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We devour our own hearts,
as they speak dialects we cannot
comprehend. As it trembled in
our hands, bleeding, throbbing
in our wake. Today, we're not
meant for survival, we're
surgical addicts. You can't
amount to what you're
supposed to be if you're not
I've been working on a large poem, in the meantime, this one just kinda came to me.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
"Don't drink your calories—
unless you want to get drunk."

Her eyes trembled with tears

Weakness stretches out,
not searching strength—
for another soul to be
weak with

A heavy languor spilled into the room
all she can think about
is the patterned ceiling,
which was a book for her to read
while entwined in damp blue sheets
isabelle saloom Nov 2015
red* - her lips tasted of wine and blood and all the pain she felt in her heart. she was driven by wild passion and survived solely on her intensity and strength. each breath she took was like fire; so absolute, so empowered.
orange - her hair was crafted from the bright ashes of a phoenix, kindled with streaks of gold. she always seemed to be her own lick of flame from the embers that burned in her heart to the coals that touched her soul.
yellow - her smile was light at your darkest hour, sunshine after a rainstorm. inspired by everything and nothing at all. she was the sun personified, the epitome of radiance.
green - her eyes were so deep and magnificent and ethereal, whilst still lit with puerility. she could look at you and suddenly show you that she cared so passionately for you, no matter your mistakes or your faults.
blue - her skin drowned in an ocean of tears, storm after storm, each wave wracked her body. she trembled with heartrending sobs, each breath heavier than the last. her sorrow painted the depths of her, unseen to those who had not genuinely looked into her eyes.
purple - her organs were stained an **** shade by the darkness she consumed. her hunger was insatiable. she filled her mouth with glass and swallowed it with a smile on her face. the air traveled from her bruised lungs, through her macerated throat, and out her smiling, stained lips.
Anna Jul 2017
at first it was he who trembled awkwardly with fear and paranoia of mistakes he believed would commit that his phobia itself had turned into an error. once confronted, he had gradually become more comfortable and less awkward; their special bond had taken a positive toll. at the peak of this, she had also gradually become more and more of herself, expressive and carefree.

now only to become what he once was.
Akira Chinen Jun 2017
There was a kindness
so soft and quite
in the acorn nut brown
color of her eyes
that the magic there
though silent and still
burst into fireworks
of magic and awe
beauty and splendor
and he felt that
he was under a spell
where he could tell no lies
and though he did not want
to spill the truth
he had no choice
and colors of love
were forged andlayed out
and hammered and sharpened
over the stones and water
of the wellspring of eternity
and shaped into poems
of furnace and fire
and laying helplessly
under her milky way skin
his voice cracked
and his lips trembled
and in a hushed whisperd
he confessed thathe had fallen
stars over moons
and suns sleeping in oceans
and into the beautiful madness
of finding the meaning
of life and love
as he sewed her name
within the walls of his heart
BJ Donovan Mar 24
As the raven's shadow eclipsed the sun
   I trembled with doubt for my beliefs.
   I wished I knew hidden truths gods are
   privy to and I'll die in ignorance again.
   Once more I claw beneath dignity in
   search of a captain's beauty with wild
   hair and wild heart and a poet's blood
   to write this history upon bent knee.
   Maybe we share a heartbeat in symphony.
Maybe we share a shadow 'til eclipse.
We might fail to bury the grief.
We might find who we are seeking.
zebra Sep 2017
oh i saw you my darling
looking up at me
bug eyed beauty
in your spider web gift store
waiting for a fly

i felt so close to you
like we where in love
although you trembled at my immensity
can you feel how much i care for you
i blew my soft wind of grace
like a souls supple kiss
at your tendrilious daddy long legs

i wept feeling your patience and hunger
wanting you to know
heart to heart
that you could stay here with me as long as you liked
that in you i felt the pain and the love
of the world soul
of every child and creature
of every foreboding
of every passion and cruelty
and the terror of being eaten

are we not the same
you and i
by desire, effort and destiny

so spin your gorgeous web
my pretty one
may you know only kindness

please stay with me
i hope a fly comes soon
that you may have a juicy morsel
i love you little spider
Amber Robbins Mar 2014
My tea cup fell and shattered.
I'm lost,
I don't know what's the matter.
Around you my hands shook and trembled.
My heart beat faster,
But you're gone now,
So go away.
Get out of my mind.
I'm running far away.
To a new place,
Where I can pour a new cup of tea.
Balance it on my head with dignity.
If this one falls and shatters...
I'll just sweep it to the side,
A new tea cup I can buy.
Written March 12, 2012
Mak Jul 2014
The room was silent. The only sound to be heard was the slow, steady dripping from my mother’s IV.      

“What do you mean, you’re dying?”

Multiple Sclerosis was, in short, a ***** of a disease. Somewhere along the span of my mother's 35 short years on this planet, her immune system made a giant mistake. For uncertain reasons, her body began to attack nerve cells, severely affecting her brain's processing ability and mobility. The only medication that had ever subdued the symptoms was beginning to **** her.

“It isn’t an immediate thing, Makayla. I still have plenty of time.”

Turning away from my mother, I wiped tears from my eyes. There was no way in hell I was going to let my family see me cry. Absolutely no way. This was a joke. My mom was not going to die.

