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You spilled your thoughts as ink A rolling field of paper and colour Painting your emotions away Filling a blank canvas with life
My head felt like an eternally spinning teacup ride at the fair. ~awatr
In the Jungle, there is a mystery of darkness and wonders; There is a war between a mighty beast and a man. They kill for pleasure and for vengeance;
Black specs of ash Trickle down upon me. As I breathe in The air is heavy. I blink with stinging eyes and look above to witness a blazing sky. Grey overcast
A Fallen Hero by Steven Isaiah Gilliard I was known as being tough and respectful. I was highly respected by my fellow brothers and sisters.
He once spoke of her as if she's a rain in the middle of summer, a blooming flowig amidst the fall, a ray of sunlight during winter, until she became a dandelion of a windy spring.
I have seen the little child . . . the little girl. I have seen her from up close and from afar. I would think to myself I love her. I would think to myself I hate her.
Before these teeth sucked blood? That’s a distant memory One coated in infinite agony I saw her there, in the field, lying half-dead in mud
Sometimes when I think about you, I feel slightly disappointed in myself. To know that I let my guard down; to know that I let you in without thinking twice about slamming the door shut behind me.
"The day of death grows closer still All the while I hold the pill To make or break this path I've chosen Will I choose the water or poison For the path of God is never easy
Suicidal poetYou died an artists death Forging perfect words With your final breath You had it all planned outEach syllable struck deep You took our breath awayAnd yet it's you that sleeps in peace
She gazed across the baren lands, a rusted key lay in her hands, a salted tear slipped down her face, she sat on the balcony, crumpling her lace. Alone she sat hour after hour,
I started just like any other clean and pure and a heart that was whole Innocence started to fleet learned to walk on my own two feet
The constellation consisted of magnetars
"Resist" she screams running from ash Broken and torn but not turning back
Although change upon myself would be lovely,Although change to the faults of the world would be just,
It wasn't the type of love that they wrote poems about. It wasn't something
Is there ever going to be a difference in the way we look at one another? Are we ever going to love one another? When will we stop criticizing one another and grow up?
This is the story of tragedy immemorial.A tale of endless woe.I hope you'll learn from the mistakes.Made by two really quite bitter foes.
Hunched over a bright computer, Warm coffee accompanies her. Searching for words to express herself, Searching for words too difficult to tell. A closet full of skeletons, a pretty blonde head full of secrets.
watch, as this tragic story unfolds. my life, my hurt, my strength, and my weaknesses. my tragedy is one to tell, a one of pain, and one of hell. nights of tears, days of agony.
Drain my skin with hands that plunge into my flesh. Ruby drops streaming down my arms, my legs, my chin. Sliding and mixing with salty sweat and tears.
My dad lifts my new electric blue Schwinn Mountain Bike onto his shoulders and hauls it into the garage. He takes a wrench and adjusts the pipes with the precision of a poet, pulling them to fit my height. I stretch
Dust, Floating aimless in sepia window sunlight, So soft, so small, The red hummingbird feeder just behind the white framed glass.
"...Hearts are best fixed and re-run than left broken, hurting, and struggling to function And though it may be as fragile as glass Or if you are never completely healed from the last Always keep your heart open
Pitter, Patter Scitter, Scatter Mice on the floor Bump, Thump Rock, Knock Who’s at the door? Scratching Screaming I bet she’s bleeding Cleaning is such a chore Wailing