Deja vu whispers mockingly encoded with a warning, as creeping thorns bind me piercingly. Lesson repetitive; imprisoned once again by my own absurdity, with pain as my teacher.
By Kami R. Taylons7 months ago in Poets
I couldn’t tell you the exact amount of days, Only that it’s been over a year. - Uninvited, though it was, It was only a matter of time
By Jebus! 7 months ago in Poets
Sing to me in pieces, My voice is lost in cadence. Hope reverberates in times of waves, Crashing into me in memory. I’ve lost myself in tides,
By A. Raphael7 months ago in Poets
Death is Hard, cold and final Death is Despair Death is A Poison Death is Here, there and everywhere Death is Darkness
By Edward Val7 months ago in Poets
I used to think I was trapped. In a life I didn’t choose. In rules I didn’t understand. In a story I didn’t write. Everything felt like pressure.
By Vocal Member 7 months ago in Poets
Please let this be a nightmare.. 🌀 You are tucked up in bed, Drained from daily-existence, The floor rumbles, Your butt clenches,
By Grz Colm7 months ago in Poets
Liking is a Feeling, but Trust is a Choice In interpersonal relationships, character is more important than personality. When judging a person, look at who they are, not just how they act.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharing7 months ago in Poets
A house full of rage and shakes, muffled voices spill through wafer walls, dragging, by chain, far heavier words. - Weighted words which carry a punch
By Reece Beckett7 months ago in Poets
The days of untroubled quiet in a tension-free body and mind are rare. Life is not simple or easy, and many times, not even fun.
By Andrea Corwin 7 months ago in Poets
I share a breath with your skin frost on wide windowpanes our warmed air as the rain pours from heavy clouds deep into the ancient red well
By Michele Nampalli7 months ago in Poets
*This is a poem regarding the repeated memory of traumas. It can be anything at any age. Enjoy!* My eyes are closed, Each sleepless night,
By Ashley Shiflett7 months ago in Poets
What Comes Back You can tell a lot about a life by what keeps returning to it. In my line of work, it is rarely money. Usually it is sorrow with a fresh haircut,
By Teena Quinn 7 months ago in Poets
