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September Roses Aug 2018
The satin gown of hope a myth
      
   The heroes fallen                                      
                                    to the abyss

The bloom of death, no longer risen
Our souls trapped in endless prison

        Existence the master of all
        masked curses
    
              A song of tragedy with endless
              verses

   So if dying breath comes anyway
                  What's it matter
                 How soon the day

All suns set
Some plan no dawn
They care not for those who mourn

           I wish myself
      The blood to stop
     To soon not hold
   A single drop

So I promise you my heart for free
       If you swear
   You'll rip it out of me
why doesn't hello poetry like metaphorical Shakespearean poetry? its so pretty?
Marina Kay Mar 2014
Don’t come crawling back

with the myth that it’s us you miss.

Don’t give me reverie

if there’s nothing to this.
Don't let manipulative people back into your life.
Every time I hear of you--
I wonder what went wrong
that you would choose
another over me.

The cogwheels of my brain
would constantly rewind
to the very day we meet;
the nerves I had prior
and the brief good memories.

This bitter nostalgia
reminded me of
my foolish sense of hope
that I was the special one
among many others--

Only when I was told
that I was rejected
did I realise...
I was only a pitiful jester;
dancing and joking
for your fancy
on that very day.

I could not help thinking,
being rejected on a Christmas eve
is a terrible Christmas present,
and also the only Christmas present I had.

They say that it was not His will--
But they also did not know...
Perhaps it was His will
that I spend the dead morning of Christmas
soaking my pillow in tears
while nursing a overactive mind.

And yes, I saw you again on New Years Eve--
from afar, where everyone was celebrating
of their successful association with you
with delirious hopefulness and motivation...
Meanwhile, I was made to
welcome the New Year all alone
with tears in memory of your rejection.
People rejoicing and being congratulated getting the job you want while you are spending the new year alone is probably one of the worst feeling one can get. Some people are destined for greater heights while others will always be eating off the feet of others.

Happy belated New Year.
So yes, I will not have stupid expectations and resolutions for 2019. I will be realistic.
Lizzy Jan 2015
I was never a hopeless romantic. I never believed in love. I guess things change when you meet someone. Now I’m just hopeless and romantic.
All I am asking you for
is a hint to your metaphors,
What's written on the papers you tore,
'Cause I always seem to want more
All of them, even neithers and nors.

Another thing I want to enquire,
If you're in a place that's oh so dire,
and need a shrink who's free to hire,
Any work I have, meh, I will retire!
To spur you on, all humour & satire.

If you give me but a glimpse into your world,
Cross my heart I'll show you mine unfurled.
I'm neck-deep into this person, she already knows how i feel. It's been 4 months since my confession, and i still couldn't find a way to get over her. She's found someone and i hope she'll always be happy, so here's a piece to always remember her by. To R. You're the only girl i've ever loved with all my heart, and know that you'll always have a special place in there.
yúyīn Dec 2017
Being suicidal when you’re really young is so sad and weird because you stop seeing yourself in the future, you can’t even imagine what you could possibly be doing in a year from now, sometimes a month and each day you're wondering if today is the day, the day you have enough courage to do it, or if someone will handle it for you. You're walking down the street and a speeding car is coming, you don't move, you hope it hits you. You lose hope, it makes it harder for you to get better, or believe that it ever will. You start to live as if you're dead already..
@.**
The letter I never sent,
I write my valentine on your beating heart,
And send a perennial prayer,
That you could know without knowing.

Petals on your doorstep,
But no signature,
Pink Rosehip on your bedsheets,
Spying through your window blinds,
At someone unreal .

A label that travels as my desperations move it,
How I value the sick,
The unnatural,
The corpse and the consent.

The tenacious nature of a train,
With a hundred destinations,
None finite,
Moving and passing every station,
Leaving like it never stopped,

The will to pull me off it,
The weight of every expectation,
The ommitance after the deprication,
And the incommodious silence after the exposè.

I lust for that iced libation,
The roseate water of ivy and redemption,
A clay to fit inside my insatiable skin hunger,
A welcomed error of continuity in my own beliefs.

