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Elliot A Nov 2013
Come darling, emit your sweet scent
Entice me around your flowing stem
Permit me to nestle upon your soft verges
To run hands through your vibrant colours
To dance, embraced as one, we blur
Spinning our deathly spin
Drowning in glorious, lustful sin

Come darling, reveal all you hide
Your vulnerable side
Shed that hard exterior shell
Fill my senses until overwhelmed

We waltz to the tune played
Many times before, oh how it has played!
Resting our heads on shoulders ledge
With a supple movement so slight

We swirl lightly, ever so slightly
Headed down to rest
Until the sun does rise again
And we repeat, nay, we play our lovers rhythm again
Liz Nov 2015
It's a darkness that surrounds you.
It covers your eyes,
And swims in your ears.
To keep you from seeing light,
Or hearing laughter.

Instead you see everything
In a dull and dark way.
Colors are no longer vibrant,
And lines seem to be blurred.
There is no more beauty in a sunset,
Or majesty in the ocean.
It's just water now.

And every sound is muffled now.
You can't differentiate your favorite song
From any other anymore.
The sound of laughter is more bitter than sweet.
Every song is the same bleak humm.
And laughter just makes me wish I was deaf.

The darkness even dulls touch.
A kiss doesn't make your heart beat fast anymore.
And contact seems nauseating.
A kiss is just a reminder
That nothing good lasts.
And most other interaction makes my skin crawl.

But now the darkness is in your brain.
In here, sometimes it's not dull at all.
Sometimes the darkness
Takes the shape of a monster.
A monster that whispers terrible things
And just gets louder when you try not to listen.
Sometimes the darkness
Feels like war inside your mind.

But yes, again, the darkness is dull.
Sometimes there is no monster,
No war,
And no yelling at all.
Sometimes when the darkness gets in your mind,
It becomes a silence.
I can't make out a clear thought,
Because all there is
Is silence.
The darkness takes the shape
Of death.
The silence, the nothingness of death.
And it becomes part of you,
Making your mind nothing but silence
And nothingness.

But the worst part about the darkness
Is my inability to communicate its existence.
I can't make anyone understand
The many shapes it can take.
How it can be torturous and loud
But comfortable just the same.

It's easy to talk about the monster,
Because it's something foreign and
Something present.
But everything else,
The dullness of senses
And the silence it becomes,
Can't be expressed.
Because in these forms,
The darkness is absence of life.
It's absence of color,
Sound,
Touch,
And thought.

And it's so hard to paint a picture
Of something that isn't even there.
I can paint a picture of a monster
With ****** teeth and devilish eyes.
But I cannot paint the nothingness
The darkness so often is.

And to me, nothingness is the most dangerous.
I can fight a monster.
But I cannot fight nothing.
Nothingness will swallow you.
It will take over your senses
And thoughts,
And eventually will to live.

Life is colorful.
Life should be loud.
Life should be funny.
And sometimes painful.
But when the silence,
The nothingness arrives,
There is no color.
There is no sound.
No laughter.
Or even pain.
There is no life at all.
Cath Williams Nov 2015
Jessie is seventeen.
She's still in school.
Her prospects are good, her future looks bright.
She likes to act cool,
As long as she deceives her feelings inside.

Jessie is seventeen.
She makes music.
It takes the strain of the words she's victim of.
She writes about conflict,
To try to make her life imaginary, her life without love.

Jessie is seventeen.
She sits at her piano.
Moving her hands along the ivory keys, keeping inspired.
She sometimes draws an arrow,
Allowing her fingers to slice and cut on the wire.

Jessie is seventeen.
She likes the smell of home baking.
If you cut your grass, she compliments the fresh scent.
She finds perfumes totally breathtaking,
When eating oranges, she takes in the aroma of each segment.

Jessie is seventeen.
She has sensitive teeth.
Ice cream is too cold, it sends up a pain.
She worries about what lies beneath,
And prefers it if the taste isn't too plain.

Jessie is seventeen.
She sees a lot.
For someone so young, she's been witness to much.
She got herself caught on a dodgy plot,
And uses her body, for her mind, as a crutch.

Jessie was seventeen.
She wanted to learn.
Her prospects were good, her future is bright.
Jessie was cool.
She managed to decieve her feeling inside.

