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Someone asked me what is love
is it good, is it bad
is it awesome, is it terrible
I honestly didnt know how to answer them.
I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotions
Love is kind
love is harsh
love is wonderful
love is terrible
love is a cure
love is a sickness
love is LOVE
love is hate
love is meaningful
love is pointless
love shows the best in people
love shows the worse in people
love makes us speak truth
love makes us lie
love understands everything
love confuses everyone
love builds your life
love tears your heart down
love makes you smile
love makes you cry
love makes us cuddle
SuicideSuicide... they call it sin
They say it is a death in which no-one wins...
They encourage you not to do it, they say it is wrong...
But who is there to encourage you when you can't be strong.
You feel like you have no-one, not even a friend.
No shoulder to cry on, just one last letter to send.
tragedies - collab.you deserve all the cobweb dreams,
fairytale hopes, and explosive love
in the world, but i know that i
will never be the one
to give them to you.
you need notes that end with
'ps - you're brighter than
twenty-seven silver stars'.
i can't bring myself
to write them, though.
it's not like you'd read them,
i cut out paper hearts and
dreams and gave them to you, but
you only ripped them up and said
'these aren't good enough.'
when i painted you a picture
of golden skies and sunshine smiles,
you handed it back and told me
'next time, paint realistically.'
so i wrote you a story
filled of starless nights and
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hollow plea, he slides on a rail
towards impartial angels leaving rainbow sparks
in his soaring wake, and meets blazing lights.
the addict dies twice. one is nev
I hate the way you smile
The way you wear your hair
I hate how you know I'd drop it all
If you said you care
I hate how you massacre my thoughts
And run rampant through my brain
Destroy the monotony my life blocks
and drum the rhythm of the rain
I hate how you spoke to me
And said you love me with those eyes
I hate how I knew it'd hurt
and hated more when I saw you cry
I hate how our shot was so short
Lasting only through the fall
I hate how I can't stop thinking of you
Because I could never hate you at all
heart song.this is the song
to your heart.
why are you locked inside
a bathroom stall? no one
to hold you, tell you sweet
lies and say you are
beautiful, say you are
perfect? it's not the end of
the world, not yet. if it was,
wouldn't there be
your heart is not yet
dead; please do not
say it is. if it was dead,
it wouldn't hurt this
your heart is only sleeping.
when the only melody in your head
is a break up song, and the only thing
your heart seems capable of doing
is twisting itself into knots, and the only
thing you want to do is hide a
DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earth
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
im not all there in the head
youre not all there in the head, my mother says
im not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well thats where loves gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken w
A Beautiful ThoughtOh, we're so brilliant, aren't we?
We're so freaking lovely.
We're filled with glowing rainbow pride
And we're so pretty it's ugly
Our self-made wounds throb with beauty
And you'll paint your face with hypocrisy
We're everything we're believed to be
We're saviors and artists and celebrities
We're gulping down ego and inhaling pride
We're gestating self-worth in our insides
We're icons of envy to all of our peers
Self-assured by attention attained all these years
I'm something you need and something you're not
She's almost so hideous that it's something I want
But I did say almost
(But you did say want)
Oh, we're such liars
This PainTears roll down my face,
As I cut myself,
To release the pain.
It hurts so much,
But feels so good.
The pain is draining from me,
In drops of blood.
As I watch my pain leave from me,
"How can this be,
That I have so much pain
When I'm only merely 16?".
Then I remember the past that I've had,
Memories of yelling,
all the awful scars.
I've cried too much,
I've hated so many,
That I don't think people will ever get me.
I come back from my world of thoughts
And realize that I've bled too much,
It's all over the counter,
It's becoming messy,
But I don't care.
I just want this pain out of me.
Sunday in the Kitchendear mother,
i ask you how far we are from heaven.
hunched over the sunday paper like a patient gargoyle.
your eyes blinking too often, and tongue snaking
around in your mouth, as if the answer is hidden between your teeth.
you hum holy bars in the kitchenette.
say "hallelujah means praise yahweh, praise the lord"
say "angels must rest on the tongue of that word"
say "angels, oh angels hallelujah, hallelujah, rest in me"
but you haven't slept in weeks.
i hear you sob sigh into the night like a prayer.
like your table lamp is the closest thing to heaven-gates.
sometimes i still wish i could pray with you
We met in a room full of crowded people
who knew my name
they knew my face
and they knew things I didn't
Most people there knew his parents
and that was about it; the knowledge ended there
He said, Come with me
and I said no
I made friends with social rejects
and I made enemies with people hard to avoid
We kept in touch
Depressing PoemsSorry --
What if she died?
And at the funeral her parents told you,
"You could have saved her from herself."
How would that make you feel?
And that night you went home
Sat in your room alone
And killed yourself
Just to be with her again and tell her
Why do people try to help me?
Do they care?
I guess they do
But all I do is hurt them
She keeps trying to help me
But all I do is push her away
She's my best friend
Why can't I just let her help?
What if I died right now?
How would you fell?
Sad, depressed, torn apart?
