your fingers mend with mine

your lips are my addiction


Can’t help

needing this

more than

I want to walk straight


Too many bridges

we can’t burn them down

we have so much fire

and no gasoline to keep us smoothed over,

we will cross this line

again and again





I swallow you like the truth I can’t stop pushing off


If this is selfish

I never want to be selfless again.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 4/14/17

View tallsquirrelgirl's Full Portfolio

Taking Pieces


I am free

But chained to my invisible ties.
He can't see me 
Or hear me.
He will soon forget my laugh,
He'll forget my smile.
I don't know why I willingly shackled myself in to start with. 
Signing my name in this contract of devotion
and heart consumption when
All I was given in return was heart-ache.
He walks freely,
Bearing the pain and all its glory.
Only for the time being.
To his peers he seems unchanged.
He appears confident;
the typical alpha-wolf routine.
Pain doesn't compare to loss.
Losing pieces
Losing pieces of myself
I thought would never come unfastened. 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

going through this relationship I realized pieces of me became lost from this world. the care-free, easy-going, confident pieces I wish everyday would comeback to me. 

What he's done.

He thought he's always right.

He thought he's always more important.

All he wants are his wants, 

   not mine, not ours.


Selfish is the correct word.

Nothing can replace him,

   But I just have to do it. 


I'm too attached, I'm finally admitting it.

It's scary, it's wonderful

   How funny he always makes me cry. 

View kaliforniakick's Full Portfolio

Grateful She was Not! [Poestory: Poetry + Story]

Like a philanthropist I extended my heart,

To support,

Her with all I had,

Being like a child glad.


Alas! She acted like the sly woman,

In “The Luncheon”,

Taking everything away,

Like a hijacker on the way.


How can a person be so selfish?

Perhaps I was foolish,

In helping her selflessly,

In a manner saintly.


After the initial experience,

I could fittingly sense,

What a mistake I committed!

Felt in my heart really bad.


The worst of it all was,

Asking for an act of kindness,

Poignant I was for the second instant,

When she like a mirror broke my heart.

View kingofwords's Full Portfolio

Writing About?

Everyday you write; you write poems,
stories of dreams and galaxies-
That Jesus Christ does not forgive the
condemned, you write thoughts of those
over there; fantasies of death and how
the mind shall continue thinking after
death ...
Everyday it is your dosage; peace of mind
is telling all your lies, shame, and love to
these pages virgins of your rudeness ....
You write about a manipulated innocence,
of concubines with bat wings, woman's face,
and body of a serpent-
Everyday you write; you write that maybe
God does not want you, or you him- Bullshit!
You write of your almost riches, victories,
and defeats ... that only Mary Jane is your
All the days begin differently, with different
people, unknowns, and shadows of love ....
but always end the same, with these pages
in mind, they open accounts of how all your
wishes and dreams into reality are becoming,
and these pages I only want to tell my story.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

these pages bleed me!

View soulkritic's Full Portfolio

Que Escribes?

Todos los Días escribes; escribes poemas,
historias de sueños y galaxias-
Que Jesucristo no perdona a los condenados,
escribes pensamientos de los de haya;
fantasías de la muerte y como la mente hasta
muerto pensara…
Todos los Días es tu dócil, tu tranquilidad es
contarle todas tus mentiras, vergüenzas, y
amores a estas páginas vírgenes de tus
Escribes de una inocencia manipulada, de
concubinas con alas de murciélago, cara de
mujer, cuerpo de serpiente-
Todos los Días escribes; escribes que tal vez
Dios no te quiere, o’ tú a el- Pendejadas!!
Escribes de tus casi riquezas, victorias, y
derrotas… que solamente la marihuana es tu
Todo los días comienzan diferente, con diferente
gente, desconocidas, y sombras del amor….
pero siempre terminan igual; con estas páginas
en la mente, abiertas les cuentas que todos tus
deseos y sueños en realidad se están
convirtiendo, y solo a estas páginas les quieres
contar mi historia.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

estas paginas derraman mi sangre!

