"obsessional" poems - Hello Poetry

He spoke in a rough gruff of a voice, trying to hide his disintegrating stability. His neck was moist, appearing to have lost the capability. "Rosy, my dear, what do you find so grotesque about love?" "It's not love, it's what love does to you," She responded without hesitation. Evidently hiding her deprivation. He sank into his ribcage, tactically turning air into mist. "Then tell me, what is love?" He latched on unwillingly to the idea that their thoughts could coexist. She shut her eyes in dismissal and bit her lower lip, clenched her jaw real tight "To tell you the truth Vincent, I don't quite know. I've tried desperately to understand it, with all my might. But I know that it isn't love if you don't collapse into the palms of another like an unstable building when they touch you." "Be weary my dear, your humanity is showing." He said with a slight gust of laughter. As if his sarcasm is bestowing. **"Remember that day in July, when a butterfly landed on your hand? And you picked it up and pinned its wings? You do that with everything, you know. And truly, it stings." ** The words lunged from her throat like a long awaited confessional, done by a man sought out by death. Because the concept of peace is obsessional. "You know that I'd never keep you from flying. I'd never make you choose a cool winds breeze over a life spent in my cage. I wouldn't stand to hear the tortures of your crying." He swallowed a hard lump down his chest. "You showed me where to look amongst the gardens and the graves. You pointed out the masters and you pointed out the slaves." She slid out of her identity into something more comfortable. "You must understand, my dear, you are beautiful but you do not mean a thing to me. Love can never be interminable."

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Jan 14, 2015

Jan 14, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC

kaylene-nel

Untitled.

He spoke in a rough gruff of a voice, trying to hide his disintegrating stability. His neck was moist, appearing to have lost the capability. "Rosy, my dear, what do you find so grotesque about love?" "It's not love, it's what love does to you," She responded without hesitation. Evidently hiding her deprivation. He sank into his ribcage, tactically turning air into mist. "Then tell me, what is love?" He latched on unwillingly to the idea that their thoughts could coexist. She shut her eyes in dismissal and bit her lower lip, clenched her jaw real tight "To tell you the truth Vincent, I don't quite know. I've tried desperately to understand it, with all my might. But I know that it isn't love if you don't collapse into the palms of another like an unstable building when they touch you." "Be weary my dear, your humanity is showing." He said with a slight gust of laughter. As if his sarcasm is bestowing. **"Remember that day in July, when a butterfly landed on your hand? And you picked it up and pinned its wings? You do that with everything, you know. And truly, it stings." ** The words lunged from her throat like a long awaited confessional, done by a man sought out by death. Because the concept of peace is obsessional. "You know that I'd never keep you from flying. I'd never make you choose a cool winds breeze over a life spent in my cage. I wouldn't stand to hear the tortures of your crying." He swallowed a hard lump down his chest. "You showed me where to look amongst the gardens and the graves. You pointed out the masters and you pointed out the slaves." She slid out of her identity into something more comfortable. "You must understand, my dear, you are beautiful but you do not mean a thing to me. Love can never be interminable."

19

I hate my weight I hate these pounds I count calories till I drop to the ground Till ribs show and empty is normal sound Till mind is distant from body, core Till I anxiously weight myself scales to be broke Till want is more lost than a pound or so Only wanting to disappear I wish I’d float away like ashes of dust, weightless kites, sails on a boat Till all seems to match the void coiled inside Till I’m lost in an obsessional trail of mind till I feel to be fed, freely my conscience is only full Because I look in the mirror and ought to believe in me not a person I wish really I was not

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Jan 19, 2018

Jan 19, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC

Kimbownolasco

Anorexic

I hate my weight I hate these pounds I count calories till I drop to the ground Till ribs show and empty is normal sound Till mind is distant from body, core Till I anxiously weight myself scales to be broke Till want is more lost than a pound or so Only wanting to disappear I wish I’d float away like ashes of dust, weightless kites, sails on a boat Till all seems to match the void coiled inside Till I’m lost in an obsessional trail of mind till I feel to be fed, freely my conscience is only full Because I look in the mirror and ought to believe in me not a person I wish really I was not

20

Be reborn, departed Shakespeare for now is truly the time to quench your perpetual attraction to madness. Threatened by the cruel hounds of distemper and heated atmospheres, our broken trusts and unhealthy emotions set a luxurious bed for extravagant madness. Be freed from truth, beloved bard and unbound by complex thought - relish in weakening America’s obsessional social dysfunction.

0

Sep 11, 2021

Sep 11, 2021 at 2:20 PM UTC

anaisvionet

reborn

Be reborn, departed Shakespeare for now is truly the time to quench your perpetual attraction to madness. Threatened by the cruel hounds of distemper and heated atmospheres, our broken trusts and unhealthy emotions set a luxurious bed for extravagant madness. Be freed from truth, beloved bard and unbound by complex thought - relish in weakening America’s obsessional social dysfunction.

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