society/beauty& she tries her hardest to look beautifulmountain ranges of bone and muscle down the flat incline of her stomach'cause beauty's made of hunger and hipbones and she's got guys twined around her middle finger for a taste of agony and self-deprecation& sure, maybe ribs aren't supposed to stick out that mucha grotesque cage hiding her heartmirroring the mask she wears within'cause dizziness is nothing compared to the elation of watching the green-eyed monster at work among the other innocents,(strange how she was once one of them)hungering for hunger with a thirst for beautyweight's not a number, it's a contest of collarbones and corrosion, of the taste of bile down your throat & a strange penchant for neon red popsiclesjust ignore that biteand the nextand the nextand before you know it you'll be pretty(or so they say)a queen atop a throne of bones and false glamour, of self-hatred and albino ravens pretending to be dovessociety's the biggest bitch of 'em all, darlin', but
heavenand i'll burn down the garden of eden where it standsand kick open the pearly gates'cause i don't give a damn about heaven(('cause i've already found it with you.))
aeolistwe're taught to drown our sorrows inguilt and despairto make ourselves feel like no one out there really carestill we resurface, gasping, struggling for airwe're taught that depression's a sign of being weakand when people self harm, it's just attention that they seekand that when she's dead and gone andburied in the groundthat oh, they should've saw it comingand they tell you, blame yourself for everything that you've doneyou messed up, so get up, your life's only begunand when we keep blaming ourselves and the tears just still runthey look on like they're bored, like we're just old rerunsplaying on the tv's for their entertainmentit's not like being happy's a hard to reach attainmentwhen we're stuck in this hollowed shell, this containmentof faces that we've known but never really seen,when words flow out our mouths but without any real meaningand when the days fly by and the second hand goesaround the clock, around the clock, right out the windowso when wi
it's loud in my head.it's loud in my head.there's a nebulaeof thoughts and ideaswaitingto be plucked out of the frayand blinked through thevast networkof synapses and nervesto be written downand expandedand there's the occasional black holeof emotionof despair and sadnessbut bending space-time's not hardand the world's a multidimensional space'sides, my thoughts twist round like a mobius strip,and have all the elegance of infinity-but every universe has its entropyand my favorite choice of chaosis you.
torrentialand when we get down to it,life is just a mess of could've been, would've been, should've beenlook up at the clouds dear,they're raining all the words you've never saida downpour of hate and loneliness and regretyou won't find your silver lining here--and there's a daisy chain on the groundring around the rosiewasn't that what you used to sing?there's a ring in your heart, dearand it's choking you with songs of optimismthe plague waits for no one.
cross-stitched poemswriters sew words onto paperby threading their heartstringsthrough the eye of a beholder(say- i'm all out of heart,would you mind if i borrowed yours?)
snow like ashesThe cold was coming.He could already feel it in his bones, in the deep cracks and crevices of his joints where numbing tendrils of ice slithered under his skin. Coughing absently onto a delicately embroidered silk handkerchief, he stepped back as a familiar carriage approached, horses slowing their march along the path and whinnying softly at the air. He turned to look at it, a soreness in his neck heralding the blizzard that was soon to arrive.Nothing but a difference in barometric pressure, old chap. Nothing to be worried about, he thought, straightening his collar and tipping his hat to the carriage's driver before hopping into the front next to him. At this time of year, the streets of London were nothing if not intolerable, and the combination of the humidity and the general abundance of people had set him on edge.The stiffness in his muscles were not helping."Fancy seeing you here, Michael. These parts are not made for gentlemen such as yourself," the driver said, crac
folding cranesfold.unfold.fold.inhale.unfold.exhale.there's a story to be told here,but aren't there stories everywhere?there's a girl in the library,folding paper cranesbut nobody cares for her story,when everyday in the news there's a million stories already-teen suicide, 13.cyberbullying.a blue crane, left on top of someone's laptop at the local starbucks.school shooting.11 dead.11 little yellow cranes, crumpled at the edges.it doesn't bring them back.nothing'll bring them back.but they're not forgotten.
this is how i copeby the fourth week,john's not angry anymore.there's a emptiness to everythingand he wishes that sherlock would juststopthis.he wonders which one of them really died that day.
