Bismuth

I'm trying to be ok :)

The widow gets calls from her husband.

"Six feet below, come to me, My Dear".

peachpoetry

I Wanted to Die

I wanted to die because I was

The foam of the sea,

That sweeps and fills the rims

That was once a part of the ocean,

But crashed underneath the waves and turned into something different,

But still the same.

I wanted to die because I was

The caterpillar,

Filled with exhilaration and excitement

As the day I become a butterfly comes nearer and nearer,

Only to emerge from that sticky cocoon to find that I am a moth

I wanted to die because I was

The ugly duckling,

That really was a duckling.

I wanted to die because I was

A ghost.

Stuck in one place,

Screaming at the top of my lungs and not one soul looks up.

I wanted to die because I was

A procrastination

Constantly shrugging off the real issues,

The real life and real living

I wanted to die because I was

Not even a vibration in the universe

Not even a tiny speck,

Just blank space.

But furthermore, not even that.

I wanted to die because

I was the flower

That swelled up before it even bloomed

I wanted to die because

I didn’t understand anything.

I still don't.

Challenge

"To be or not to be." What is to be or not to be? Can you say that in the form of poetry? Let your imagination run wild and free~ Oh and don't forget to tag me ;)

Cover image for post To be or not to be?, by 17

17 in Stream of Consciousness

To be or not to be?

To be rude to the man who cut in line

Who stands two feet in front of me

With an arrogant smile

Quite satisfied that he will get there

One minute before me

To be angry at the ignorance

Of the masses who don't know better

Who are willing to nominate a tyrant

Because they are being targeted

By those promising everything

But secretly know nothing

To be devastated by the violence

That is on our tv's

And is created by our dollars

At the movies and the taxes

That we pay

I choose not to be

Not to be the one

Perpetrating such ugliness

To fan the flames of retribution

And pour gasoline on those

So rotten from hate

For being rotten on the inside

Is its own punishment

Even if they won't

Consciously admit it

Wrath decays your heart

And late at night

They have to listen

To the voice that whispers

That their selfish motives

Will be the downfall of mankind

So, I choose not to be

Not to be anything like them

Otherwise I can't

Look my child in the eyes and know

The world I am creating for him

Challenge

"He smiled but it didn't seem to touch his eyes..."

Cover image for post He Was Thinking, by 17

17 in Poetry & Free Verse

He Was Thinking

He was thinking

That lies came to his lips

Faster than they used to

And he wondered

At what moment

He became this way

He was thinking

That he used to listen

For birds out the window

Try to identify them

By their chirp

Now he only hears

The heater turning on

When he is staring at the wall

He was thinking

That it was all his thinking

That changed him

And he wondered

At what moment

He locked himself away

His smile never seemed

To touch his eyes

And so he went outside

And shut his eyes

And waited

For the next bird

To fly by

aspynleo in Poetry & Free Verse

Eat The Anger

Drown myself in donuts.

Cover me in chocolate.

Hide myself in honey

As I eat away the pain.

Buried in the butter.

Shrouded in the syrup.

Obscured in the Oreos

As I forget your name.

At least it's better this way.

At least food doesn't fight.

Stomach full,

Mind empty.

...Maybe just one more bite.

ALifeWitArt in Stream of Consciousness

Whatever

What a fucking tragedy: Life played out on burnt film, and the slow motion devices of its aphrodisiac depress me. And the endless glaring sun--it is yellowed with nicotine and thick with exhaust, and it follows me. It feels like Burden, and I am wet with guilt. The heated meandering Eye is condescending, and its mood reflects Desire seeping like honey in its scope.

I drove by your house.

Your car was gone,

and I burst into tears.

Last night, the thought of your empty driveway lonesome in the formidable moonlight haunted me. I paced awake, thinking about our paths crossing, and the undeniable lack of reasoning involved.

I question the motive of labeling Good and Evil, and the insatiable need to apply these theories to Everything. On a baseline of "happy," what does Sad really mean?

Shit happens like a solitary piece of tumbleweed lost in the desert. We scratch at the winding dirt roads and we howl with coyote; we hunt for the richest blood until we murder the prey. And when the moment passes removed from our digestion, we are materialized unquenchable.

And again the cycle of undoing spins faster, as we all try desperately to hang on.