“Kayla, baby, talk to us. It’s okay.”

With a deep breath, I forced a smile, as I often did, and blinked away all traces of tears from my gray eyes. Turning around to meet my parents’ worried expressions, I simply nodded.

“How long?”

The question came out as more of a statement than a question. The morbid implication of those two short words spoke worlds louder than any words I could muster.

“5 years, at the absolute worst.”

At that, I stood, and left. I ran, and ran, and ran. I ran until my lungs hurt, and then kept running. But no matter where or how fast I went, I knew I could not escape the horrible reality of the matter.

The woman who gave me life was losing hers.

I was always the type of person who knew how to talk my way out of any situation.

And this time, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

There’s no sweet-talking death.

And with that, I began to accept her demise, and my defeat.


The first sip burned my esophagus, and I felt the blaze continue to my stomach, where it left a lasting warmth. I coughed a little, as the hazy feeling of drunkenness set in, setting my head spinning and my insides ablaze.

The past two months (52 days, 4 hours, and 30-something seconds) were a continuous downward spiral into a constant intoxicated state. Instead of addressing my feelings in the endless sea of counseling sessions and semi-sympathetic family therapy hours, I isolated myself. When my mother asked how I was, my reply remained the usual, “Doing great, mom.”

I was not, in fact, doing great. The alcohol wrapped itself into me, braided itself within my better sense, and I began to let myself fall apart. The wall I so often hid behind, the wall of perfection, of cool, was crumbling. Short, yet deep cuts lined my thighs, just high enough to be hidden by the hem of my shorts.

My mother had the opportunity to save her own life. Russian research had found a possible cure for the disease that had been plaguing her very existence. 3 weeks of chemotherapy, followed by a few months of intensive care, and she would be normal once again.

My mother denied the treatment.

“Too much money,” she said.

“Too inconvenient,” she said.

Compared to the life of my mother, no amount of money nor convenience mattered.

I was furious.

I was drunk.


My mind swam, speech slurred, fingers trembled.

My phone sat in front of me, propped up on a gray tissue box, which had been halfway expended due to that night’s waterworks. The Coca-Cola can which held my ***/coke concoction was long past empty. I was drunk, and screaming words like ‘sorry’ and ‘doesn’t deserve this’ into a pillow. I knew my mother deserved to live. Compared to me, she was a saint. I felt empty and pathetic. I deserved to die.

I convinced myself that maybe if I did something extreme, she would value her own life more than she did.

I held tightly onto the railing of my house’s only set of stairs, as I attempted to keep my balance. I walked drunkenly to the medicine cabinet, careful not to make noise and wake my parents. I grabbed as many pill bottles as I could carry.

Exactly 41 pills of assorted shapes, sizes, and colors sat in lines on my bed. Small to large, rainbow order. The comfort of organization wasn’t helping this time. I wanted to die.

Before starting my buffet of medication, my phone lit up. One new text.

“I know you were feeling upset earlier, and I just wanted to remind you that you are special. You matter.” I instantly felt even ******* for what I was about to do.

I laid down in bed, beginning to drown in my own tears, and let myself fall asleep.

Neither I nor my mother would be dying tonight.
Rohan Press May 2018
the morning was threadbare,
loosed on a string.

we watched
the rising sinew; watched
the morning as it knotted and
coiled. the forest
trembled slightly.
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
As the sun lit up the streams and the sky
It broke up the dreams in Mona's eyes
And she woke to a day of lazing around
As a boy she never met came blazing through town

She got up and fixed herself a coffee and book
She glanced out the window and had to take a second look
A little boy came running with blood on his jeans
She realized that her father was nowhere to be seen

She opened the door and waiting for him to speak
His breath was harsh and his words were weak
"Your father lost and he's set to hang"
He said as the telephone rang

She wiped the dust off the saddle and a tear from her face
As she rode away towards the hangman's place
When she arrived and saw her father in chains
She felt the sting of a loved one in pain

The hangman pointed to her and asked her name
She replied "I'm his daughter, you should be ashamed"
"There is nothing now that you can do,
Unless you'd like me to hang you."

As her father shouted out and cried
She trembled and knew she couldn't watch him die
Before the hangman put her in binds
He said "There's one more thing I have in mind."

And as the night howled and grounds froze
What happened in that room, no one knows
But when sun rose in the morning
There was no family left to do the mourning
Kathleen M Jul 2018
she approached at the door of our fortress
wielding her weapon of love
forged in tears and old flame
drawn and ready to strike you
retrieve you
imprison you
overthrow me
though she'll never know,
your panic dazzled her intentions
and hidden from within the closet
i trembled in the darkness
in fear and in anger
awaiting her judgment
and i cursed you
for the curse you had put on me
the same curse she had put on you
i swore that she'd been your best kept secret
when in fact,
your best kept secret was me
Z Sep 2018
I stood there
in front of everyone
staring at me
mocking me
waiting for me
to commit a mistake

I trembled
I came unprepared
lost in the situation
with judging eyes
piercing through my core
ready to eat me whole

I opened my mouth
uttered my piece
broke the silence
that covered us all
fighting for my existence
and proving them wrong
Challenge accepted.
Never back down
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