Why Can't I See?I was at my camp ,home ,safe ,and going to be with my family soon, my mate and my two kits. There was a fire in the camp two sunrises ago. After I got out twolegs caught me, but later my clanmates rescued me:My clanmates started to take off the twoleg thing that was bound across my eyes making me blind. Feeling the nips of their teeth at my skin made me flinch ,but I stood still. I clawed at the ashy ground waiting for them to finally take it off. My clanmates bit and tore at the twoleg thing. The twoleg thing came off easily and it fell to the ground.My clan gasped! But I could not see what they were gasping at, the thing was still across my eyes. I got to my feet and whirled around trying to find what they were gasping at I could feel the dust swirling around me and cats running.I said "What!? Whats wrong!?" They all went silent, making my neck fur bristle as I felt their eyes beat down on me.Then after the tension started to lower I said "I thought you took the twoleg
Twisted- IntroPale light bled through black leafless trees, touching the thick, white mist snaking through them. Dead grass carpeted the ground, waving slightly in a breeze tainted with the scents of prey. Prey, of course, that would never be caught, much less found.Lying in the middle of an abandoned clearing was a cat. Black stripes covered his small dark gray body. Deep crimson stained his chest, though there was no wound there.Suddenly his ice-blue eyes flew open and he took in a heaving gulp of air. He stared with wide eyes at the area surrounding him. W-Where am I? He wondered. He stood on shaky legs and looked around. His hard-muscled body was tense, the fur on his shoulders beginning to spike. He called out into the shadows, his voice strong and clear. "Hello?"The resounding crack of a long being stepped on alerted him to someone-or something, because who knew what was in this StarClan-forsaken place-sneaking up on him. He spun around, wickedly curved claws glinting and a deadly sn
Ashfur: Before FireHonestly, I don't see any sense in saying anything to her about it. She was the one who betrayed me. I did nothing wrong. I don't get what she sees in Brambleclaw. He is the son of the freaking evilest warrior ever lived. Well, almost. I shudder as I think of Scourge. I flex my white claws as I picture that son of a fox Bone ripping the life out of my father, Whitestorm, then Tigerclaw murdering my mother to use as bait. Brambleclaw's father. I realize with a shocking twist of pain. I look up at the sky to see if Starclan still see me, only to find clouds cloaking the sky in mysterious shades of gray. Sighing, I stop my search for the stars.Maybe it will all be over soon. I think as I slink up the hill that led to the shore of the lake. I stop in my tracks, picking up two familiar scents. Squirrelflight. I pulled my lips over my teeth. That fox-hearted coward. I don't need to check the other scent- it was obvious. I peek out
Her.I hate this. You have no idea how much I hate this. This lonely feeling that builds up inside, creating this dark isolation that keeps me caged up, alone with my thoughts. I see the way my friend looks at his girl, and the way she looks at him. Love. It's perfect. He'll wrap his arms around her and whisper in her ear "Hey, you're beautiful. But you already knew that." And I know, that that's the kind of love that I desire. To be with the perfect girl. To wrap my arms around her and whisper lovely things into her ear. I want to hold her hand when we go on walks and talk in our personal inside jokes that only bring us closer. I want to have those phone calls, late at night, where we fall asleep still talking on the phone. I want to slow dance with her in the rain, and then looks into her beautiful eyes, whisper "I love you" and then lean in for a kiss. I want to be able to cook with her, take naps with her, take care of her when she's sick, lonely, scared. I want to be her protecter, her
TruthBlood fed flower, beautiful yet so sour,To wander with countless hours,The sun rising spills grief with its rays,There's always darkness to show the way.Its hunger that opened my eyes to reality,Not the abstinence of my desires,This is perpetual, never ending,Our freedom,We each our own gods of emptiness.Mocking reality with the unfathomable perfect,Nothing experienced or spoken is such a word,Life itself, is the only gift given,To hold truth in my arms, not perfection, is happiness.
