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Vera Jul 2018
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”

My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.

The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.

Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you, 
who I love,
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.

This world is not tender.

II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.

split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.

My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.

But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.

III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
I wrote this in pink gel pen, maybe, that’s another joke.
JS CARIE Jun 2018
To us, time does not belong
And since reality is wrong...
Live with me in legacy
You're so close already
Residing in memory

Only a hearts twinge and without cringe
My pleasuring in teaching to uke  
A warranty insurance for a more creative you

Ill stand on the needle of your thread, fixed and stable without dread

Get ******* and dragged around by your apron strings

Feel the chain around your neck swing as it stings and swings

Be what your tongue tastes when taking all varieties of temperature

Be the brush you use to finish assignments when they get to be too much

As wine deminshes and glass comes clear, take the role of servant, pour countless refill, until you're ready to be bed in achieving complete fulfill

Rest assured, If you feel fear or need a mirror, allow me to transform into reflection to tell you how beautiful everything you wear
and how to me
you are so dear
False Poets Feb 2018
Human Observations (the woman pees)

if you walk the world with pen and paper
or eclectic electronic devices,
sure as the sunrise espied,
the pen will quick leak
when wearing white
and so will too the
righteous words

when you can't sleep and you must
slam your sweaty fist into pillow
know that the pillow is
silent thinking, dude,
you really ain't
got a hope, a

fallen asleep in the soaking tub
a thousand and one times,
ain't never drowned like
the warning ones say I
will do but really when
restless in my rustling night sleep
of no-safety in my lumpy bed,
have I dream-drowned
a million

the woman pees, safe and secure,
comforted by the knowledge
that we have bathrooms
separate, her toilet,
man *** free, tho
we just finished
making sweaty,
fluid swapping

she does not, won't put on makeup
in her pj's to take out the garbage,
that is why she keeps loverman,
so handy, nearby, shamelessly
firm, unwavering, good god,
great for one "disposable"
use per night

when you tell your child that you love them,
and they do not reply at all, it isn't that they
don't love ya back, 'tis only that they haven't
learned to love themselves something that
just cannot be taught.

the more trinkets I buy her,
more she screams stop,
but never not once
has she said, here,
take it

if you don't believe in Faeries and Elusives,
try, for then you have a middling chance
of getting the missing, disappearing
whole sock hiding in her ******,
back, intact

If must look up the time where your
love is currently hiding/residing,
then the probability is more than
1.000, that you no longer love
her enough, or she, you,
not at all

you know it is time to shut down,
hang up the pen and close the
iPad cover, surrender, give up
the poetry gig 4 real when
you start to prefer
the autocorrect

More to follow.
Eva Aloezos Oct 2018
A medicine man once told me,
“Do not fret, for your seizures are a sign of a spiritually attuned mind”

I took out a drachma, and placed it into his breast pocket,
for he reveled in the presence of wordly objects,

ones far more wordly than I,

upon my arrival to the village, I slit my wrist and drew a ****** cross on my crumbling dusty mirror,

I sent my condolences to those who adorn themselves with ο σταυρός
armed with rosary,
the mistaken ones who find comfort and relief in blind faith

because at the end of the day,
all that remains,
is me and my ***** of chemicals residing in my skull,
gripping desperately onto consciousness
The sea was forbidden, as was the mist
Residing in the dark were singing deaths
Humanity is an illusion you'll find you'll miss
The creatures in the abyss were never the threats
No, that was the blade pressed to your wrist
Blackness oozing from your chest
Life blood dripping from your fist
At night the pain comes with no bequest
My misery bountiful in your midst
Drowning in tears that I detest
These tangled thoughts I must untwist

its been rough lately
Kush May 2016
I never see your face anymore

The only image in my mind is your lovely, raven-colored hair
I once had a dream about you
You were facing away from me and woefully crying

I never figured out why

Around us, a pond of pallor was dotted with ghostly remnants of trees
While I crossed the liquid fright, your cries grew in timbre
No matter how close I was to your voice, it never seemed close enough
I stopped and quickly glanced above because the Moon was crying too

I never figured out why

The wind’s touch gently blew your night-like hair against my closed eyes
I confidently summoned all octaves residing within my soul
But before I could call your name, they caught me
Hands that sprung up from the sickness, eager to ****** my ankles
My heartbroken whisper finally stopped the weeping

I finally figured out why*

A dainty little head slowly turned so I could gaze at the jewels on its face
Two rubies cascaded, their scarlet streams plummeting off pale cheeks
While you returned to looking forwards, sobbing droplets of agony
I felt unforgiving murkiness drag me down below
Jamie King Oct 2018
With dead dreams
Can you ever sleep?

Struggled, befriended effort
Only to return to  blankets
Of disheartenment where despondency
Warms your heart as it tears you apart.

Do your dreams die
When sleep departs?

Shattered limbs and blisters reposed in your mind.
The blood moon residing in your eyes.
Your resolves never diverging as you hobble.
Paving the path with skin, flesh and blood.

Sleeping beyond the grave
Do dreams live on?