View soulkritic's Full Portfolio

Back Log Prose

I powered on my computer and waited impatiently for the login screen to appear. The desktop was running slower than it generally does, which cost me a few minutes before I was able to clock-in, but I was a half-an-hour early so it's not like it mattered. The Cincinnati skyscrapers loomed in the distance, catching the orange light of the sunrise which gave them a drastic contrast against the thick, grey clouds that retreated into the morning behind them.

It's the start of another work week at Southwest.

Much of the time, I'm not actually working when I'm at the office. I get enough done so that nobody asks any questions about my production, but more often than not, when I appear to be diligently typing figures into a valuation, I'm actually writing something for myself. When I appear to be deeply involved in an investigation that will hopefully yield some comparable sales to be used, I'm probably reading something completely unrelated to work altogether. If anybody knows, they obviously don't care. I get about thirty valuations done a day, which I'm told is a lot, all the while keeping my mind occupied with other things, listening to music and occasionally wandering off just so that I can look at something that isn't a flat-screen monitor for a moment. Some times I'll e-mail my friend Melissa, usually only if I find something funny about a borrower's name, or if the name of the town I'm working on in North Carolina is something perverted like Climax or Cumming (both of those are real towns, though I can't remember which states they're in).

I do enjoy my job, and I want to succeed at it. Though I do goof off, I am sure to not allow myself to slack so far that my work actually suffers. I think that if I were to completely cut myself off from any and all distractions, that my work wouldn't really improve as I would become frustrated much more often, which, in turn, would make me more likely to half-ass a valuation in order to get it out of my queue.

Maybe I'm just making excuses so that I can keep writing whatever this is that I'm writing at the moment.

Anyway, it was an eventful, drunken weekend. I look back on it fondly, but it also has brought something kind of serious to my attention: I have to stop hanging around my buddy Kevin when we go out to bars. Unless I am the only boy my age in the room, girls almost never notice me. I must have a way of blending into my surroundings. I don't do it intentionally; more than anything else, I want women to take notice of my presence, and to be interested. But when Kevin's around, everything gets worse. The man is over six feet tall, has black hair and dark skin, is in good shape, and man, all of the ladies just lose their shit over him. He never acts on anything, which somehow makes it all the more frustrating, but regardless of his complacency, women absolutely fawn over him. I hate that I have jealousy issues at all, but what can I do? Even Emily, the one-time love of my life, told me point blank, to my fucking face, that Kevin is better looking than I am. I don't know if you've ever experienced that, having the girl that you loved more than anything or anyone else tell you that one of your best friends is more attractive to her than you, but I can tell you from my own firsthand experience that it will fucking ruin you, at least for a while. Hell, it seems like it partially ruined me for good; I can't seem to shake the thought of it no matter what, and even now, it's proving to be completely true.

Do you think I sound shallow, talking exclusively about looks and outer-appearances rather than a person's personality or intelligence? You may not believe me, but these are beliefs that I have acquired and learned quite recently. I mean, I've always been told by friends and family that I'm a really handsome, attractive guy. But people that are close to you certainly aren't going to say that you're ugly as sin, nor will they let it slip that you're simply average unless you beat it out of them. So it must be true then, that my looks are just not good enough to stand out in a crowd, and therefore, I am the constant, accidental chameleon, blurring into the muddled colors of the walls that I lean against.

And here I thought that I'd managed to improve myself enough to warrant a few admiring glances from across the room. But I suppose not. And clearly, that means that I need to acquire fame and fortune as soon as possible. I mean shit, I already have an office job, a decent wardrobe and a nice car, and yet I still cannot get any women to appreciate me on a shallow level, which is the ONLY LEVEL that seems to fucking matter at this point. Girls will let me know man, they will fucking let me know when they aren't interested, and it's always just because I don't look how they'd like me to look. I'm always myself, I'm always kind, I'm never creepy and I never come on too strong. I'm just not good enough to be considered, and as far as I can gather, it's just because of the fact that I don't stand out.

