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Samantha Sep 2014
If I were to tell
you how I truly
felt, would you
hold me tight
and say the same?
Or would you run
from fright
and say nothing
at all?

-S.S.
Eva Sep 2014
You are the wings on my feet that take me your way
You are the drugs in my mouth to lead me astray.
Your are the bruise on my heart, painful and blue
You are the lead on my legs, drowning me too.
You are the tears on my cheeks running down now
You are the hope in their drops that I shouldn’t allow.
You are the corpse on my back, the skull in my hand
You are the wind to my sails, the flag to my land.
I cannot give up and so I will lose
All I have dear and willfully choose
To give up pride and be beaten down
Sacrificing the safety of my crown.
for Rupert
Shadowing entities protrude towards your bed from yonder windows hazed light. Crying is no option for fear that this may stir something lurking out there in the darkness. Shrugging beds cover upward to protect your face and hands, well inside lest they be gripped by the night.

Foetal position, curled with hands wrapped around knees, eyes gripped tightly pining for sleep to transport you away to safer ground. Sought after sleep that will never arrive lest you forget to think.

Temples pound a beating drum. slightest sound ekes disaster like a thunderous gun blasting through your brain. finest breeze now a gale, the cold wind causing hair to stand upright stirring tingling pebbled skin. shivering at every inhale of breath, whilst sweat finds its flowing course.

Creaking noises of a living structure ponder audibly throughout the stillness as imaginary movement is conceived, sensed objects move delicately as this flurry of the underworld works its way into an already over worn mind.  

Suddenly the lamenting cries of night torn animal carry up the stair from the darkness below, feline hissing following that same tread to your so sensitive hearing.

Each waft of air an heckling of wandering soul abound to walk freely this hallowed eve, touching the rigidity of young tender body. Mindful of stories told that very night and curses aimed toward the teller of such.

Blasts of light contain certain blindness and panic as you fight to avoid this incarnation that rips away bedding from young skin.


“Wakey Wakey rise and shine.”
2012
Lamb Sep 2013
Her quiet footsteps in the dark
It was a cold, blistering night
Not knowing where she’s heading to
Oh, how it gave the little girl a fright

Any speck of noise was frightening
For she was all alone
A rustle in the bush
This little girl, only skin and bones

She turned a shark corner into the alley
A deathly breeze
Did she hear something?
She just wants to go home now, please?

Swoosh! Who’s there?
Her stomach starts to churn
A trashcan falls over
Her throat burns

A soft growl from behind
Slowing walking over
Hands trembling and sweating
Now where is her lucky clover?

The darkness coveted her
How could everything go so wrong?
Where’s all the good in the world
Like a sad old country song
Cee Valenso Jul 2014
Howling winds and angry skies
Restrained emotions freed through huge raindrops
Soft whimpers and unheard lullabies
A heart's quivering that never stops

Closed windows, but the curtains dance
A cacophonous song filling the mind
Vague silhouettes under a trance
Demons trying to unwind

Silence reigns, time stands still
Never close your eyes
An extemporaneous show, not a single drill
Yesterday is the last sunrise
Charlie Jun 2014
Are you hurting like me?
That pain that has no holds-barred.
That torment that knows no boundaries,
Or that vice that is ever-closing around what's left?

Are you scared, just as I am?
The terror of knowing you're the one that got away,
The horror of thinking someone else may get to kiss the back of your neck the way I used to make you blush,
Or the ending of my life in the anticipation that you no longer share the love I gave to you.

Does my visage completely and utterly destroy
Any progress you thought you were making
Of moving on like one glimpse
Of your solitary eyes does me?

I  see the hurt, I see the fright.
I'm right there at your side,
Like I've always been.
And as much as it may pain me at times,
Your side I will never leave.
VG E Bacungan May 2014
The tip of my pen against the surface of paper.
Release the dew where lies my love, hate, anger.
All in all holds one great power,
to feed the soul; relieve its hunger.

To all who sees,
To all who reads,
To all who hears,
To all who feels,

Do not be in fear.
Yield to this calling...

Pick up your penswords with might!
Brace up your papershields and fight!
Write I tell you now; Write!
Come join me - let's shed some light.
I call to you. I plea. Write your mind out. For there is freedom in writing. :)
Yasmeen Hamzeh May 2014
Dreams, maybe even reality. They mix, like an image of liquid.
Starts out smooth, before the burn, before the aftertaste.
A grey, almost invisible mosaic slowly dissipating into thin air.
It filters through, down your shoulder blades, past your collarbone and right underneath your ribcage.
It is met with a sizzle, the one that shoots right up your spine.
So many contradictions, all promising yet distant  .
Gruff, like sandpaper yet a little less revolting.
The palpitations intertwining, drawing the minutes out.
It starts to sting, then slowly turns into numbness.
It is welcoming and comforting.
Remembrance is but a fatality, losing sense of time.
The moment backlashes, the atmosphere crackles like bones.
Thoughts of things that don't exist, a new plane of existence.
Condensation, trickling and dipping between crevices.
The air is thick, not safe for use.
Every breath turns into a chore.
The only focus is the slow and muffled inhale followed by a regretted exhale.
Answers become twine, slowly unraveling.
They seem clear, but the illusion matured.
It surpassed the point of recognition, leaving a trace of resemblance.
The itch is unbearable, gnawing at the center of the subconscious.
As it all slowly filters away the emptiness turns to comfort.
The feeling of fulfillment becoming too distorting, and the calling for loss begins.
Varying pressures assure one thing; the existence of movement.
The cloaking of heat starts to slip and sudden rushes of frost accentuate the loss and gain.
The silence is unusually foreboding, but needed.
Calloused fingertips don't burn, but summon shivers instead.
Sudden unwanted thoughts play out behind shut eyelids.
It is all just a texture, nothing more.
Not what is expected but a dip in time, a halt in speed.
Soon the clock will start ticking on and the gap will bridge itself.
It is the hesitancy that keeps the moment hanging.
It is the fright of losing a small piece of understanding, or the warping of simplicity.
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