Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Wistful tears melt down my cheeks.
Nostalgic of our infinity together.
I kept myself intact, wholly yet new, and now without the pitiful distractions, I must reflect upon myself, alone.
Debilitating heartache
Bleakening one’s life.
Pining to relive and forget the past.
Everything still so crystal clear,
so picturesque in nature.
The smells, the sights, the feelings.
How could I have let it slip away?
Did he ever speak of me?
Ever talk about me?
Or did he just forget the joyous days we spent together under the heat of moment’s madness?
Am I the only one homesick for not my house, but for the person that broke me?
My lip twitches as sentimental recollections start to overflow and spill, creating a puddle of emptiness, longing, and heartbreak.
Debilitating heartache.
Watching the clock tick down seconds I've wasted
waiting for you.
Sarah Ann Dec 2018
Oh, my rose-tinted gazelle
Whose grey doe-eyed gaze reproves
I was a grassland that longed to be grazed
And trampled ‘neath your dainty hooves

Oh, my long-legged huntress
With lips like a recurve bow
I was a rabbit who begged to be shot
And left to bleed out in the snow

Oh, my sweet Georgian iris
Whose arched petals shun my sight
I daren't cut you and hasten your end
So I visit your garden each night

Oh, my rolling green moorland
Whose cold crags offer no peace
I sought my rest in your slopes in vain
Rending my skirts in my grief
this one isn't 100% done but I'm tossing it out into the void anyway to encourage myself to revise it well. it's supposed to be kind of silly.
emeraldine087 Jun 2016
They say you can’t fix what ain’t broken;
You can’t complete what’s already whole.
You can’t covet one who is already another’s
You don’t teach compassion to one with no soul.

What need, then, do we have of love
when it may be nothing but an illusion?
Why else would you still have need of another
when separation is a foregone conclusion?

If that’s to be believed as gospel truth
then I don’t need you and never did.
But I can’t seem to convince myself,
Or keep my longing and regret firmly hid.

You can’t complete what’s already whole,
A maxim that I believe in, still.
Yet the truth is: you complete me and I need you,
And perhaps I always will.

*(c) emeraldine087
ryn Aug 2014
I love you much with every ounce this heart could muster
I love you such yours is what my heart's trailing after
I'd love your touch even if it'll cause me shatter
Into a million shards yet still it does not matter
A mere breath and you will meld me back together
With every shatter and every meld makes me stronger
It's bitter sweet but I'd do it over and over
Leena Beddawi Jun 2018
you don't know me,
but we've met before, countless
times I've sworn to see the light
behind those cold dark brown eyes
the most beautiful work of art
I can feel it, every time you ache
and try to hide it with a smile

somewhere beneath your facade,
lies your trepid, aching heart
I'm not trying to reach out
afraid to break you further