Eyes roped by gardens of thorns and fleeting petals. Dreams whistle wonders kindling hope, in hearts of those still asleep, wandering in dreams.
Inspired by Doyin
Neon green sparkled through his orbs
like the hope residing in his soul
he stretched his arm
made to grasp it with his hand
but it had vanished like a passing wind
in a desert day of forsaken sand.

Neon green felt the desire
like his heart in deep dire
when the dashing star teased his being
he smiled as if he could finally mean it
didn't feel the light dying through his fingers
leisurely as the clock never stopped ticking.

Neon green extinguished in the blink of an eye
the hours mingled like melting ice
as his ear eavesdropped for the ring of a breath
when yearning hit it's final note
the sound of the end already approached
and it captured him tightly in a net of gold
as it vanished him vehemently from the appalling storm
and left the pieces that nobody saw.
Inspired by The Great Gatsby
دema Jan 29
once upon a winter,
a storm made a victim out of you,
and so you sleighed to warm embracing arms,,
but they called your feelings out as faulty,

you tried to supress the past,
indulged the present,
and disregarded any grudges into spring,
but you didn't linger for warmth anymore,
your heart ached in ways it hadn't before,
you doubted the only soul residing in your body,

sleep was your only escape from reality,
but your dreams were forearmed,
trapping you back to a survival
which you felt unfortunate to have,
next thing you know,
you become a living metaphor for, "can this get any worse?",
sophia Aug 2018
and to you do i deem another one of these elongated rambles of words bowed down to us by gorgeous sundancers. dear true love, is it painful— that you fell from heaven carrying a satin piece of you coating me in your tempting warmth? i wish it wasn’t; your response to pain is not what lavishes you to a perfect sunbeam but rather an all-knowing traveller. countless of letters have been shipped down from the bounty to your lost paradise; missing you, as if the clouds have taken you in the fastest they possibly could. now i would never understand how it feels to be held in close proximity again; with tenderness adjacent to a fairy’s whisper. but this open letter allows you to realise of the poetry living within your bones. that no matter how sturdy it takes for the fragility to break through, there will always be love residing. from me, in you. i’ll be waiting in mornings, holding the moon in my hand, standing on the wild grand on the universe that we’ll never compare to. but trust me, that’s what you are to me. you’re on top of everything else that comes to live and breathe.
Mark Sep 2018
If love were formed and rendered by a God
then dearest lover, blessed have you been
for he, or she, with wand had also ****
and touched upon your cast, a beauty's sheen.

Exquisite works that I so marvel oft
as other Gods, like that whom rules the sun;
had sought to bind such glow, with light aloft,
and nightly moons, into your eyes, have won.

Your love, and God thereof, have greater worth
as love has pierced within and won my mold
residing deep, into my source of mirth,
that if no love, let Gods alike withhold.

As love that truest, must be dreamed above,
there's only one such power; God of love.
Wearing the crown of magnetic allurement ,
Sheathed , Sanguine , Egregious and Effulgent !
With a beguiling pace she coyly approaches in shades of shimmery reds , bowed with obliging politeness .
Gracefully walking into 'thy' life and grasping 'thy' strings of happiness.

She lives  in 'thy ' mind with enticing gravity ,  residing within 'thy' heart for eternity .

Unveiling her true self  shedding all dignity and peace , she renders her de bouch self as she now plays 'thy ' perfect host.
She titillates 'thy ' mind like a ghost !

Bewitched by the 'sorceress' ,
'Thy' life is succumbed to the tempest !
Alas !  
Now their is no escape for  she paved the way to desperation  .
Captivated by the "SUPERIOR  TEM PTATION" is 'thy hopeless mind swarming with aggresion and a helpless heart flanked with  apprehension, depression and destruction !
Such  my friend is the devastation of  the " TEMPTATION "
© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Effulgent ,Egregious, Sanguine, Allurement ,debouch ,Sorceress..
Contemporary#Archaic# Shakespeare's language#Metaphor #Symbolism
taylor styles Nov 2018
my sadness comes in cycles,
incomplete and abrupt.
tossing my thoughts around and around,
winding them together until they’re perfectly interlocked
and mangled beyond recognition.
the kind where one point ends,
and another begins had been blurred so beautifully
i no longer try to find a destination for the words that flow so violently through my conscious,
bumping into each and every corner
all to make sure it’s presence is known.

my sadness comes in cycles,
without warning,
baring only validation for its predecessor
taking every disgusting thought and helping them grow together,
offering no consideration for anything other than itself.

my sadness comes in cycles,
where it plants itself so deeply into my mind,
i can feel it’s roots,
draining me of all my life and energy
to makes sure it’s alive
and well.

my sadness comes in cycles,
where it carves anything it deems worthy
in to the bark of the tree
that has been flourishing in my mind for years.

my sadness comes in cycles,
where it wants me to just acknowledge that it’s here,
residing in every room of my body.
shutting off the vacancy signs that once illuminated the empty streets outside,
attempting to welcome somebody new in.
shattering the windows,
tearing down the walls i spent years building up,
stealing every key i made,
ruining every inch of my being in its path,
with no remorse or sympathy,
to look at the ruins of my body,
and feel accomplished.

my sadness comes in cycles,
acting as an innocent toddler,
throwing tantrums,
for everyone to see.
crying unapologetically
until i give it the attention it so desperately craves.

my sadness comes in cycles,
cycles, i no longer have control over.
Vera Sep 2018
I. Apply foundation in a tone more perfect than the one you're born with,
doubt that there's anything beautiful in the term "natural"
blot your lips with the cherries you deprive yourself of
and wonder, "What good is difference when it's not appreciated?"

stop reading this.