Her VoiceHer voice, that of which utters words of love, Speak softer than feathers of a dove. Her words show Him faithful promise, He believes Her, hoping He won't trip upon this.Her voice is that which beauty is given, A voice of an angel sent from Heaven. Her syllables singing throughout His ear, Her leaving turns out to be His biggest fear.Her voice is everything He wants, It's what He breathes, He's happy for once. He hopes with Her for that happy ending, Their love will always be transcending.
What Poetry is to MeWhat poetry is to me, Is an escape into a mindless sea, A place where I can write endlessly, About the wonders and ruins of this world I see.What poetry is to me, Is this I write accordingly, The words that are crafted so beautifully, By those who let go willingly.What poetry is to me, Is not the same for everybody, That different style, whatever it may be, Keep it going and you'll succeed.
Just Imagine, You're All AloneJust imagine, you're all alone,Left in the world on your own.To fend for yourself, find your smile,Yes, find it, it's been quite awhile.You can't breathe, you're being suffocated,The world is too much to bear, you need to be relocated.Another place, smaller, much smaller,You can do it, there, you'll feel so much taller.Gain your confidence, no it's been shattered, just hide,One day you'll be able to say that you have your pride.Pride beyond compare, you can do anything,Is doing anything the right thing?The kids shouting "YOLO," adults shouting "Carpe Diem!"Wishing you could do the same, begging, pleading.You can, dig deep, I know you can,You were once stronger, once a better man.Don't let them take you over, don't you dare concede,Is this what you want? Is this what you need?No, this is not what I want.Who are you to say you're the one to flaunt?It's my turn, you've played long enough,I know this is hard, for me it is rough.I have to put you away, it's time to go,
LacerationsLacerationsby AtreyudrksthourFlesh torn from gnawed boneYou really thought you were going home?Uncontrollable cannibalistic instinctLimitless desire; the funeral pyreIt’s what you were meant forIt’s what you will die forPsychotic self obsessionRipping, tearing mindless goreYou’ll never forget what you sawA mockery of a failed existenceCrumbles to ash with the sands of timeDesperate to retain possessionOf useless pointless hopeless dreamsFeeling the grip tighteningNever fading, always hidingWaiting for vulnerability, the time to strikeParasitic leechA soulless depiction of life once livedA sculptor’s interpretationOf thoughts once hadHear it sputter painful wordsUseless pitiful spineless wormYou’ll never learnThis world owes you nothingAnd no one cares
Bittersweet NothingsI have screamed at the sky,Hammered at the ground,Spat in the waters;Cursed and questioned all I've found.I have run around in circles,I have walked in straight lines,I have exercised to exhaustion;But still not cured this restless mind.And now I lay here,Under thick canvas of black;Muttering bittersweet nothings at the stars,Who do not deign to answer back.
My MaskI put my mask on.Time to face the day.Time to plaster on a smile.Time to pretend it's okay.I want to crawl in bed.Leave the world behind.You're too ugly to go out,whispers my mind.I know I am,I stifle a cry.I want to leave,I want to die.My mask is done,and I have to go.Time to face the people.Time to put on my show.
Worry"Worry," such a helpless word, More helpless than that baby bird. My feeling, My emotions, why do You exist? Why do You eternally put Me through this?Go away, I want certainty here, Please just go, just disappear. I don't need You, You're unwanted, Go back to the one You previously haunted.You have overcome My fortress, My body, Now You sit, waiting in My sanctioned lobby. Ready to strike, to cause great fear, Your presence is known, You made it quite clear.You haven't left, You never did, You stayed and made it morbid. I hate You, I wish You'd leave, Sadly, You've been here since I was conceived.
hope is a poisonous thingand i wishfrom the bottom of myrained-onbroken downpitterpatteringheartthat i'll findsomeonethat i hatemore than myself.