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Mark Jul 28
Scouring walls
sanding hands
grazing galls
varnished strands

upward stroll
winging tips
silent roll
grooving rips

sighing depths
whispers fall
staining breaths
unknown wall

senses bare
flooring sand
wetted air
dripping gland

morose dew
sickly lashes
mourning pew,
perching ashes

sleet-river veins
mist-tide lobes
stringing strains
vermilion globes

pale slim
stilling beat
liquid brim
sinking seat.
IC Mask Aug 29
I can see my lifeless eyes
being taken away by time,

Slowly fading away
like a wick from a burning candle.

Benevolence carried on with my life
Reciprocation was never an option.

I was awake in midnight city.
Wish it wasn’t a dream.

I gave everything.
My everything was nothing.

I gave my forever.
My forever was a never.


What is the sense of living
If I am going to lose it all?
whatisthisplanet Mar 2016
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they wept, tearing out their hair
and tossed it in to the ocean
turning into sea weeds.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who hid themselves in caves, till they passed
their skin growing pale and lifeless
till feathers emerged from their hands.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who mutilated their legs
and scarred their feet
so they would no longer be human.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
the creatures wailed as loud as they could,
screeching noises, ringing
sounded only like bells to men.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they didn't see beauty or sin
instead,
walking vessels
and a prize to win.
harpies are described as repulsive half-bird half-human creatures that represented evil. however in early greek mythology, hesiod described them as beautiful winged maidens.
Evelyn Genao May 14
"It's okay."

I can still feel it.
The way your lips touched mine.
Without meaning.
Without feelings.
I missed them.
Your kisses.
Your attention.

My heart.

I saw it.
The way your eyes drifted to others.
Never straying to mine.
Never filled with the same spark.
Always dull.
Lifeless.
Loveless.

It hurts.

You would say it.
Those three words.
Not to me.
Never to me.
To the others.
They always got your love.
I got your hate.
Your anger.
Always.

You don’t have to love me.”

You gave me orders.
Never to be near you.
Never to hold hands.
Not in public.
We did not know each other.
They would get the wrong idea.
“We are cousins,” You would say.
You were embarrassed.
To be seen.
With me.

I can’t.

I was your puppet.
You pulled the strings.
And I obeyed your commands.
You never loved.
Not me.
Never me.
I was your toy.
Something you could throw away.

Take it.

It’s all a game.
Of feelings.
Of pain.
Of love.
Of hate.
You are the king.
I’m your pawn.
Just a piece on your board.

I’m done.

I loved you.
More than anything.
I let you use me.
Hurt me.
If I got to be with you.
Nothing else mattered.
You didn’t feel the same.

No one ever does.”
I saw a prompt and this poem came to mind. I hope you love it and be sure to comment what you think. Check out my other works!!
Jessica H Oct 2012
I held her cold, dead hand
I kissed her lifeless face
Memorizing every moment
Knowing that I would never feel the comfort of a mother's love again.
Her selflessness was her demise
She neglected and gave all of herself
She smiled so big
She spoke soothing words
She needlessly apologized
All in her last hours
KitaRaizal May 2014
Cat got your tongue
Soft nips
Little purrs
Pawing playfully
Sharp claws
Big eyes
Innocent
Curiosity killed the cat
Now the cats dead
Lifeless in your arms
Her eyes dead and lifeless
She purrs no more
She plays no more
Her helpless limp body
Blowing away in the wind
Slowly fading
To little more then


N
          O
T
           H
I
            N
G

~
Summer-Skye
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Memories crying, screaming to be heard.
Try as I might to bury these amidst busy days,
still they rise from the backyard of my mind haunting my dreams,
making youth a nightmarish memory.

Empty rooms cry out in agonizing silence.
White ghosts float on lifeless bodies with the same question; why?
Anxious moments still taunt just beyond of safety.
The sickness that gave birth to this still clouds the mind.  

So long ago, a lifetime to make peace, still lucid moments of torment
making March an anniversary dirge.
It makes no sense to cry for those gone, for mortals spent in tragedy,
yet every year I try to understand once again, why?
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