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 Jun 2014 anonymous
Riley Ayres
as insanity depicts my pride,
I look at you in a way that I can't look at anyone else,
as you are constantly on my mind,
and the droplets fall in a way like never before.

you're heart encases me,
consuming everything I have within its arteries,
each thought becomes more liquefied,
as I try to stop the pain.

"she wouldn't want you doing this"

I tell myself time and time again,
yet still as the capsule slips past my lips,
I find some kind of release in the burning sensation,
that starts to simmer in my throat.

your eyes, I try to picture your eyes...
yet still you are not here for me to see them in flesh,
one look from you and I would stop,
but one look is something you will not give.

relapse...

a pain that cannot be fathomed by a blade,
as you drag it from your elbow to your wrist.
I was a month clean but I can't help it now,
my body is dead.

Pain is a placid thing,
yet somehow it holds a power over me,
but, when I am with you it seems...
... that the hold it has is simply gone.

I can't seem to rendeer the thoughts of my childhood,
as I continue to do the inevitable,
have I slipped back into my old ways...
... Have I gone too far to go back now.

Relapse...

Relapse...

Relapse...

I am sorry I have let you down,
I am sorry that my callous ways are somewhat spiteful,
I may not have much self esteem,
but I know that I am selfish...

was I selfish in my dealings with you?
in the way I handled your gorgeous smile.
not that I recall..
yet I feel as though I have somehow

left, not to be welcomed back,
into you're arms of grace that make me collapse...

drag me out of this pit
save me from this relapse.
 Mar 2014 anonymous
Emma
Miss me
 Mar 2014 anonymous
Emma
I'm hoping
One of these days
That when I sleep
For hours on end
I won't wake up
Because maybe
My brain will forget
How to breath
While my mind
Drifts to different dreams
And maybe
I won't have to
Face another dreadful
Day

And maybe,
Just maybe,
You'll miss me.

-e.w.
 Mar 2014 anonymous
A B Perales
To be Loved
is mostly
temporary and at
times a lie.

But to be missed
to be remembered
lasts as long as
a memory
and is about as
real as it's ever
going to get..
 Jan 2014 anonymous
Maddie Borad
Gasping for air as she falls to the floor,
wishing for something to free her.
She waits for the day she can breathe,
The day someone saves her with the cure.

She can't take the pain anymore,
The constant struggle days bring,
She tries everything to stay happy,
She's losing the hope to which she used to cling.

Days seem to just drag on and on,
The hours just grow longer until days end,
She cuts to know that she can feel,
To know that even the biggest wounds will mend.

But as time goes on the healing stops,
She knows the pain will never go away,
She'll only fight a little longer,
until six feet under is the only place she'll lay.
 Jan 2014 anonymous
Robert Graves
Love is universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason.

Symptoms of true love
Are leanness, jealousy,
Laggard dawns;

Are omens and nightmares -
Listening for a knock,
Waiting for a sign:

For a touch of her fingers
In a darkened room,
For a searching look.

Take courage, lover!
Could you endure such pain
At any hand but hers?
 Jan 2014 anonymous
brooke
why do we always remember the lips
the glimpse upward, the sigh, the gap
between their teeth? Never the whole
face, the angular pinky in the porch-light
the coarse hairs on a neck, the sight of a
jaw in motion, concave cushion when he
talks, never the whole body,
a single word, a single sound, a small
intonation, a rumble that stays, stays



stays.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

Think of the last person you loved.
 Jan 2014 anonymous
Sebastian
She was pretty.
Scratch that.
She was beautiful.
Scratch that too.

She was more beautiful,
Than a sunrise on a winter morning.
Or a rainfall on an autumn day
Where the leaves dance in the wind
And fill the sky with life.
More beautiful than a flower
That breaks through the cracks
Of a concrete garden
And brings color to the air.
She was more beautiful,
Than any poem that's ever been written.

She was beautiful.
Scratch that.
She still is.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
©Sebastian @http://hellopoetry.com/sebastian/

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