Home isn't something on the path. It's something you feel, someone you see. Twisting trees upon the breeze; memories of life And leaves. A splash of wine that sets you free, A ghost of heaven and its pleas.
Home is an edge that bleeds, Gloating. It changes, grows, something homely, Something foaming. Something clawing for the morning.
Look too close, and there it goes, Hiding deeper in the folds. The edge retreats; I'll never know What slid away inside my bones.
But it fuels. The night drapes, the storm breaks, the cold takes; And it fuels. Grueling, loathing, something hoping, Something you want to go to at the end of every day.
And you where my home.
called.
Author: Kayla
0
Date: 06/04/2020
№ 1208671
You Never Called
You woke with a fright To find you were not sleeping The lies, you're lonely, it's filth Is seeping Into open wounds unmended
Pack your bags You're leaving To where you do not know But does it matter? You say anywhere is more than this,
Tell me you'll call when ready Call when you've found your own
called.
Author: Emily
0
Date: 05/04/2020
№ 1208042
They called her Misty
I do not know her given name. Everyone called her Misty Perhaps because she floated unnoticed In a foggy ethereal calm.
He noticed her quiet countenance And he controlled her every thought. Powerful strong controlling Misty disappeared even further Into the vapor that was her.
She followed him like cargo To be taken places. Never to choose for herself When I looked into her ice blue eyes Seeing the sadness she held inside. The need to be herself dying within her.
People would say of them What does he see in her? She's so laid back and dreamy. She has nothing to offer. Just a flat personality.
Then one day She broke free from him Traveled to places she had only Seen in glossy travel Brochures and magazines.
She had adventures in other places That were not even in travel magazines. Places she once thought She would never ever go to. Well! Not on her own anyway.
There are sheets of paper lying scattered around my room They are to you The lines are filled with words untold and Things i could never tell you with a straight face It's like i took a blade and cut up my heart into Thin enough slices to read The black pen is blotched and splattered I couldn't stop my hand from shaking There is one letter for every day of the past week I'm tempted to leave them around See if you find them or not See if you get the hint that you are the cause of things I don't feel anything after i'm done writing I'm done with it I have spilled my blood too many times to count I drink a fine wine called bleach to get rid of the taste of you
Today I embodied life. I was at the beach enjoying the sunset when all of a sudden I saw a beautiful arrangement of shells lying in the sand. I was struck awe at the beauty of the pattern that just lied there. A feeling that there was something more behind it watched over my shoulder.
I smashed the pattern of shells with my fist, ruthlessly. HOW DOES IT FEEL TO HAVE A GOOD THING GOING AND SOMEONE AND SOMETHING COMES ALONG AND FUCKS IT UP?! HAVE A TASTE OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE YOU SELFISH BAG OF FUCKING SHIT. FEEL THE SINCERITY OF MY FIST MERCILESSLY CRUSHING YOUR 'OH SO BEAUTIFUL PATTERN'!!! I drew a mic in the sand and walked away.
Life never gets easier, You just become accustomed to the realities, And no matter what life chucks your way, you're immune, indifferent to it all. You don't feel the pang of suffering the way you used to. You don't hurt the way you used to. Because this is the way of life that you have become used to.