Jessie was seventeen.
She felt things inside.
Society heard her cries,
But did not listen to her when she tried.
Now Jessie has left for a better life.
Where she'll no longer need to hide.
Yes, that's right, Jessie died.
Vanessa Marie Nov 2015
I look up at the falling leaves
Crimson,
Sunshine,
Jealous greens,
mingling with chocolate browns
Look down at me
Their kaleidoscopes of beauty intrigue
My curious wandering soul
Crisp breezes of summer's past tickle my skin
To it's compelling caressing touch
I breathe it in as it seduces my senses
With joys of Autumn holding me close
Ambika Jois Nov 2015
I don’t want you to go fishing
For salmon, when you can get ray;
If you’re fast enough, you can shoot –
– A hook around a horse’s tail.

If you’re patient,
You could weave through the jelly’s glow,
Glimmering softness through each filament,
Calming your senses from morbid to mellow.

I don’t want you to go fishing
For make-believe, when you know it stings;
If you’re strong enough, hold on –
– Gills and fins are just as brave as wings.

If you’re yearning for more and more,
Boundaries are all you’ll see;
If you’re ready to stop waiting,
Why are you telling me?
Marigold Oct 2015
Was willst du, was brauchst du?
- what do you want? What do you need?

Would the smell of my hair,
Or touch of my hand surfice?
Or prehaps solve everything?
Or do you need more?

Possibly the sound of my breath,
Could ease your beating heart;
Heavy and upset.

Or the taste of my lips against your own,
your neck,
your skin
- prehaps that could help to still your sense of unease,
Your certainty that nothing is quite how it should be.

And if not, my dear,
If all my attempts remain futile,
And lead to no bettering
The last I have to offer are my eyes.
Look deep, lover,
Pull me apart, piece by piece,
bit by bit
- and do not be frightened by what you see.
Until no doubt remains that you know every colour,
line and speck and space.

Then tell me, sweet one,
Is it all gone?
Portland, OR 26/7/15
Cné Oct 2015
Ah yes, the magic of human touch,
Trusting to warm my soul's skin
Tis nature of loves connection, as such.

My body accepts, oh if you only knew
Like an honored guest, I grin
Anticipating the pleasures, one of the few.

Skin to skin, our bodies converse.
Uninhabited, my mind wander
Deep inside, my craving thirsts.

Artful hands sculpt with purpose
Lulling layers open, you're quite the artist
Soothing caress melt my body formless

I'm yours, silently, I surrender.
As my flesh cries out for more
Arching waves of splendor

Rewarded my senses sated.
With newfound clarity reborn
Mind, body and spirit replenished.

I thank you for your gift of touch.
Lovingly, I would return the favor,
as such.
Nothing is spoken, just being open to touch is the reward.
Raghu Menon Oct 2015
Death ?

Is it just the process where your body stops functioning?
Your heart stops beating,
Your lungs stop contracting and expanding
Your brain stops the processing of signals
Your blood stops gushing through the highways and narrow roads within our body?
Your memory wades away and is erased forever?
Your senses make no sense?
Your body starts losing its heat and starts cooling down?
You yourselves sliding into a sleep from which you never comes back?

What happens to  “us”, “our” knowledge?
The feeling of “me” and “mine” ?
Our feeling  of this universe, the science, the philosophy?
The values that we have given to things, people, cultures?
Our view points, our process of putting things to its perspective?
Our interactions with people close and far?
Our love and affection to people  and theirs to us?
What happens to these rather complicated web of interconnectedness?
Is it that only our link gets cut when we die?
What happens to the energy between  me and the rest?

May be we have lived our lives.
We have done what we could have done
Or may be we have left some gaps which others may fill or leave
May be things would be better with out us being there
When others try to fill our space, they do it better
And if we can be an inspiration to them,
If we can be a cause for others to do things
May be we live through them
Our thoughts will live in them
And we live again

It is immaterial whether we live or not
For, things will get done the way it should be done
Either for good or bad
If we can be part of a vibe, part of a collective
Part of a movement
Which strives for a common good,
And if we can contribute in whichever small means and ways
The common vibe that is generated from the good energies  of a group
Then we live, even after our death
The values that we lived for
Will continue to grow and lead the world
For a better cause, for a better world
For a good today
and
For a brighter tomorrow
When you think about someone so much,
your dreams start to smell like them.
And you have to wash your linens
because your sheets started to smell like them.
Had to get a grip because when you breathed,
it still smelled like them.
What I'm saying is:
love isn't love when you're without them.
What is this. What am I writing.
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