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 Feb 2015 CP
flustered
breathless
 Feb 2015 CP
flustered
Seeing you made me
suffocate
and it scared me
how badly
I wanted
to
stop
breathing.

-*m.m
Is loving the best kind or worst kind of torture?
 Feb 2015 CP
JR Potts
I will wait outside
because you've locked the doors,
battened down the hatches,
and prepared for a storm
but the day will come
when you’re not afraid anymore
and I’ll be where you left me
because I've always been yours.
Break me, break me
Tear me down
Hurt me, hurt me
Rip me up good
Just like I knew
You always would
Cut me, cut me
Watch me bleed
Pour salt in my wounds
Pretty please
Make it sting
Don't stop, don't stop
Get in there deep
Rub it in
Watch me bleed
Slice me, slice me
Split my heart open wide
You know all the painful ways
Most of which
You've already tried
No use in begging
I've tried to plead
No use, no use
Might as well
Just watch me bleed
Break this mirror
If you must
Use the glass shards
To cut me more
Crack me, crack me
If you please
But without the mirror
How could you
**Watch me bleed?
 Jan 2015 CP
bones
Alphabet artist.
 Jan 2015 CP
bones
She's an alphabet artist
she paints in words,

from a palette of adjectives,
nouns and verbs,

the landscape she finds
in the folds of her mind

she exhibits in volumes of verse.
 Jan 2015 CP
Puck
haiku
 Jan 2015 CP
Puck
is it not a shame
for the kindest ones around
to feel the most pain?
 Jan 2015 CP
Lunar
why do you act like hamlet,
all depressed and grieved,
for your own heart shuts me out,
and it's you who's deceived?

when did you think like othello,
murderous and violent,
irrational with decisions,
making me suffer with guilty silence?

how did you turn into macbeth,
from the silky words that grace your lips,
to the venomous fangs you bit back at me,
stinging like burning, sharp whips?

because i thought you were romeo,
with your adventurous soul and romantic antics.
now you've faded away,
with all your heroic tactics.

wherefore art thou, romeo?

don't call me juliet,
if i'm just another rosaline.
shakespeare's tragedies forever
 Sep 2014 CP
Brianna Elise
There is nothing poetic
In the soul-crushing emptiness
I feel inside.
There is nothing beautiful
In closing my eyes
And never wanting them to open.
There is nothing romantic
In the dark, vast loneliness
That consumes my whole existence.
There is nothing poetic
About existing,
But not living.
There is no beauty in the dark.
 Aug 2014 CP
Lysander Gray
Through the nights
of alchemy
and the religion
of your touch
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the eyes of those who seek
for fame or infamy
that climb the ladder
for trust and security
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the rustling of leaves
that heralds your approach
and the sun that turns
its gold to the storm
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the haze of city lights
that silence the moon and stars
and the sleep of the streets
abandoned by foot and car
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the vast abandon
of the pleasure dens and bars
that sell relief and ecstacy
to the dusted and the ******
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the *** of angels
that call forgiveness after saints
Through the empty street
which shares your name
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the passing of time
to the breadth of now,
and the passing of the babe
from mother to sow
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the sacred and profane
and the knife of your beauty
upon this honest name
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

Through the slavery of man
and the freedom of nations
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.

I found myself.
 Aug 2014 CP
Lysander Gray
I sank a lie in the harbour,
watched it sink like a stone.
Your beauty an apostle
asked me to live quite alone.

The streets are empty of your laughter
wild birds still flitter and fly,
The children carry on playing
as every rose withers and dies.

The scent of your dew on my fingers,
the place where death goes to die.
A memory that breathes as it lingers
on the fringe of an innocent sigh.

The black dress you left here one evening
full of bats and sinister themes,
drapes an elegant coffin
in both life and my dreams.

Snapshots carved in my pillow
of the place where death goes to die,
chipped with a sharpened halo
once trapped between your thighs.

I found the place we once roamed
with my back turned to the sea,
a quick snap of my fingers
called death to die with me.

Instead he sang as a singer
"If I go you'll never be free,
in dream this love will linger,
in song and in memory."

The streets drowned in your laughter,
wild birds flitter and fly,
I light a candle on the altar
at the place where death goes to die.
Inspired by a line from a Leonard Cohen song.
 Jun 2014 CP
Arran James
Autumn
 Jun 2014 CP
Arran James
My favourite season is autumn
When the darkness starts to surround you
Like a comforting embrace across your entire existence

It's like when you take a bath
And the water temperature matches your body's
And you can't differentiate
Where the water starts
And where your skin ends
Like taking flight

That's what autumn is to me
The exterior darkness
Undistinguishable
To my internal void

My soul leaking from every pore

I exist everywhere and nowhere simultaneously
It's freeing really. Detached from my earthly vessel
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