Feeling at home within yourself

at some point you stepped outside yourself

for a smoke or a breath of fresh air

and when you tried to get back in touch with your body

you found that calling it home was not the same as feeling welcomed there


so, you vandalized the structure and punched holes in the walls

for a motive to continue self-destruction

and when you were smothered in debris missing your bed

you found that you couldn't even get sleep in a place of such head corruption


too far gone to decide to think happy thoughts

for fooling yourself can barely even compose a foundation 

and when you asked for help no one could help you in a way that didn't enrage you

you found that your motivation was to deter and hinder pro-creation


somewhere you got tangled in the web of someone much like you

for they were afflicted with the same burden in their heart

and when you told them that you loved them 

you found that to have that reciprocated you must love yourself as a start


confused and violated and sick of yourself

for you couldn't extract emotion from anything 

and if you did it was unpleasant or placed on a damned old shelf

you found that songs you knew by heart you could no longer sing


at some point you stepped outside yourself

for a smoke and a breath of fresh air

and when you tried to get back in touch with your body

you found a corpse with cobwebs in its stare



View dampsoup's Full Portfolio





Yes, that's me.


I know.You thought you got it all.

Sucked up into the vacuum

And emptied into the trash

3 months ago with the other pieces of me

You threw onto the kitchen floor,


The picture perfect memories 

Of how you thought things were,




And so I figured I'd just hang out quietly,

And wait for the opportune time

To slide under your skin,

And remind you what color you bleed,

Just because I can.


The piece that was forgotten,

Left behind after weeks and months

Of your painstaking efforts to forget,

Only to show you how I never left,


The indelible ink 

Scripted in your best penmanship,

On the finest silken threads

That grew into all the things 

You can never leave behind.


I'm yours.

You're mine.


Our mind.


It's like the hugest splinter

We can never leave behind.


I'll be home at six. 

Dinner is in the oven.

You never know,

Tonight could be the night

We left behind.









Life Sushi



Raw truths....

they massacre us if we let them,

leaving us with the salty residue

of past perceptions about

how life is

"supposed to be".


It isn't supposed to be anything.

It just is what it is.





View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio

Sand Spur & Datura

"Do you know why you're resented?" asked Datura.

Sand Spur considered and bristled his trampled stalk,

"Because I'm looked down upon; because they are tall."

Evening fell like a gentle hammer. Stars shone.

Frail trumpets opened and refused the world a song.

They splayed, imitating the colors of the sky.

Datura swayed with the breeze. "You snag at their flesh

and are silent. Your nettles stir in them their dread.

They'll return tomorrow to gnaw at your branches,

for it is they whom you have bled." The moon peeked through

cascading cloud cover and turned green grasses gray.

Fireflies traced aimless, yellow rings in shadow.

"They fall on me with hardened roots and push and twist

'til I've been torn away and sundered from my bed,"

Sand Spur said with bitterness, "still they resent me."

The remainder of his reaches rustled and shook,

dislodging their beads with hooks and spikes to touch down,

where they might blend and be carried away from here.

He fears for their passage but knows, "What may I do?

How will we continue to live? What might we give

as tribute to force their teeth away?" He withered.

Datura considered this and said, with softness,

"Nothing." Pedals fell; her fabric brass ensemble

fell into squalor as night gave heed to new day.

She saw them coming with their jaws held in their hands.

A sickly tear through the din, and Sand Spur was felled;

held aloft for a moment and then tossed aside.

They left and she spied an orb made of spines stuck low

and clinging, quietly, in hopes for a new home

where the truest of weeds are enabled, and grow.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Life's few favors are small ones.

View sivus's Full Portfolio























3:12 AM 8/6/2013 ©




It is possible to 

Stop making exceptions

And accept what is,

Was, and what always will be,

To cease the cycle of 

Turmoil that stifles 

A life, society, community,

Race, people.


First, it has to be recognised

Underneath all the 

Litter and trash in 

One's conditioned 

Mind and set of moral



Humans usually,

At some point,

Arrive in this place,

Because if they did not,

The guilt would be 

Their extinction,

And any good 

They did for humanity

Would be lessened,

To the detriment of 

All of humanity.




07/22/2013 ©


View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio

Heart to Heart


I have a heart that’s made of stone

Because you cannot live on love alone

If you want my love

You will have to etch your name

On a heart that no one wants to claim

Once I had a heart of gold

But it’s since been changed to fit the mold

Of a selfish world and a tragic past

A world where gold would never last

Then you came with a heart of fire

Blazing flames climb ever higher

The heart of stone can feel its glow

And stone becomes like melting snow

View brokenshards's Full Portfolio

Mother's Tears.

D. E. A. F.

Are like scalding hot drops,

of melting metal.

They sear their way through my skin.

I cannot bear the sight of her tears,

So I turn my back and walk away.

And let her cry.

So she drowns her tears.

In Brandy, Vodka, Rum,

And Wine Coolers.

So do I...

I wait


In the darkness

until she is too drunk to notice.

She sleeps.

And I crawl from my hotel room bed.

Into the bathroom

and drink.

The scalding liquid like fire...

Like Mother's tears.

And then I fill it with water,

shake the bottle


she won't notice.

Then I lay down and


To the sobs from my mother's soul.

Though she remains asleep she still


Does she cry because of


Or does she cry for


Or does she simply cry because she


that I have become like her

Drowning my sorrows

In scalding liquid

That tastes of

Mother's Tears.....

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Its about a mother and Child who both drown their demons in the same way.

All that matters is that it makes you FEEL something at least so yead....Enjoy and Comment

View dazedbylife's Full Portfolio

Through the hole in my door

It comes in smooth and slightly worn

From traveling through a meandering tightrope from hand to hand eye to eye

Glancing at the idea that it could be more than what its face tells us

Do not be one to judge, that because there are fingerprints or scratches or slight tears that it contains suffering

A labyrinth indeed, but who are we to assume that the people who helped mold this face into the thing it is are the ones who made the damage?

For maybe there is no damage at all

What is behind the face, what is within the soul, the layers of its life is the value we must credit with our happiness, our knowledge, our resort to a reserved isle of contented, powered, pursuing.

View jfrizzle02's Full Portfolio