But vast wealth and my name on a Wikipedia page would earn me some admiration no matter what, wouldn't it? Sure, much of it would be completely false or based upon something unstable and ultimately fake, but what does it matter? I'd take it where I could get it, and move on, just like everyone else seems so able to do even now. Maybe if I ever get around to writing my book, I'll get lucky and it'll sell. Then I'll be a published writer, and people will have to take notice of me for something. Women would flock to me because of my "depth" and my "talent" despite the fact that I'm pretty sure Larry the Cable Guy had a best selling autobiography out a while back. Then, afterwards, I can focus on releasing my poetry and continue working on other books. Life will good and complete, and I may, finally and at long last, feel this "contentment" I've heard so much about recently.

On the flip side, if my life were to end tomorrow and I saw it coming somehow, I think I'd be ready. I'd be more than ready; I'd welcome it with open arms and I would happily say goodbye to my friends and family, as this death that comes to embrace me was not a choice that I have made, but rather a choice the fates have made for me. And I'm sure they would be sad, and probably a bit confused by my reaction to my own impending doom, but whatever. Regardless of the cause or any plausible solutions, being constantly unhappy for years is really, really difficult. Thoughts of suicide aside, I still fear death somehow. The thought of being struck by lightning while caught in a terrible storm is oddly terrifying to me some times, despite the unlikelihood.

I think it's clear that I know nothing about what I want in this life.

Well, no. I want love.

It's all very confusing.

View sivus's Full Portfolio

To Dream it was just a Nightmare

i used to cut myself...
i used to cry myself to sleep...
i used to dream it was just a nightmare...
i used to think of nothing but death...

i used to think i would never survive...
i used to think i would never find happiness...
i used to think i would kill myself...
i used to think i was the only one to get hurt...

blood would dribble down my arm...
the numbing pain seized up my pale bleeding limb....
the fast, sharp, gleeming blade caught a chunk of skin...
my arm began to bleed...
it wouldnt stop, i held the blade within my shivering hand...
then i thought "when will the blood stop.."
but it didnt....
my colours faded...
the world went black and white...
i began to fade.. into the darkness....
the night began to swallow me up...

i used to cut myself...
i used to cry myself to sleep...
i used to dream it was just a nightmare...
i used to think of nothing but death...

im sitting here in heaven looking down on people i left behind...
some may say im selfish...

and now, im wishing... that nightmare was just a dream...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

sorry if anyone gets offend, i hope everyone is mature enough to handle this.
ash :) xx




   There was a time, I believe in it,

Or though I did!

Pains is selfish and when I first try,

I never spare a though for the ones,

I would left behind,

But still, I would even to these days,

Argue that mental anguish can be so strong,

It can make the most strong,

Blind to the rest of the world,


As One, I watched those who choose the final exit,

Some was friends, family one my first love.

The ones who have gave me the strength to live,

Was often the ones who choose to cut short,

Their talents, I wonder if the weight of creativity,

Is no gift but a burden, too heavy for the genius?

Everywhere I look up too those who have planted the seed,

Of my passion, seems to have perished from it.


These days, I drifted from one light to night,

Because like all things in life,

No-one can pass judgement upon one despair,

Everything’s in life is a choice,

Call them cowards, weak or whatever pleases your ears,

It is their choice and no humans have the right to be their judge!

Too many have kept secret the agony, to protect their love ones,

Who has the right to ask one to live for others?

I was under the impression; this life was given to me,

Not to breathe to please the crowd,

And if I disappointed you, it was not to hurt you,

But to cease the anguish, who was eating me…


But then again, when In May, I woke up in intensive care,

I was blessed not to remember anything’s,

Days and nights in the coma and no light at the end of the tunnel.

They say, I don’t have any souvenirs for Almost 1 week before,

Because peoples who hang themselves, starve their brain from oxygen,

I guess it was not the right time, 3 minutes and it would have been all over.

But after days in a coma, I open my eyes and saw the faces of my loves ones.

Their was no tears, it was too late for that, or too lucky for it,

All I know, I try to look up to the light,

Despise I still don’t know, where I stand!

In the shadow or the morning rise?





This poem is in no way for you to choose what I did, as I say, we are all in charge of our destiny, find the light.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

hopefully 1 learned from his mistake!

View margot's Full Portfolio