Never Forget Charloma Drive
First acknowledgment of Depression, for my husband (July 2013, 25 y/o) I lived on this road when we met as mid-teens
Not Always me, I know you can see. What a mess is she? A wit-lacking, lazy, open mind. Sometimes strange in peace and crying joy breached screams of cocky. Feelings low, our comfortable plateau. Remember a twinkle in her eye, life high on fresh free, so hungry. What do you perceive? Many merry; marry? Not she. Closing her eyes, a world spins by, too late, too busy with vanity. Delicately, piece by piece. place this mind-so puzzling-to your custom design. Down hill, spiraling through this negative fantasy, how can I be me? She's new, she's never blue around you. She's high, now why? Why?Why waste your time with...she's not me. Me? All kelly greens and sun shiny December smiles through crimson sighs. Don't question the significance of this street. She's beauty.
About the Creator
Melissa Oros
Macbre poetry. In 2013 I had an emotional breakdown. I notice now most of the inspiration comes from the darker place since then (before 2013), versus my older poetry being light, funny, passionate in love, etc.
Keep reading
More stories from Melissa Oros and writers in Poets and other communities.
Valentine's Day Massacre
In a glazed cast view of your smiling eyes I'll binge in hopes of second chances, and love everlasting. One so close we could read and hold it dear, so close it's almost here. Scrapbook pages blank with words, memories of sharp tips and blood flowing free of skin's reign. Look down at your feet, I beg of you, my blade goes deep. In the midst of all the chaos my heart is held hand in hand with yours, how can I be too? For long, so wishing the day to come when the mist clears and crimson skies fly far from here. And in the break of silent's night our doomsday is about. But there are no moaning half-tones to scare you away. A simple kiss shades of bright light of the endless and unguided. Melt away the light, sigh into me, relieve this never ending pain. I beg of you, take me please. This could be love, love for searing words that cause endless backfires of nice taunts and sweet smiles. My piercing screams are heard through thick head, and you never knew I was trapped inside. An illusion of happiness blinds the way home. Keep killing me softly with gentle graze and forbidden mishaps. My story quakes with lack of shine in fair coverings. My love shakes truth of all the hidden under lashes of such demand. This pin shivers sadly as if it knows it's fate, as do I in the hands of you. Sick sighs around bring inspiration to express pieces of sorrow as my mirror drops to board. I'll stand here, for all to see, and spare a weep over bloody dew. Destroy your sight, destroy the daggers in the wicked smile of man's breath. You did.
By Melissa Oros3 years ago in Poets
Spellbound (1945)
As part of my ongoing ambition to be a 1940s screenwriter, I have re-watched Hitchcock’s Spellbound. Of course, he is the master of suspense. During the 1940s and 1950s Hitchcock used his years of experience in the film industry to direct some of the most thrilling and frightening films of the era. They are full of heightened emotions, conflict and twisted plot-lines.
By Rachel Robbins4 days ago in Geeks
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.