II. Forget how you were born;
every freckle,
every beauty mark,
every uneven line etched into your face are nothing to be celebrated.
Deprecate yourself, you are unwound and beg this world to shape you in its eyes.

skip this line.

Society speaks subjectively of happiness, but fill your head with lies
that we're all pretty if we can keep up our disguise.
The weight of this world upon your shoulders,
alludes to being big as too much to handle.
Curl into everyone's palm as if you're so fragile,
they have to pinch the skin on your bones with the thumb and index finger.


III. Draw on the perfectly plump pout, filled with nothing but
expectations of everyone else.
Your beauty is not a privilege for anyone,
but judgment that has defined your worth.

Emprises that market upon your insecurities,
admire that solemn face in the mirror
as the reflection discourages you
at the acknowledgement of any impurities


How To Be Beautiful Lifelong

Admire the history that lives within the heartlines of your palms,
how strong you've grown, once cradled in your mother's arms.
Disregard where it is you've come from, but how much further you've journeyed forward.
I. Apply the sincerity in your best friend's voice when
                        she calls the time you've spent together, beautiful.
Do not doubt the splendor that comes from wisdom.

II. Every wrinkle you've earned,
as time gives back to you from lessons learned.
Blot your lips during the release of laughter
as saliva mists through the air,
your joy so vigorous
the ghosts residing in the graves
regret no more.

You are as you should be,
a composite of everything that gives you life
and grants you purpose.
Begging for this world to love you,
there is no fault in this desire.

They speak of happiness as if
it's only a potential-oriented concept,
Do not let your heart surround the gossip
or it's golden armor become bronzed.

III. Draw on the canvas of existence
in the brightest of hues, in the purest of love.
Filled with nothing, but expecations for yourself
say farewell to the darkness
open the curtains to light.

Your beauty is magnificent
as your name will be transcendent.
In each day we decide to be ourselves,
the poise presents itself.

You. Are. Beautiful.
Mark Aug 2018
Routinely lark, though this day depth therein
bemused as why the warbling fluter turned
instilled and sung laments, residing within
and perched unkind; that brittler branches - spurned.

Melodic angst has never sprung so dim
and tunes of fathomed trebles; parted love?
Perchance the ballad pours a swansong hymn;
and from aloft the skies - returns a dove.

If song an' bird be taken dazed with stars
beliefs contort and bowing strings apart
nor stealth be known as fervent dwells the scars,
though bleak the **** for any other heart.

O' feathered, pennate cherub play her whim!
Remain upon the sill and bygones swim.
Eva Aloezos Aug 2018
I knew I was in love with writing,

if give the choice of any one hypothetical dream coming true, I would be most inclined to choose being a known poet

admired by the sadly diminshed poets residing on planet earth
whose minds once gave birth
to acclaimed brilliant thoughts

things are now not so,
the once artistic glow
has been broken down by the corporate world
neon signs have wiped out campfires

all leaders are liars,
and all that follow, are misunderstood and overly tired

this is what led to a dream becoming a movement,
in my mysterious private world
I wish I was sent
to capture words
Debanjana Saha Sep 2018
We might not be
crossing our paths
but what to do
That you cross
my mind
Every other time?

Lingering through
my heart
Residing within
my soul
As life..
A secret fantasy of my love life..
Letters to the one
Who crosses my mind..
Zoe Sep 2018
When I was young in the suburbs. My dad never listened to my mom. He stole yelled got angry and it all felt so wrong. When I was young in the suburbs angry and in dismay. After years of abuse on Valentine's day. He invited his other family to play. He told them we were dead as if we didn't exist. But that was the last straw my mother still insist's. When I was young in the suburbs my life was sad, but now I'm grown and its not so bad. My mom's still here, my bad memories forgotten. But dad is dead because his kidneys were rotten. I could feel I couldn't see all this pain uninviting. All these feelings residing, beside and inside me. I'm fighting climbing rhyming. But I can't help these words stuck in my brain. There is so much pain. Awake screaming in bed, dads dead. and I can't explain what you've done to my head
Real life
lowkeymorns Nov 2018
On days like this,
Where I find no bliss.
And Every shot
well aimed,
will miss.

Yes on days like this,
where I hear a call.
Beckoning me
To face the fall,
and greet this devil.
My walls.

This devil whom
Iv come to know,
Who's hands holds truth
and who's truth holds full.

Telling stories
I feel his words grab hold
Like shadows in the shade,
They fuse to my bone.

Laying awake in bed,
Back in my home
Still a chill in the air
Lingers his icy tone.

I know it's to late
To heed his call
For he resides in my mind.
In my walls so tall.
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