I'm afraid you won't like
my eyes to fall for you,
and please don't look up
for I am staring back at you.
wrote this angsty ******* a while ago
Emily Dec 2018
I want to say being with you was like coming home, but that seems so over-done.
Despite the truth it holds.
I think maybe I’ll try and speak your language. Because being with you was homemade paint.
Mason jars lining shelves, oil and pigment and a palette of your own creation.
When you ran your fingers over my skin it wasn’t Cadmium red, no, it was more like, the setting of the sun after a hot summers day. Orange so deep it feels like you are going to fall into it. Not Permanent or Transparent. No, it was like a fire, warm and so, so bright. Like the world around me had gone up in flames and I was happy to burn with it.
Or when you laughed, the air lit up like a sunflower. Not Hansa or Nickel or Indian yellow. Think something between gold and the shade of a lemon. Honey, sweet and sticky.
And my heart twisted and turned inside my chest, adapting to the mix of colors, oil dripping into my veins.
When you smiled. God, when you smiled. The world seemed to converge. Nothing made sense. I was spinning in a circle in the middle of a carnival. Too much to process. Stained glass windows at noon, playing out across the floors of the church. Iridescent and never ending.
The only thing that brought me back was your brush hitting the canvas, your voice calling out to me, and then it was green, so much green, like a perfectly polished suburban yard and standing beneath a canopy of trees in August, looking up and up until the sun forces your gaze to turn, and the green depression glass that sits pretty on my mother’s bookshelf. I think of light dancing off an emerald ring, not Viridian or Olive or Sap. Nothing you can find in a crafts store. Nothing that can be manufactured. Only that which can be bended and built from your own mind and hands.
And then you were gone. Twice now you’ve left. And it is blue like I have never known. So dark it feels black if I dwell for too long. Richer than Idanthrone, not quite Prussian. Have you ever gone to the ocean at night, just before a storm hits the coast? Or, went up into the country, where the stars illuminate the world around you and the sky is spread out like a blanket above you? Not Cobalt or Cerulean. No, this blue is only something you can make. Something you’ve brought with you. With your sunflowers and your sunsets and your stained glass.
We talked about the way colors can change when they’re next to each other, next to something similar or vastly different. The way the depths can be altered, and just a little more oil can thin it out.
There is nothing to compare anymore.
Just blue. So blue I can’t breathe. So blue my fingers shake and my head aches.
The blue is okay when you’re there. When you’ve laid your palette out before me, when your canvas is full, and beautiful, and I can’t look away. But now, you’ve taken every other color with you, and left me with blue.
Not store bought or easily replaced.
Your blue. From your words and your touch and your voice.
I thought I saw you the other day, for just a moment, the world exploded around me. All the color I thought I’d never see again. A storm so rich with color, I could have gone blind.
But you’re still gone. And I’m still blue.
to the artist i loved and lost
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
I'm tired of taking off my own belt
I'm tired of feeling what I've felt
I'm tired of giving up so easy
I'm tired of no one trying to see me
I'm tired of complaining and whining
I'm tired of the wanting and pining
I'm tired of sleeping all alone
I'm tired of staying at home
I'm tired of listening my thoughts
I'm tired of everything I've got
I'm tired of staring on the mirror
I'm tired of trying to wipe it clear
I'm tired of silent, early mornings
I'm tired of romantically mourning
I'm tired of my ever-drying lips
I'm tired of my calloused fingertips
I'm tired of listening to happy people
I'm tired of being frail and feeble
I'm tired of being alone
I'm tired of being alone
Dante Jun 10

"Oh Charles, Oh dear friend... what shall I do? She is somewhere far and I can't reach her hand. I can't tell her with my mouth the things I need to say. Only though letters- through ink and paper can I say anything at all. And I'm no good with words, Charles! Why, I- I'm only an animal, a dog who will lick you and look at you with those full moon eyes to tell you that it loves you, and, and I can't take it anymore, Charles. I miss her. Oh I shall go mad if this continues!"

"I thought the wait would make you king, Laurence? What's changed?"

"..."

"Why don't you tell her?"
"Tell her. Tell her what?"
"Tell her the way you feel."
"My dear Charles. It... it isn't yet time. I've barely spoken a word to her. She’d think me truly mad then!— if I were to tell her about my childish yearning.
She's been ill, you know. Away, being taken care of by those blessed enough to know her. And me, I'm nothing to her yet; I am ******, too young and dry still, without the waters of her baptism. Oh if only she were near..."

"You'd fumble about and tip the tub with all its water, you would!"
"Oh hush..! At least then she'd see me. In all my fumbling and stuttering, Charles. She would see me."

"That she would, dear friend. That she would."
b for short Nov 2018
There’s a tiny box
that sits on the shelf in his room.
So small, it rarely gets noticed.
What’s inside would shock you.
The desires he wishes
he didn’t have are in there,
next to all of the times he felt
insufficient.
Beside those, there sits all of the
embarrassments he suffered
when he chose to take his
clothes off—
the time he too quickly lost
his virginity, perhaps.
Next to his nakedness,
propped up against the far side,
is a small, sad pile of muted grey ash.
A closer look would show
all the love he freely gave
and could never get back.
And although it may never catch
the typical eye,
folded up in the dusty shadow
in the back left corner
of that tiny box
is me.
I am in this box too.
Jumbled between unwanted desires,
and intimate regrets, I wonder
if this home is my choice.
I wait for the tiny box to open;
to feel admired;
to be more than a shelved secret;
to feel a starved gaze;
to breathe fresh air.
I wait for the tiny box to open.
I wait.
© Bitsy Sanders, November 2018
Tyler Atherton Sep 2018
My Teenage years;
Teenage years with people saying 'sit down and shut up'
Teenage years with no one caring
Teenage years with physical abuse
Teenage years with razor blades
Teenage years with no mother
Teenage years with bottles of pills
Teenage years with ****** assualt
Teenage years with suicide attempts
Teenage years with no reason to live
Teenage years spent pining for what was lost.



