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Unobtrusive Apr 2018
Memories

How you linger
Stinging and staining
Remaining and reminding
Of the binding ties
The blinding highs
And lows so steep
Blows so deep
Reaping, creeping
Leaping from tower tops
Falling, flailing to the crops below
Knot on the head
Ears pick up knocking
Arms blocking
Stocking on locks
Rocking on the floor
Poor boy
Never had a dream
Bereave him and leave him the keys
Heaves up blood
Studded in his cellar
Paler than snow
No glow, so low

Woe
Lament for him
Repent for him
Resentment was not meant for him
Sent to the wrong address
Tested and regressed
Restless and directionless
Ingestion of confession became
Nestled, cottled
Modeled and bottled
Startled and shocked
Hardened, unpardoned
Parted like the Red Sea
Like the Red blood  
Running down like tears in those
Red eyes
Ready to cry like those
Fed eyes
Ready for demise like those
Dead eyes
Don't be surprised

And what a soul could know
How the memories linger
Rebel Heart Apr 2018
...
And that was when
I finally realized
My demons made home
In the valleys of where
My wounds ran so deep
They became scars
Full of ghosts and regret
Echoing nothing but
The deafening screams
Of silence once lost
(I'm going to post up pieces of this particular poetry collection in the next few days that RebelHeart never got to publishing from years ago. I just miss her a little extra and I've always regretted not being able to see her hurting in the years past. Now that I do know she's hurting, I can't help her. Funny how life works. ~BM)

(Front Page 4/26/2018)
Brooke Davis Apr 2018
I dream of your phantom at night,
spectres with empty promises
that tempt me all the same
and im reunited with my childhood daze.

I give in to the visceral wanting,
to your sweet shadowy haunting.
I am reminded of what I feel still,
old skeletons in the closet.

Cobwebs try to blur your memory,
but no matter how many times I attempt to banish these old demons,
I am still left with the ghost of you wandering my mind.
Isabella Terry Apr 2018
Skeletons in the closet,
Voices in your head.
Cobwebs in the corners,
Monsters under the bed.

Ghosts from the past,
Shadows on the floor.
If I face mine,
Will you face yours?
Suhani Varshney Apr 2018
Please don’t go slow
Because then I’ll wonder if we’re going forward or you’re letting go
If you love me
Then let me know
I’ll never let you go
So let’s speed up
We’ll go fast
And forget about that tragic past
Don’t speak of him
Like you love him too
Because if it’s true
Then there’s nothing I can do
I love you with everything that I’ve got
And in my heart you’ll always have a soft spot
So break me until you’re satisfied
Just be there at the end of the ride
I can go through anything for you
Just make sure you won’t do it for him too
I know I’m nothing special
I know I’m not what you wanted
But I’ll love you more than anyone
So don’t leave my memories haunted
So tell me you love me and we’ll never be apart
So here, you can have my hopeless broken heart
the Brickhouse is where you'll find them
it was here long before the school
it is where Jane lived
and where she died tragically
poor Jane
locked in the attic like a dangerous animal
and her only crime was that her mind slipped
so the story goes

and find them I did
I could not hear or see them until I viewed
what I had on film
there I found them dancing about
up and down the stairs like children playing
I made my way to the attic door
but could not go in
the weight of sadness filled the air like dense fog
I knew Jane was here

on film I hear their voices
distant...
sometimes it is children laughing
sometimes they mock me
''He knows Persley'' a gentleman sarcastically states
after my reciting the first line of
'Roses are Red'
at least one did not appreciate my being there
"Get Out" she demanded
and then the sad voice pleading as if lost in the wood
"I Hear You" she cried
"I Hear You"
is it Jane?
I will return
to hopefully gain trust in those that reside here
for I must know
more
oldie - a house where Jane lived and died..I've recorded voices orbs noises and direct responses to questions or requests. this is where my ventures into the paranormal began - the Brickhouse
june Apr 2018
I sit back and listen.
I am in the forest, sitting in the grass.
Surrounded by mountains, the sun kisses me.
The flowers bloom.

I open my eyes.
I am not where I thought, sitting in a room.
Waiting for myself to bloom.
Into what I was before.

Can I go back?
Just for a little bit?
I ask myself, if I really want to.
I realize that there are better things in store.

If I can just hold on for a little longer.
Rebel Heart Apr 2018
My memories were those
I had yet to live,
My soul imprisoned
In the depths
Between life and death 
...
But in the nothingness
I found everything
I found hope,
And everything I ever craved
...
I found love-
Enough love
To finally break through
The cracks of reality
I had first called my life
...
And yet
I live and breath so deeply
Sometimes I swallow the nothingness
I so desperately try to hide

For I am haunted
By the things I've forgotten
And forgotten
By ones I'm haunted by
...
Just to be blown to dust
Once more into the nothingness
Like a fugitive
Running away from time
(Small pieces of a long-winding poem that hit me right in the heart today. ~BM)
Jas Apr 2018
Terrors collected behind the barb and glass
Rising from the chimney of the lantern
In surfing shadows along each wall
He plunged in to slumber emphatically,
And they followed him there.


                                  ~ Mom & Dad
letters from Fears
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