serpentinium Jul 11
pompeii runs through our veins,
hot with the taste of ash & decay.

some of us are fortunate enough to
become ruins; others are ruinous,
sepulchers of epidemics, air-born, contagious.
a disease that could make London a cemetery.

we dress ourselves up like relics, clothed
in silk and gold and gossamer,
as if they could one day be armor.
as if they could bring us safety.
as if we deserve such things when everything we touch rusts.

it takes only twenty-two years for the
average person to realize they are a weapon.
that words are knives and actions are razor blades,
as if to remind the living that we
came into the world screaming—
and we have never been silent since.

we are the Morrigans, the cursed women,
those whose destiny is entwined with death.
we court death, invite her to our dinner table every night,
let her sleep in the guest room, leave the doors and
windows unlocked for her.

death, we realize as women forced to bear
the weight of the dead on our shoulders,
never comes as a thief.
she comes as a lover, smelling of lilac, a grin
too white and too large to be human.

still, we invite her in,
because even death, regardless of form,
makes for better company than the empty dark.
inspired by the line: we are naught but rot and ruin.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!  

Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.

Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.

This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
I am a small pebble
making a giant ripple.
A speck of black sand
on a coral white beach.  
The left foot kicking up a storm.

A paradigm shifter,
a hermit, a drifter.  
I am a disruptive not a destructive force.
I think outside of the box because inside I'm lost.

I've been Nero, DaVinci, Borges, Dali, burned as a witch
and now I'm just me...
a small pebble
making a giant ripple.
Poem written for a painting I did earlier this year.
Ty 3d
Some poor bloke's chest was ready to explode
Everything around him seemed to erode
His toes were inches over the bridge ledge
Between some sharp rocks he wanted to wedge

"Just jump you pussy! What am I scared for?
Don't I know life's got nothing more in store ?
My friends left me withering in the wind
Parents allowed it to pay for my sins
About to lose my job over breakdowns
People getting harder to be around
I think I'm ready to meet my demise
If only people listened to my cries!"

He was ready to solve life's sly riddle
Then the storm in his mind calmed a little
"Shit, the Yankees play the Red Sox tonight"
He forgot small things in life that excite

He eased his way off the bridge, then walked home
He defeated the beast inside his dome
Amanda Aug 3
I miss all the small
Things you would do to show me
How much you loved me
I wanna go to a small town in Colorado, to a place where nobody knows my name.

Because when no one knows your name, and life is just a silly game, there's no reason to feel remorse or shame.

And every day I would sing and dance while every night I would sit and glance at an empty bottle of champagne.

And I would drink and I would sink and I would lay and I would think about the stars until I forget the pain.

I wanna go to a small town in Colorado, to a place where nobody knows my name.

And I will admit, that I might never be complete, but you know what, to me, it's all the same.

I would skip from town to town, I wouldn't stop, I wouldn't frown, only me and my heart free of all sore.

And never again would I look back, to the connections I now lack, because if I remember, I would be free no more.
Julianna Jan 14
cool wind, blow away the flowers in my hair;
in love with everything but loved by nothing.
some thoughts
corpser Jul 18
There is a slow buzzing sound coming from the next room.
Must be the air conditioning.
Across the damp streets I hear the sound of cats fucking.
It is followed by the low howling of dogs.
I look at tiny windows
And all the lives they hold inside.
All the cheating wives
The abusive fathers
The kings the fools and the thieves of the city.
Bathing in the yellow light of the moon.
I should sleep soon.
I remembered the room next to me
Has been empty for two years now.
ashton May 14
I didn't choose it
I didn't wake up one day and tell myself
let's be anxious
let's be depressed
let's want to die
let's start self harming
I didn't choose to be like this

slowly my problems
my monsters
became visible
they started small
skipping lunch
making a cut or two on my hand
shaking for a while in school
but I fell

I didn't choose to be this person.
We just get handed who we are.
I didn't choose this.
I never wanted to be that

I didn't want to be riddled with anxiety and insecurities,
to wallow in self-pity and sleep for hours everyday
to stay up all night with anxiety
to steal razors
to eat one-hundred calories and then barf it back up
but that's what happened.

I didn't choose this
I didn't choose
I didn't choose to tear apart my life.
it just
I'm really good right now but in a reflective state currently oof
Small bumps speckle my body
and I will pick
and pick
and pick
at them until I know for sure
the sludge,
the growths,
and the imperfections
are no more than scabs and dried blood.
At least then I can tell you I got these spots from battling.
Speckled I’m the remince of insecurity
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