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"isolophobia" poems
Isolophobia, Isolated as my main -phobia, Is heating up with an incendiary rush. I gather all my plush And talk about the lush Who doesn't really live next door, But I'd rather they not be bored With my lack of dialogue. I distract myself; I clean the kitchen, I fix the shelf That's been crooked for weeks, I notice that my life has peaked And I gather all my plush again. Every story has an end, And as I approach it, I choke. I speak of how I'm completely broke, And it's when they ask me, "Why?" Do I realize that I have no control And it's my lack thereof That is driving me insane. I bury myself inside my head, Forever being alone instead Of losing the ones I love again. Every story has an end, And as I approach it, I choke.
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Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
I Am Alone Again.
we got tattoos and the ink overpowered your blood i cut myself open to remind you of it you grew bored of trying to revive your heart we pledged our allegiance over shared bottles of ***** the alcohol whispered that I could finally stand on the edge and drop off you stopped helping me down and started offering to push me you'd called me your sister since we were eleven we grew like flowers, but my mind began to wilt your garden grew despondent, you pulled your roots from mine and grew away from me heaven, don't leave me at the gates i'll shred my throat raw from begging for help to heal an ache that Fear keeps sore as he reminds me "angels do not befriend the deficient"
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Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 2:30 AM UTC
isolophobia
I do not consider myself a ***** in the biblical sense as I can count the suitors that have shared my bed on one hand. For it is my soul that is the harlot. Allowing anyone to use it as they wish if only for just a night taking prices as they go. Hoping one day someone will leave something in return. Surly the fear of loneliness can't be so strong that I believe this is a better way to live then facing the world on my own. Then saving the precious piece of me that is my soul for the one that truly deserves it. Or is it the fact that I believe that I am not worthy of that person, that if such a person were to come along will I be ready to accept them as such? These questions have no answer. So for now here I sit here hoping that if the day comes there will be something left to offer...
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Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
Isolophobia (not really a poem, just thoughts)