wounds are deep but bloodless. A cold numbness  travels up my arm, into my chest, and down to my toes.

And just when I 've lost all feeling. I begin to burn. The fire is burning me from the inside out so no one knows how I feel.
Instead I stare at the dog in the fire place as steam rises from his head. His eyes flash at me three or four times.

I give him the finger.

When I walk into the poolroom, I put quarter on the table. It is a crowded room of tired faces unable to radiate any light of their own.

"The fire has consumed me. The true believer of snow and sad faces, I am a shell."

I am confused, frightened. I hear the words as if they are my thoughts. But then across the room hidden in a dark corner I discern the silhouette of the mutt. His eyes are shut but I can faintly see his subtle smile.

It's my game so pretending as if nothing has happened I select a pool stick. A tall man in a leather jacket comes over and tells me it is his game.

we argue.

And the dog's voice groans, "No matter what you dream it'll end in ashes or ice. Hit him with the pool cue." The next thing I know I'm slamming the pool stick into the man's face. Blood rushes from his wound. People rush from the shadows. hands grab me. Punch and kick me. I'm dragged to the door and tossed into the gutter.

Semiconscious, sometimes dreaming, I roll over and face the dog.
From the shadows someone comes behind me I try to roll over to see the voice but cannot.

"What does this world consist of?" The voice whispers into my ear. "Empty lots, a dead dog, and visions of the night."
Logan Robertson Apr 2018
The Red Ants At His Picnic

Her pillow eyes gleamed
at his advances,
inching along slowly.
His anteater likeness,
coming to an anthem,
frolicking on her picnic,
on her mound,
hoarse and hungrily.
Rendevous antics to form.
Wave after wave,
the red ants at his picnic,
dancing like there's no tomorrow,
seducing him in further.
so antsy,
In his genre,
happily along,
on her trail,
like a hunter,
taking her welcoming little red colony,
to kingdom
To ******* come,
where her castle and moats succumb,
saluting to his anthem.
Where soon white clouds a bursting,
blue skies emerging.
The sublimity and antidote holding on,
holding on to her picnic.
And the rocket's did red glare,
the bombs bursting in air-
to gather.
And there they were ... chaos, abuzz,
then calm.
Sustenance drawn on their faces.
A slight breeze runs through the grass
the red ants at bay.

Logan Robertson

When I open my mouth
Someone else sneezes
The door bell rings
The kettle starts to call
And the sirens scream down the way

When I draw in my breath
A bus screeches to halt
The jet overhead picks up speed
The coffee grinder goes
And a dog sounds a sharp alarm

When I put pen to paper those noises ebb but never completely abate.
So, ever after, I'll be making myself hoarse, trying to get a ******* word in.
Eliza Noxon Apr 2018
It started with tea and amber eyes.

We watched as the rain fell, pattering against the window as the trees swayed under the direction of the wind.
Just relaxing together against the pillows and breathing in chai and petrichor in kind.

They didn’t speak my words, nor I theirs.  But for a while, we were happy.

When they left, I didn’t cry.


It started with a bus and eyes like whiskey.

We cuddled on the drive while watching the antics of our friends, laughing as they teased us.
Just enjoying each others presence and smiling together.

I thought I spoke their words, but they didn’t speak mine.
They found someone else's words to breathe.  They had their sky and engines.
I had my books and worlds.

I cried more when they were there, then when they left.


It­ started with music and eyes like the sea when it's clear.

We talked til we were hoarse and learned about our hopes and dreams, the things we love.
Just learned and learned until we couldn’t hold anymore in our heads.
So we stored what was left in our hearts

I spoke your words and you spoke mine.

You promised you’d stay.

I promised the same.

I think this time, we mean it.
Sandy grey Dec 2018
The mirror-ball drops
and the Gregorian calendar
turns another final page,
like a memory that preceded us
... time just slipping away
leaving beheld moments behind
    in the smeared traces
           of yesterday

"why fight what's carved in stone?"
                             ... said a voice
     felt in an ether whisper –
a voice hoarse with unspoken words
trying to attach a meaning
to the bellowing  silence heard
strewn across pallid blank pages

"there's a sliver of the moon
        above our heads"

  and visions of grandeur
  bathed in a faint moonlit glow
      dappled with hope
December 31st, 2018
Scarlett Jun 4
I want to slash at my skin with the same intensity that the beehive in my skeletal frame has when the worker bees attempt to seal all the broken parts of me sickly sweet

I want to scream so that It goes hoarse because if I’m not being heard what’s the point of having one anyway

I want to take the weight of their spines lift the broken onto my shoulders so that the shrapnel embedded feet they own no longer have to sink deeper
Embedded further

I want to feel love like the love my parents have in the subtle ways  that they check in on each other
In the small favours, they do for each other

More so

I want to hear her voice say the words I have always longed to hear the words that I know won’t be said the words that are difficult to comprehend
eleanor prince Oct 2018
I see us now
not sounding depth
of oceans found
we sailed on
seeking sun

with osprey wings
we'd soar on high
above the dross
all left

Remember how
we laughed and cried
no day expired
a hug

but waves delete
all fire shared
aboard life's deck
washed memories

I turn the page
old letters worn
once filled with
kisses sweet
now still

in ears stopped up
they speak and roar
for years have
passed and youth
has fled

no passage found
I'm left afloat
my breath is hoarse
I whisper pained:

I see you still
Coming across some old letters and cards these thoughts emerged...
Dominique Apr 21
It crystallizes in my veins; turns my lungs
The breath I expel viridian.
Scaly knots of rope-
Dragon's tails, mermaid's fins-
Wrap around my
Waist, snug,
Unrelenting, clouding up my eyes
With pools of unclean-


And I can't breathe so I
Just listen to the mites:
The emerald toothed,
Well-armed mites

- "solvent"-

On the vessel-bloom underside
Of my skin which flares,
In response.

I plead with the waves to die down,
For the ocean not to take me,
Just yet,
Not there.
I sink,

And the cells which cover my veins
Wail a hoarse requiem (which remains)
Insisting softly that-
Despite it all-

My corpse is on fire.

Extinction is jade.
Green is the chaos I've made.
My breath is gone
Bryce Oct 2018
Awake, the empty chamber of my mind
Calls out to paired and endless sky
The thought of you, a galloped course
The heels of your palm, struck with force
I cannot claim the earth as mine,
Just as she do flee the pick of eye
To wallow in sorrows of course divine
Calls out my heart, with verses hoarse.

I have but land to wander soon,
My passions held in heaven's sent
The ancient glass of sky full hue
The earth's embrace a lover's swoon
The soft edges of aluminium bent
These are the ways I'll remember you.
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