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Don’t worry, I turned off my heart.
I disconnected its valves and
tapped my foot to its last beat.
I repainted the walls of its chambers
a nice neutral color that would
really brighten up the space.
No trace of love.
No trail of grief.
You wouldn’t even be able to tell
that it belonged to someone else.
I spackled the holes left behind,
plastered its cracks, sanded its nicks.
Refinished the worn floors where
too many games have been played.
With any luck, interested buyers
won’t look too closely.
“This one’s got some good bones,”
they’ll say, and marvel at its potential.
I marvel at its potential.
For now though, I’ll turn it off.
I’ll turn it off, if only for me.
© Bitsy Sanders, September 2025
Brooke 2h
Like a moth
you draw me in
over.
and over again,
you corrupt me
every inch of me burns
but only when i'm near you.
It's a feeling i yearn for
i thrive for
i need the pain.
i always thiink the concept of a moth to a fame as a sense of uncertainty
There is an eerie silence in waiting—
a hollow ache where time unravels,
a chair left empty,
a breath caught between the ribs
when a shadow
or a song
reminds me of you.

We were not ready—
two trembling hands
unable to hold without breaking.
Perhaps in another life
we will be braver.

But here,
the silence screams louder than words.
The phone glows blank—
a cruel rejection without your voice.
I push it away,
as though distance could sever the pulse
that binds me still to you.

I do not miss you—
not in the way the world defines missing.
I do not yearn for love—
not in the way stories paint it sweet.
Yet somewhere,
a buried vein of me
still bleeds your name.

In the uneasy hush of maybe,
I linger here—
in the half-lit corridor
where absence hums like a haunting.

And nothing haunts me more
than the ghost
of what we could have been.
i tried to drink
my feelings away
until i nearly drowned
but their grief,
patient as a vulture,
kept waiting for me
even at the gates
of the afterlife.
this one is about having nowhere to run.
Lucy 11h
Drowning in indecision
Battling the dark thoughts
There will be a collision
While my heart slowly rots

He loves me, even said so
I almost stopped breathing
And that beautiful, warm glow
Suddenly turned freezing

That sudden, neck breaking speed
Making me want to hide and cover
Oh how I crave it, yet I want to plead
Slow down please, this isn't clever

Do I love him, or the illusion of love
I don't find him attractive
Maybe I need a hard, strong shove
But I'm way too reactive

I should tell him, end it soon
To save myself and not lead him on
I pray to Artemis, to the moon
That this pain will soon be gone
Usha 11h
After you left, only your shadow stayed,
Each page I write bleeds with your name.
They say no one dies of love’s absence,
But I know—I stopped living the day you were gone.

Your image lingers, etched upon my soul,
A tender portrait time can never erase.
Every memory breaks me quietly,
Every silence is filled with your voice.

I have befriended solitude,
And tied my heart to pen and paper.
For a wife, her husband is the whole universe—
And without you, mine has turned to dust.

What joy can matter,
When every breath aches for you?
So I pray to the heavens each night:
Call me home,
Let me rest where you are,
For even eternity feels too long without you.

— Your Wife
💫 A grieving wife pours her soul into pages,
where every memory is a wound,
every silence echoes with love lost,
and every prayer longs for reunion beyond life.
Lucy 1d
Longing for more, for something better
Acceptance is good, but love is the goal
I'm fat and funny, so what does it matter
If inside I slowly tear at my soul

Turns out he likes me, that he'd care
I nervously agree, giving it a chance
But affection to me, is so very rare
And I can't handle the anxious dance

Can't imagine kissing him
Even holding hands
Maybe my thoughts are too grim
And I should make some plans

But I'm a big fat hypocrite
While I should be grateful
I don't find him attractive
And inside I am hateful

I love our talks, about little things
You're an amazing friend
And it tugs at my heartstrings
The way I see our end
i’ve been on happy pills
for half a year.
more often than not,
i feel like a buried seed,
twisted and tangled
in a graveyard of dreams,
yearning for the light
the darkness has taken from me.

like a river
carving through rock,
i do what’s expected:
show up,
go to the shops,
hydrate,
light candles,
wash my hair,
bake,
then exercise,
get up on a stage
where i pour
my feelings out.

i’m in recovery.

i don’t drink.
i’m pretty sure
i’ve tried everything.

yet, i feel like a canvas
stripped of colour,
a paintbrush,
bristles frayed,
dragging the last stroke
of a story
that i fear will end
before i reach
the last page.
this one is about probably needing a medication review.
Tu m’as montrée qui tu es
La chose la plus généreuse que tu n’as jamais pu me donner
Comme ça
J’ai su que je n’avais aucun autre choix
Autre que partir.
Bekah 1d
I am the draft in the hallway,
the door that never shuts quite right.
You step inside,
but the warmth slips away—
I cannot hold it.

I paint the walls in vibrant hues,
yet when I turn,
the colors are already fading,
peeling into cracks
I can never seal.

I fill the rooms with furniture,
trying to make this place ours,
but I drape them in white sheets,
leaving them to gather dust.

You open the windows wide,
and I pull the curtains closed.
You knock at the door,
and I cannot always let you in.

And sometimes I fear
I’ve trapped us in this hollow place,
when you deserve a home
and not these half-lived walls
between here and nowhere.

I wonder if one day
you’ll walk these empty halls
and decide not to return
because I never learned
how to make a house a home.
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