Or would you feel nothing,
But an empty place that
when i look in the mirror.one.
things you touch turn silent.
hearts can be blacked, burnt, ashy - but you take the ashes and burn, burn, burn them until there's only a memory left, a memory that's all edges and icicles.
you leave me cold, empty and
i don't want to breathe anymore.
'darling, you would do well to remember-
you can't have a light at the end of the tunnel
if you have no tunnel.
darling, you would do well to remember -
you are not empty. you are not empty.
[it's still hurting, after all. it's still hurting
and you don't want to live,
but you're not empty.]
darling, you would do well to remember-
they love you. they love you,
before she met you, she would reach for the sun while standing on the branches of trees, arms stretched towards the sunlight, reaching and waiting.
now, happiness is like a summer memory in the dead of winter - still there, but fading too fast to hold onto. now, she sits on rooftops with you at night, and the two of you watch as the city lights go out one by one.
sometimes, when you laughed, she was reminded of the wind rushing through trees in winter - melodic and beautiful, but still cold, unforgiving.
the two of you watched the waves of the ocean take away the beach, piece by piece.
you were the waves.
she was the sand.
Cor.idorpoeţii au mereu cuvintele la ei
bileţele cu care poţi trece dincolo
eu stau în faţa unei uşi
şi mă rog să nu fie nimeni înăuntru
pentru un timp îmi aduc aminte ce ar trebui să spun
şi de ce
adorm, mă trezesc după câteva minute
am crezut că eşti mort
am crezut că nu locuieşte nimeni aici
îţi fac un ceai aşa cum îţi place ţie
cu mult zahăr şi puţină lămâie
pisica mea, Lil, nu suportă străinii
nu văd să aib
ce bine ca nu ne stie nimenice bine că nu ne știe nimeni
noapte bună noapte
viorile tale îmi şuieră refuz sa mai înțeleg vorbele lor
dirijor pe pământul acela nou
unde nu ne vom mai rătăci
numele meu nu va ţipa numele tău
iar seara te vei întoarce teafără
cu umerii râzând
pentru că niciun pericol nu există în pădurile
de după deal
am o singură trompetă la care cânt pentru tine
mă auzi de departe te bucuri tragand tot aerul înăuntru
apari într-un final
ai braţele pline de mere şi surcele care
Nuntaun alun şi o alună
stau sub soare şi se-ngână
ne căsătorim şi gata
ne căsătorim, nu-i vorbă
aluna cu cap de cobră
pune planul pe hârtie şi-ntr-o săptămână-i cheamă
necuvântători de seamă
păunul cu ochi albaştri
cerbul, uliul, tigrul, lama
mare tămbălău pe ţărmuri
mare tămbălău pe mare
peştii mici se-mping de-aseară
vor să vadă toţi minunea
iar balenele din gară
cer să se-oprească furtuna
cu umbrele şi capace de sicrie peste
titlul e la tineţin un fel de durere înlăuntrul pieptului
un cocoş de mărimea mâinii mele stângi
sculptează pe cineva acolo
un bărbat de vârstă mijlocie pe care n-am ştiut să-l cresc de unul singur
de două zile îmi răsună în nări mai ales trosniturile lui
mă întreb ce minunăţie are să iasă
cât avem să ne bucurăm şi eu şi cocoşul
de o aşa ispravă
nopţile şi le petrece tot acolo
bătând fără oprire
durerea e încă vie dar cui îi pasă
5 (si) mai (cum)5 (şi) mai (cum)
torc ca un motan la menopauză
ca un poet la menopauză
ca un strungar în pauza de prânz
de la trei la şapte
taxiurile nu mai circulă
autobuzele nu mai circulă
femeile nu mai circulă
întinde braţul şi spune-mi
ce părere ai despre moş crăciun
dar despre coca-cola
dar despre femeia cu care îţi petreci cele mai multe ore
telefonul cu disc din sufragerie
prizonieri atunci când inima iese din cutiuţă şi se aşează
în mâna celuilalt
Acum stiuCei despre care-obişnuiam sã vã vorbesc
Sunt fiinţe îmbibate în sinceritate cruntã.
Printre ei nu circulã decât cuvinte ce le aparţin.
Asta le e poruncã.
Nu se servesc de idealuri..
E un principiu numai!
Sunt toti oameni dintr-o bucata.
Şi deşi Elveţia e departe,
Norvegienii cresc in pieptul lor inimi crestate de precizie.
Frigul caleşte şi purificã,
Frigul preferã plasmuiri.
Asta le este linistea,
Cãci Pacea lor a-nmugurit din scrum,
Iar ei sunt toţi pagani.
Nu se încred în altceva-n afarã de cuvant.
Asta le este
Mollie's Ribbons I grew up in a small town just a few dozen miles from the closest water sourcea slowly shrinking aquifer that squatted underneath the seat of Thompson County, our neighborly border. Fortunately, we hadn't yet been quite as devastated by our annual droughts as those in Oklahoma and Texas. Rumors would occasionally drift in with a tumbleweed traveler about how bad the deep South had dried up into nothing but an old dusty lake bed, but these flashes of news were too few and too far between to be counted on as up to date or even true.
Once, I heard one of my distant cousins, a boy by the name of Harold, was said to have been caug
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More