Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Empire Oct 28
Fix
Trigger warning: Self harm, cutting


just one more line....
that's all you'll need
one line will be enough...
and then one more

one more


four more




six more



do it on your leg so they can be bigger

just.... cut.....
Over and over



OVER AND OVER

and the blood just sits there

and i stare back at it

all over my wrist

drawing on my thigh

it stings.....


but i can think
i can breathe
i felt it
my satisfaction
got my fix




but i know next time

i'll require a bit more
18.... 18 red lines...
Burning Lilacs Nov 2017
They're so beautiful
White and Shimmery, They
flutter in meandering patterns
Mesmerize
Draw you towards
paper-white butterflies
all all all all around me they fly fly fly fly
A sea of white spots
IT'S HARD TO-

Tilt your head up
-BREATHE, breathe, Focus
Catch it
****** it by its wings
pluck them out
Crush its shaking body
Feel
as panicked convulsions turn into stillness

Paper-white butterflies
Don't let a single one slip by
a sea of thoughts of all kind, chaotic feelings. so intense, thrilling, agony and joy
overwhelming, suffocating.
no matter how poetic that might be, they need to be controlled, smashed between your fingers. all that violence just to stay sane
Ellie Oct 2018
living by it
trying to adapt herself to the new mask
getting bored maybe
but careless surely
something is bothering
but nothing it is
overwhelmingly quiet
yet quietly screaming
elle jaxsun Apr 2
creating my own
magic and peace

keeping my head
in the highest clouds--
as i exhale them
i can see below the mist
all that i find
**** near debilitating.

most things are overwhelming.

i almost can't help it that
sometimes i'm overwhelming, too.
NaPoWriMo day 1 - 040119

bring your own sunshine...or smoke it :D
Joe Macintosh May 31
Choked up by the memories.
Rivers flow
From your eyes.
Emotion keeps avoiding me
until it makes me cry.
A tiny little detail,
Just some forgotten fact,
But I can't help but dive in deeper
and it all comes rushing back.
ChildofGodyay Jul 2018
You don't even ask questions, you stuff answers into my mouth.
You don't give evidence and I believe in your lies.
You pull me down into a slur of words, drowning me into a conversation that never seem to end but starts worlds.
You Pierce me with a knife.
You cut me up into stitched pieces.
help me, and you say "no one cares."
You threw me out.
You kick me out of my own mind.
You close the door.
You keep me out.
You stone me with fire and ice.
You let me keep the burden all to my own.
i can't keep up.
i am broken apart.
just please, give me a moment, and then we talk?
King Panda Jun 2016
this is my excavation to
the days coming along
running hands with laughter
throwing it down on the table
straight
flush
okay, cool


sister, these things don’t matter
when we’re twisting into the sun
with pants that are too short
the fountain rich with
iced chai
tangled with the peculiar
the beautiful
through these moments
I commend
our hearts for finding each other

love is always on the move
as sure as shoe shine
as mahogany
like timidity to relinquish
to let the universe take hold
and instill this emotion
into my body
fit it all in my heart
O, singer of love
fit it all in my heart
the knell
the reverberation
the cotton that lands
on your hair
the sunscreen stuck in my ear

we are a sketch of two travelers
sleeping under stars
the fire
finally dies down
the rapture of the universe
is overwhelming
everything flows
everyone is connected
and this music we hear
is constant
like gentle waters falling

this too, sister
makes my cane solemn
and I draw you in the sand
only to watch the tide
wash you next to me
the emotion
wrangled in English
simply means good
simply means
a full listen and
dear sister
because everything begins
and will be remembered always
as love
Her Mar 7
Thoughts
Thoughts
Thoughts
Sleep
Tears
Failure
Her Mar 7
Emotions build up inside
but I can't cry today.

Emotions build up inside
but I don't know why.

Emotions build up inside
but I can't feel happy.

Emotions build up inside
but I don't explode.

Emotions build up inside
but I can't die now.
Nicole Jun 2016
Inside the tiny cupboard holds a piece of sinful pleasure,
forbidden fruit that you and I conceal like hidden treasure.
Upon this ship seduction docks itself across the bay,
with wicked thoughts at night and curiosity by day.
Overwhelming pleasure, pain and all that's in between,
drowning seas of secrets if the gentlemen had seen.
Inside the tiny cupboard holds a piece of honest pleasure,
where I aboard as captain and you shine as sapphic treasure.
© Nicole ***
Marília Galvão Jan 2018
He came as he was
And she, as he wouldn't have imagined
Cracks of her artistic nature
Overwhelming every cell of her palm
The fragility of an inviting craziness
Captivating his instinct for drowning
her impetuous gaze
Shouting a child's malice
The absurdity of her coherence
Killing him of laughs

He read her silently, she was the book that turns off the light
of the room
And
The reader's, drenched in the revealed chapters

Torn between the doctrine of his sense of justice
And
The torment of smiles caged in 'if'

Oppressed by an unfamiliar circumstance
And
unpronounceable desires

Ripped between her disarming perfume
And
His non-existent suicidal vocation
August 2017
Joe Bradley Jul 2014
I
a flicker of warm light
and your face is all that I see.
Thunderclouds are silenced,
burned away and
my chest is left open to
our place under the opal sky.
The light is our soft romance
and our candlelit meal for two...

