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Sara Jun 2018
I'm told I'm bad at lying,
all too often I say too much.
When I get sick of trying
I find I flick from on to off.

The warmest smile can quickly turn
into an icy state;
in eyes which swore they knew you
-you will find there's no one there.

I'd love just like a waterfall
with no fear of running out;
'til from my eyes water would fall
like raindrops in a drought.

Now, the most inclusive laughter
slows right down to a flickering glance.
Fuses cut short
after weathering storms
and we dont know
how long
they will last.
writer's rough patch
The only time I get to really see and appreciate the beauty of the night sky is when there's a powercut and its dark all over,
That's when I appreciate the power of the moon,and beauty of the stars,
Indeed every dark time of life has something beautiful to it,
There's always something to illuminate it,you just have to look for it,.
A powercut.
Lights go out.
  Fetch some candles.
   Fill the blankness.

    Minutes pass.
     Eerie solitude.
      See that flame?
       It flickers.

        It flickers like us.
         Uncertain, unsure.
          Left, right.
           Sometimes neither.

            Rain outside.
             Wet windowpanes.
              Sad little droplets.
               The sky is crying.

                Wax burns.
                 Time burns.
                  It drips away.
                   Like the rain.

                    Like our lives.
                     Unless we change.
                      Be positive, fresh.
                       A new outlook.

Illuminated room.
A dazzling new glow.
  The lights tripped.
   Now back on. Fantastic.
Written: February 2012.
Explanation: My third poem for university in 2012. A poem I am very pleased with, it is about a powercut and two people whose lives are going nowhere. When the lights come back on, they hope for a new start, but the sarcastic 'fantastic' suggests otherwise. The structure was written to reflect the fact that the hope of these fictional characters was slipping away, with the final stanza showing how, even with the lights back on, the cycle is about to start all over again. The structure could also be said to resemble that of wax dripping on a candle.
Paper Heart Poet Mar 2020
the room is upside down and with it im going down too
like being high but instead of happiness depression comes like a dementor
im scratchin my face but I cant scream only crawl in my skin that feels like its not mine
I want to end my life
with a knife
to get rid of this horror that my life has become

loneliness eats me up and i cant go out because they are looking, they are everywhere,
but noone is my friend, only ghost faces and stares who think they know what they see
while im the ghastliest ghost of all whose flesh is just a carrier now
my face is just a ****** up drawing of a 5 year old
i dont want anyone to see because they cant even guess
why the wrinkles are there, it’s the screaming
why the fear is shaking, the agony

i want to smash and shout but im still afraid of being heard while not being heard at all
i don’t know how to tell you either because this monster is now me
it doesn’t talk to me anymore like schizophrenia
it is my whole reality now and there is no distinguishing
threw my phone in the corner and broke its screen
a friendly reminder of the absent of what occupied me

powercut in reality becomes the powercut in my brain
cuts out the tales that occupy my brain
music is weird shouting
fhe fan is whirling with me in this unreal reality
i don’t want to make sense anymore because no one does

with every death i feel less
my cheeks burn from my clawing
shaken by feverish fear
i wanna throw up
it is in my gut
its my cancer
the tumor of the nonsense
pain is my muse but i would rather be “normal”
where are the traffic signs
i don’t have a gps…

— The End —