The rain of rapture will flood the streets to the chorus of weeping,
The composition of the crestfallen,
And my perennial prayer,
For an ardent antiphon.

-Unabaitingly, The Romantically Inept
Lone Luna Nov 2015
I remember how deserted that road was
My journey into darkness and stillness
It creeps into my core
Afraid of the endless void.

But then there was light
Accompanied by glitters of the night
It enveloped my doubt with desire
And showered my fears with fire

Til the time I wandered through
*the endless void.
Luna
Nikki Danilov Mar 18
who gave you the right to give me life when I never asked for it??
and who gave you the right to cry when I stopped wanting it...
rhiannon Oct 2017
here’s the damnedest thing about “hopeless romantics”:

they’ll splinter their own bones into kindling
to build the fire that warms you,
as if putting a match to their insides
might cauterize the wounds
left behind by the greedy lovers and too-rough hands
that set their hearts to bleeding in the first place

you see, the poets spared no pains when they dubbed
the especially romantic “the hopeless

they are hopelessly betrothed to the warfare,
the burning insanity
of a soul madly in love with love—
the way the heart rages against the brain.
fukk May 14
When you are near
i can feel my body degrading.
i have the urge to rip my skin off with my finger nails
i have the urge to tuck myself into a ball and hide in the comfort of my own arms
i have the urge to pinch my wrists till i feel my pulse-rate through my veins while i bleed.

when you are near
i can feel my whole body flaming.
when i breath, i feel my chest physically burning
every breath feels as if there is a volcano inside me that is about to erupt
my body begins to shut down leaving only agony.

The ache that bolts through my broken body builds up so much that when i saw you again across the street, my body froze.
the thought of you making me feel vulnerable once again got me to my knees crying on the pavement while others stand around observing me as if was the one in the wrong.

i have been getting memories of you once again. i feel unsafe leaving the house. i watch my surroundings every second getting ready to run.

Its hard to remember clearly but i can never forget the way you looked at me. Your eyes peeling away the layers of my clothing waiting for me to obey word by word. I for one couldn't understand what was happening. i stayed clueless for a long time; only shock and fear were the emotions i could understand... especially the times where you threatened and abused me.

the emotional and physical pain you have put me through has **** the innocent girl that once lived here. now there is a woman with cuts and cracks on her body. a woman who cry's herself to sleep almost every night. a woman who wonders what it is like to not have anxiety attacks 4 times a week.
sorry this a bit personal but i just needed to put it out there in case there were anyone else who is going through the same thing so they know that they arent alone. i may not be a good writer but i got my story out and honestly when i went through this, i didnt know this happened to millions of other little girls and boys so i felt so alone and different and that made me feel so scared.

im not special but i just hope everyones alright and also writing about my problems help me out so yea :]
Chris Thomas May 2017
"A patient man bides his time,"
Theodore tells the man in the mirror
Tomorrow, levees will break and stories will be told
Of distant Decembers and forgotten fathers

Livelihoods will be threatened
And remorse will fall by the wayside
He watches as icicles on the awning melt away
"Warmer every day," he thinks.

He hangs up his scarf and overcoat
The way a simple man, with complex demons, would
Wants evolve into needs, all while anchors decay
And it unsettles a once-settled man

To think of the quality of glove necessary
To hold onto the wagon in this day and age
So Theodore pulls the door to,
Leaving Chopin's "Horseman" to ride in peace and pieces

He watches her from across the courtyard
"Such sweet bliss in her footsteps," he mutters
It seems to him as if the snow dissipates
Just from the warmth in her steady gait

He slides open the dresser drawer
A haven for scattered trinkets, odds, and ends
There, amidst all the corroded memories
Lies a corroded pistol, unspoken and unburnished

"And a lonely man drinks his wine,"
Theodore says, as intrepidly as he is capable
For there is a time when a father stops teaching
And a place where the sins stop searching

A last breath is deeply inhaled
But will never again find its escape
Theodore crumples to the cold wooden floor,
A simple man, finally free of complex demons
This piece is about hopelessness.
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