II
'Spiritui Sancto'
A Benedictine Monk
alone in
cold stone chambers sees
an ascending soul,
holy company,
a solitary light in all the
emptiness.
'Sed libera nos a malo'

III
Scorch-marks
drip
love - bites
drip
but please don't stop...
drip
In his lust,
Mould moments of my skin
and keep them
forever.

V
'Waxy fingertips!'
'Put that down,
PUT THAT DOWN!'
Mum told us
If you play with fire
you're going to get burned.

V
30 miles
they say
is the mathematical distance
you can see a flame in the dark

VI
This is the symbol of our nation.
'Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit'
This nine branched lamp symbolizes that our Israel.
has courage, those may be their Qassam rockets,
but those are our sirens.
and that humming you hear is our drones
over their heads.

VII
buuuuzzzzzzzzzz
What enchanting light...
zzzzzzzzz
what God are you? Oh
zzzzzzzzzzzz
wondrous beauty
zzzzz
what magic do you hold, what glory...
zzzzzzzzzz
come closer str.....

VIII
What died so I could read?
The tallow is a pig
the squealing embers
fat pig.

IX
here comes the candle to light you to bed,
And I curled, vulnerable to the shapes in the window
with my feet creeping further under the duvet.
The shadows were melted, cut, distorted on
my bedroom walls.
A primal evil will danced by the light of the flame
until I shut my eyes so tight,
that I slept it away.
here comes the chopper to chop off your head.

X
'No Jennifer, I just feel candlelight just adds a certain

ambiancé

to a room

No?'

XI
'Quickly, before it turns septic.'
'This wont hurt boy'
'The fire, pass the fire'
'Quarterise it quick or he won't last long'
'bite down hard my lad, bite down hard'
'AHHHHHRRRGGGGHHHH'


XII
Children hurtle down,
a Bombay slum to hear that.
'King Rama has returned,
light his path!'

The open sewers adorned in Ghee lamps
find such intense beauty as each quivering flame,
although so fragile, breathes the story
of the power of human spirit
unshakable against overwhelming odds.
*'The King of Ayodhya
Has Returned
Show his path for the Festival of Light!'
Chloe Elizabeth Oct 2017
often times

when I am laying alone at night

I feel his presence with me

and my love for him is overwhelming

it beats within my chest

so hard I worry it may break my heart
This poem may be unfinished, I don't know completely yet
OV Jan 15
From a distance
I can feel your warmth
And overwhelming amounts of love
From down the block
I can feel your child-like happiness
Radiating as you wait to open the door
From not too far now
I can feel our damaged connection
And the mistakes
That chewed them up

But the scars have healed
And what we have is strong
But this love is the kind we share
From a distance
sometimes just being friends is worth it instead of runing the risk of losing a close friend
Staring at the ceiling
Feeling like nothing
Sticky stars that don't glow
The chipped polish on my toes
I don't know

Leaning barey breathing
Feaning to feel something
cool breeze from the window
The way my guitar echos
I don't know

Grieving never sleeping
Trying to stop sighing
But this heat is overwhelming
Where do I go can you tell me
You don't know
Paul Hansford Aug 2016
(Pompeii/Florence, 1997)

Vulcan was real, alive as you were,
you and your language, long dead now.
Your town was prosperous, with its paved streets,
bars, bath-houses, brothels,
mosaics, painted walls, graffiti.
Your domestic gods too were real to you;
they had saved you before,
and when the superhuman hammer blows shook
your houses, you repaired them,
decorated in greater splendour,
erected a temple to your protectors.
But Vulcan was not appeased - years are not long
to the lord of earth and fire.
This time he struck swiftly, sending you death
from his mountain, overwhelming you
as you ran. Your garden
gave you no protection,
hot fumes choked you,
hot ash surrounded you,
sealed in your tomb as you died.

They excavated your town,
marvelled at its completeness.
In the ash that filled your garden
they found hollows,
and, filling the hollows with plaster,
found you. No, not you,
but echoes of yourselves,
like statues in a museum.

We came to see you, and after that
to the Academy, standing in awe
at David's perfect marble humanity.
But we were troubled by the others,
the uncompleted ones, the Prisoners,
their twisted limbs, hidden faces,
frozen in the act of emerging
from the stone, recalling too painfully
in their unfinished creation
your own agonised poses
as you died.
"I had seen birth and death,
  but had thought they were different."

.
The quotation at the end is from Eliot's Journey of the Magi - see my collection "My Favourite Poetry".
For photos see - www.amusingplanet.com/2011/04/garden-of-fugitives-fossilized-victims.html
and - www.accademia.org/explore-museum/artworks/michelangelos-prisoners-slaves/
Moonflower Oct 2015
To consciously exist is truly an unrequitable privilege.
What a joy to be alive. What an honor!
There is so much to see, so much to feel!
And a finite amount of time to do it.
Deeply realizing this is overwhelming in the best way possible.
It is absolutely mind-blowing.
I seek adventure.
I am going to find my purpose.
I will seize my every day.
Next page