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Faera Jan 2017
She
Nightmare (noun;
no longer the monster under the bed
)

She wonders when exactly they'd left the dwelling of her bedroom walls, haunting her every step as she forces a multitude of expressions on her face to distract others from the shadows pooling beneath her easy smile.

Boiling (verb;
emotion beyond comprehension
)

She watches the water bubble beneath the surface with panic; she isn't sure when the last time her fingertips had felt warmer than negative degrees anymore.

Beautiful (adjective;
just another lie
)

She stares, fascinated, at the skin that grows tauter on her face each day, the hollows beneath her cheeks, the ribs splayed against her bare torso, the unsteady waver in her eyes, and she wonders if she should find them disgusting—she doesn't think she does.

Violently (adverb;
unhealthy
)

She covers her ears as someone screams at the sight of her and she grips even tighter when she realizes the sound is coming from herself.

Suffocation (noun;
to die or to be killed)


She forces death down her throat as her future veers toward the only path she never wanted and the only choice left to her now.

Grating (verb;
the sound of nails on chalkboards
)

She wakes to a knock on her door and blood beneath fingers that tremble as she turns the **** to peek around at the landlady telling her she'd gotten another complaint of the scraping sounds coming from her room at midnight.

Silent (adjective;
                                        )

She's learned to do things quietly now so she doesn't disturb her neighbors or her colleagues or her family; she isn't sure why they aren't bothered by her demons, though.

Endlessly (adverb;
again and again and again and againandagainandagainandagain
)

She can barely count nowadays how many times she's thought of and tried and came so very close before (oh, but she could if she tried; each attempt is very memorable, of course), and she rubs her hands raw on the coarse rope over and over again—maybe, just maybe, this time she'll do it.

Maybe this time she'll take the easy way out after all.
I'd like to clear up that I'm not suicidal, not anymore. I just felt like writing something that points out that maybe, to some people, death might be the lesser evil after all.
Derrick Jones Aug 2020
I am a surfer
A peak seeker
Looking for the next crest
The very best
The time better than the rest
The time when the energy
Flows
Grows
Glows

When every neuron in my mind combines and unifies
A grapevine fire
Each power line burns with the surge of electricity
Reconnection without surgery
Neural plasticity
Electric elasticity
In this new configuration
My mind becomes a conflagration
I glow brighter than the sun
My life has just begun
I am infinite
Yet I am one
With all the world
And it’s with me
Wireless
Electricity
Connection
With infinity


That is just the start
I am but a part
Sometimes a spark
A beacon in the dark
But often just a speck
A mote afloat in a dark ocean
And so I search, a shark in motion
I swim
I feel
I open myself to the sea
I see all the possibilities
Rippling with realities
Feeling through the frequencies
I intermingle and interact
Imbibing vibrations to guide exploration
Going with the flow
Until that flow shows me freedom
When I swim in the deep end
With a pool of other motes
Each of us just one note
But when we sing in harmony
There is no beauty quite as free
Each of us ignites
Fire on the water
Glowing oh so bright
Entangled, getting tauter
We connect and intersect
The energy demands respect
The motive is beyond suspect
We live, we die, we resurrect
We flow together
Create a wave
The wave
My favorite
I savor it
I crave for it
I was made for it

Because I am a surfer
I ride this wave
I am this wave
One of many molecules
Sparkling with untold joules
Electrical, aquatic
Our flow so hypnotic
Clean, fresh, non-toxic
Neon, tidal
Unfinished, untitled
Undiminished, unbridled
A perpetual motion
In this vast ocean
Once we were alone
Now we’ve found a home

I sought this peak
And now I summit
Eventually we all plummet
Back down to sea level
And yet I still revel
I unwind in the undertow
Beached when the tide is low
I still bask in the wonder though
Awash in the afterglow
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Thanks for reading!
Danielle Rayleen Jan 2018
Her mind runs rampant,
drawing circles in the serene water.
She takes a moment to soak in her reflection,
yearning for her heart to be tauter.

She envelops herself in a familiar warmth,
yet this warmth is not synonymous.
Harmony had been found in days prior,
feeling around, all that arrives is bleakness.

The foolishness has ensued,
carrying her to the doorstep of complacency.
Here is where everything must be lied down,
in the pure avoidance of stagnancy.

Alas, dust crumbles from her fingertips,
knowing that she too must surrender.
A somber presence encapsulates her soul,
striving for solitude with an absence of contenders.

She allows her fragile expectations to pour from the mind,
a stream flowing down, stirring the dust on the descent.
As each piece of dust and matter interact with the stream,
her soul receives permission to repent.

Mind meeting soul with a distinguishable uncertainty,
the density of this meeting can be felt throughout the body.
She breathes and makes room for the soul to heal,
moving the pain into the heart, vision becomes spotty.

Settling around the gentleness that she is capable of ensuing,
realizing that forgiveness is to be explored.
She goes back to the minds lake,
figuring it would be dry and forlorn.

An entrancing feeling of abundance washes over,
her eyes are fixated upon the clarity of the lake.
The body of water grants permission to her weary soul,
who requests to rest on it’s strength.

She resists the urge to hurl herself into the body of water,
gracefully plunging in to the beat of her own heart.
Each footstep takes her further into the bliss,
floating within the serene water,
is where she must start.
That foot
goes over there
Arm tilted here
Chin up, square up

Pounce, bounce
Swish, swoosh
Feet squeaks against the greasy floor

The ball drips with sweat
jostle, muscled

arms tauter than string
or rope

she reaches, dances, jumps, SCORES

twenty-FIVE    toooo    sevenTEEN
blares, the ref, roars

citizens -1, netizens - none

— The End —