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When nature's inhalation
whips up storms,
  We are set in stone monoliths.

Carefully carved intricate marks
decorate our walls; unfinished
since we must finish etching them
   Together.

Heed lightning cracks its
own violent tremor into
   Our stone walls.

Still! Winds will tear and maul
rains will erupt and slaughter
then give way to bright sky
   and deadly clear horizons;

reflecting back to us
our own trailing ripple
   of increasingly clear syllables.

Each etched now in our walls.
Mother printed the first
symbol, a delicate addition
first of many, now forming
sprawling racing lines.
Strung together, from the
    inside.

And the monoliths stand tall
and we bare storm
   and choose together.
Side B
There are shadows
that don’t need light to exist.

They find me
in the stillness—
no footsteps,
just the pressure of presence.

A sharpness,
like something once broken
still echoing through the body.

The pain isn’t always real.
But it’s always there.

Ghost fingers,
tight around the heart.
Scars that never bled.
Memories I never chose to keep.

I don’t speak of it.
Not because I can’t.
Because I don’t know how to name
what has no face.

But somewhere,
between each phantom ache
and the silence that follows,
a flicker stirs—
thin, but alive.

And I follow it.
Even if I don’t know where it leads.
Emotions on paper,                                                           ­                                 letting  it all out                                                          ­                                   Just  like a falling tear,                                                            ­                                  it's quieter than a shout                                                            ­       Raining  and raging,                                                          ­                        get  out of my head                                                             ­                                    There  is no caging,                                                          ­                                    this hunger needs fed                                                              ­                     Freeing and cleansing,                                                       ­                              washing it all away                                                             ­                              This is never ending,                                                          ­                                    a ritual I do every day                                                              ­                   Scribbling  in pencil,                                                          ­                           I'm  pressured to get it out                                                              ­           I know it's only mental,                                                          ­                        but quieter than a shout
Feyre Jun 20
writing and scribbling and scrawling down my all thoughts,
each and every
dark and sinister alley twisting in the curves and
    crevices
of my mind.
dusty, hidden corners filled with filth -
hidden by the shadows of my
    weighted self.
sometimes my mind feels like it's rotting
AJ Jun 8
They call life a rollercoaster ride,
A thrill, a loop, a drop, a glide
But I don’t see the tracks they praise,
This isn’t thrill, it’s endless maze

A coaster ends, its path is known,
Predictable, it brings you home
But with life, where is the end in sight?
Where’s the design? Where is the right?

Life is no ride, it’s far more tight,
A chain that binds, a heavy plight
They claim I choose my steps, my way,
But choices don’t exist today

The ones around me shift the ground,
They twist my fate without a sound
You say, “It’s worth it,” from below,
But from where I stand, you do not know

My life began not with a stride,
But clinging to a mountainside
Where others stepped from stone to stone,
I climbed a cliff face, all alone

So tell me now, what hope remains
For one who scaled such sharp terrains?
I’m near the peak, with frozen breath,
Yet nothing here resembles rest

I see them laughing down below,
Their paths laid out in gentle flow
While I hang bruised with aching grip,
Each moment feels my fingers slip

This summit isn’t what I chose,
It’s just the path that hardship froze
I climbed because I had no say,
Because the world carved out that way

And though the peak is cold and bare,
At least it feels like something there
To leap back down, no solid plan,
Too far I’ve come, too weak I am

The coat I wear is thin, worn through,
It holds no heat, but hides the blue
And though I dream of stepping stones,
I know the price would break my bones

I’ve built a shelter on this height,
The mountain holds me through the night
It cradles me, yet keeps me bound,
Above the life I never found

And still, I watch the ones below,
Their lighter lives, their steady flow
And wonder, softly, with regret,
At all the things I never met
Shadow Jun 15
Would a board game without a goal
Still be one you'd consider playing
That seems to be the reality of existence
Obliviously wandering in hopes of purpose
Without any evidence of its confirmation
Then who's to say which path is truly right
When the destination is the same on both ends
Cadmus Jun 16
They asked me once,
“Why do you always take the hard path?”

I said,
“It’s not that I choose it
It’s just the only path I see.”

Not all of us are given options.

Some roads are rough
because that’s all there is.
Sometimes, life doesn’t offer a choice between easy and hard - it simply gives a road, and we walk it.
The last Poet Jun 14
I hear them sometimes
Whispering their lies

Do you hear them?
Behind those eyes
Whispering those lies

I surrender most times
To their lies behind my eyes
Surrender to their whispering lies
I struggle sometimes with the whispers behind my eyes
Immortality Jun 13
I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.
It’s that moment when giving up feels easier, everything is against you;
but you can’t, because giving up just isn’t you.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Ria Jun 11
To be in the middle is to be surrounded
By warmth, love, acceptance
I am in the middle
I have never felt so alone
Two friend groups clash
I observe
I keep to myself
I refuse to take a side
I am in the center of everything
Yet I am all alone
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