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 Apr 1 Kat M
Debbie
Night sky
The giant gown of night sky
felt like smooth billowing black satin.
With vast embroidered fields
of shimmering stars of passion.
Spend with me the nights irrational.
The straight paths are always diagonal.
Scars and stars, a dark and light decoupage.
The tiny moment can one day be large.
It's the glitter days we long to enlarge.
Rational is a mortal chain
On sanity's barge.
 Apr 1 Kat M
Debbie
The Death of Desire

The arson of my dreams was set by me.
A brilliant blood orange glow.
Down an abandoned wreckage road.
Night and her dark velvet invitations.
Fuel my gasoline Lamentations.
A self inflicted burn, gives desire a final
blistering yearn.
Hope and wishes compose optimism's
lather.
But dreams are now dead blackened cadavers.
 Apr 1 Kat M
sena
today i turned 17
another year onto my life
another candle on the cake;
closer to being an adult
or
closer to my death
my perception of aging has always been obscured
unsurety fills me not knowing what lies ahead
but i no longer want to live "unsure"
im determined to live this last year of being adult-free ;
with no worries, no doubts
to live surely in everything i do
ill update again in 365 days.
i want to be 16 forever
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
That's the sound of a clock.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
What will you do when it stops?

Tick Tock, Tick Tock
That's the sound of a threat.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
When it stops you will be dead.
A moth ate my clothes
But I didn't really mind
'Cause he said he was a butterfly
 Mar 30 Kat M
Chetan
O and N
 Mar 30 Kat M
Chetan
Somewhere between okay and not,
like standing in a room with no doors—
not trapped, not free,
just there.

The world hums on,
but the sound feels distant,
like watching life through a window
you’re not sure you want to open.

It’s not pain, not peace,
just something in between,
a quiet weight, a floating ache,
a question with no answer yet.
 Mar 29 Kat M
C
I wonder if I will let myself eat cake on my birthday?
I don’t want 25 to be the year that I waste away.


Every sprinkle

is a number,

every morsel

fuels my hunger.


In the mirror,
stands my executioner.
Day three of swallowing the guilt
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