© Copyright Tyler Atherton
Ray Dunn Apr 26
I thought I lost you,
but you found me in others.  
so long as you’re loved...
Idk I hate being That ***** but like I’m high key in love w you and you have a gf **** okay!!!!!
ryn Feb 2015
Arms outstretched like the branches of a tree
Aspiring to be amidst with those borne of sky.
Gnarly bark, imploring the eyes of another
Weathered and worn... Skin and grain but parched dry.

Twig-like fingers that would bear no leaves.
With open barren palms that hover in the wind.
Longing and thirsty for the tears of rain
Pining for the heavens to wash away all they have sinned.

Spreading disjointed roots dig in,
In touch with the unseen core buried deep.
A tainted trove of lifelong poisons...
They greedily drink and keep.

Lone little trunk... That shoots up strong from ground.
Sturdy and hale, at least to the naked eye.
When in fact it's core is rotting within,
Eaten away by the worm of a single unassuming lie.

Sad fruitless tree...
Standing amidst the green thriving brush.
It dies with the hours baked in sun...
One day it'll fall, consumed by the secrets trapped in a silent little hush...
DG Jan 26
They make you think they love you
With their soft kind words
They hug you as if you’re treasure
And then leave you for the birds
They come into your life
With their cowboy boots and ***** blond hair
And leave you crying
And thinking . . .
And thinking . . .
On what you did wrong
If he really loved you all along
And then you begin to hate your favorite songs
Because suddenly they're all about him
And they haunt you
And the next thing you know
Another boy is there
With green eyes and messy brown hair
And he beckons you into his trap
And he’s texting you!
But you don’t want to answer because you’re still CRYING
But! you answer anyways
Because you’re stupid
And vulnerable
And maybe this boy will be kinder
And will be gentler
When he kills me
And leaves me
For the birds
chichee Mar 22
You'll always be my favorite kind of film. The sitcom without the laugh tracks or a romance without the actors. Pining for you to vivisecting you against the metal of a surgical table, because maybe if I cracked open that soft, stupid flesh I'd finally be able to understand why. How you unspool me, all these years between us but you're still the only boy that's ever made me cry without hitting me first. Mum says she liked me better before I got off the pills. Honestly, I only cut them up once they're dead mother, we all need our hobbies.  I used to rewrite scene after scene of the woulda-coulda-shoulda's of our script and hide them from you. I used to be a lot of things. Don't we all miss me on pills.
It's been a while.
Aurora Mar 8
I can't quite tell your eye colour

You don't even know my name

But somewhere a fire started

And I'm the one to blame.

When I look at you, I wonder

Just what you think of me

When I think the world of you

And if we will ever be.

I should have known that this would happen

The explosion, the fall

The burning passion growing rapidly

As I long for you once more.
For Alex.
ryn Aug 2014
We can only afford to contain our fires
Turning to... Soothsaying waters

Soothsaying rain, empty out your bottles
Irrigate from our heart puddles
Let flow into a singular well
An oasis where our hearts would kiss and silently tell

Submerge us as one being
The water milling and licking
Kissing our warm skins
Wash away as it purges and cleans

Cleansing waters, wash and give birth
Rid of the sadness to reveal the earth

Of this earth, you and I are one
Looking up to idolise the same sun
Wedged between... This expanse of redundant land
Pining for the mixing of our sands

We... We are made of the same
Earth, dirt and gravel placed in different games
Bearing similar stones that beat
Beating away the seconds that flit

Earth biding time... Stay on ground
Let wind take your souls to realms unbound

Casting our souls into the wind
Carved hearts on flags we pinned
Kites of love set to catch the air
Wind be kind... Carry us easy with care

Gift us your gentle airy fingers
As you would the sails of hopeful seafarers
Together we would dance and billow
Frolic upon your light feathered pillow

Ride the wind, on wings that never tire
Tiny bites that keep us afire

Never needing a flint to set alive the flame
Stoking the fire that burns on the same
Rhymes and reasons be our fuel
Combat logic and sense in a cerebral duel

Fight in our eyes, subdued are the blazes
Embers dormant behind glassy tearful gazes
Spark them to life with passionate heat
Fan them to rage till the time our hearts meet

But still... We must contain our fires
With nothing but soothsaying waters
Next page