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#spilled poetry

Poems keep me awake

Writing my fears away

Tear stains

Broken heart

Still a loved one

A second thought

Hallelujah says my soul

Sparks of a love that didnt last

I’m thankful for the past

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• Illusion •

Hovering on the brink,

diving deep through stories,

and searching desperately for truth,

my senses get distorted.

In an ocean of lies,

pushing myself through the waves,

I see the shore of dramatic ironies.

Not knowing a way out,

I fumble with words

to keep myself sane.

Edging between fine lines,

I wonder if it was just an illusion.

An illusion,

that was the devastatingly beautiful.

An illusion,

that felt so real and perfect.

Oh indeed, it was one.

For it has come to a dead end.

~ @therendingflame

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Types of people - handwriting

Requested by @cup-of-moriarty


Neat and even - late nights with books to the nose, glasses folded away, perfectionism, carefully ironed clothes, more stationary than sense, polished shoes, huge home library filled with things they plan to read but never will

Messy and rushed - cramming all night, piled up coffee cups and crushed energy drink cans, a sense of importance, impulsive decisions paired with lazy laughter, a walking contradiction, always up to talk when needed

Loopy and cute - pen pal letters painstakingly decorated, heart dotted i’s, studio ghibli movies, bullet journal, pastel outfits perfectly matched, cute when sleepy, really good at calligraphy, always singing under mumbles

Indecipherable - rubbed eyes and chipped nails, assignments handed in with seconds to spare, master of procrastination, unmade sheets, the kind of person who puts ‘nrs’ on their snapchat story but reply immediately

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what is it like to feel wanted?

to laugh when you’re happy

cry when you’re sad.

what is it like to be beautiful

both inside and out?

be kind, but not enough to let them hurt you?

to not talk through your tears,

to tell your mother when you’re in love,

to not hurt the people you care about,

to run through dewy grass and feel it kiss your feet?

to not hide bruised knuckles,

or the smell of smoke,

or your empty stomach?

am I alive or do I just want to be?

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If I fall,

Who’s going to catch me?

I’m afraid

Dead but alive

Words sharper than knives

Kill me inside

No blood to cry

Day by day

Lifeless, I Iay

Limbs cold, can’t move

My eyes, no longer hope

Faint heartbeat

Fights for the light

I scream and shout

Searching my pieces

Spirit with limits

Hidden shadow

Behind the starts

Always a weak one

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I don’t know why people leave me and I don’t know why some of them come back. But I know there are some people who will always be there no matter how many times I try to push them away. Some of them share my blood, some of them share my zip code, some of them share my alma mater, but they’ll all always be there. And you can let people leave when you know the ones who matter will always stay.

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There are many things to mend the heart strings of a broken heart.

Gourmet ice cream, coffee, dinners alone, cigarettes, comical movies, manic shopping, dressing up for no one, and flirting with strangers.

However all these things only patch up a broken heart, still with scars showing at broken suture lines.

Eventually this brokenness leads to darker fantasies.

Alcohol, strong sedating pills, bars of euphoria, highs and lows of pain and happiness.

Xanax dreams, Valium naps, and Vicodin numbness.

Soon to find one hauled away in a hard plastic gurney for 30 days.

Only to repeat the cycle as if in a revolving door.

However one day the clouds will clear, the sun will appear, and the neon sky will be brighter than ever

If you look for the light you can often find it, but if you look for the dark that is all  you will ever see. 

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I watched him against the glare of noon high sun. Blinding hot light stinging my eyes in pain but I dare not look away. Blinding light merging into a scene of lightning. Flashing. Blinding. Flashing. But I dare not look away.

It was hot. It was humid. I felt heat cover every inch of skin I have, both exposed and unexposed. Heat latching on like glove to a hand with the only evidence seen were the drops of sweat trickling down the ground. It was sweltering. Yet I was shaking. Shaking as if enveloped in the icy wind that cold night. Rain trickling down my drenched body. Dropping. Dripping. Hard on the ground. As I shivered.

I hear the rustling of the trees. They rustle against the gentle wind. Rustle with your footsteps. But the rustling gets louder each second. This was peace. Tranquil. Quiet. Unlike thunder. Unlike rain. Unlike the loud banging of drums. Unlike the plops of water against tin. Unlike an explosion. Unlike a howl. Unlike the rain. Unlike the thunder. Unlike a crash.

And now I see you. I see you in the bright daylight. I see you in the gentle breeze. I see you in serenity. But I still see the night. I still see the storm. I still hear the chaos. I hear the danger. I see the damage. I hear the blare. I see the blur. I hear the scream. I see flash. I feel the rage. I feel the hate. I feel the rage. Bright. Hot. Flash. Crash. Rage. Fury. Anger. Pounding. Crashing. Rising. Rage fury anger fury rage anger rage fury rage an-

“are you angry?”

I see the sun. I feel the breeze. I hear your steps. I hear the wind. I feel the heat. I see your figure. I see your figure. Retreating. Retreating. Fading. Fading. I see you. I can’t see you. Anymore.

- Are you angry? by chd

I haven’t posted in a while…

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Drunk on stars

who are loved by the moon,

held up by the sky,

and hidden from harm by the sun.

For only a moment

I feel cared for

by the whole universe

that once cherished the stars

that I now sip

so carelessly from my glass.

-Amelia J. Wilson // I May Have Been Drinking

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I try to cover

your whole body

with my hands.

To give it

any warmth

that I’ve

managed to find

and gather up

from deep inside

of me.

But it doesn’t work.

Each time

I move on

to the next area,

the previous one

goes cold.

My hands

are cold now,

useless, yet

you easily

offer me

your own warmth.

I think this

is what love is.

Give and take,

building together

and giving one another

warmth on the coldest nights.

-to my dear kitty, please stay with me

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She became the awareness that woke me up

It is a unknown presence that is not visible

Only felt within

Its quiet

Its calm

With no direction

Of where we may go off together

She asked me are you in love with death?

I told her no, I feel calm and safe then what life is offering me.

Skipping through dimensions like pages in a desserted book.

That’s where my mind is lost in the cycle of existence.

I’m not going anywhere

As I’m forced to stay

My mind is a collectors file of truthful, meaningful, lustful, loveful, dreadful and hateful.

I cannot see the future

Only the sky may alter

As the seasons change my paths

We are fading apart

I told you I loved you and all you did was turn your head.

No words had to be said

Waving from far away

I know it’s over

I know it’s over

Now I shall move on

Walking through this night passing

the street poles in the dead of night

Where i will belong till the next encounter

So let it be.

(Whistling through the night)

-Jeremy R. Young


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