Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kerri Jan 2016
The feathery touch
Of your skin
Is so sincere and warm
My blood starts throbbing beneath.
The bond between
Our hearts
Is strongly entwined
Obtaining a new truth.
Your breath,
Your touch,
Your gaze,
All drive me sanely mad
I no longer choke
On my own loneliness
Because you are my new clarity,
Igniting a flame in my soul,
Jumbling the insides
Of my stomach
In some chaste way.
I'm naive to your potency,
The fool...
Letting your love
Stain my heart
With no regrets.
A poem I wrote when I was 17
Ejiogu Stanley Nov 2015
I'm a flower in your hair
I'm the fragrance in the air
You're the laughter in despair
Hope in moments I can't bear
Fingers trace your every curve
You're the smile I can't but love
Stained and tainted, still a dove
Blessed, descended from above
You're the key to me it's true
I'm dead and breathing without you
Doesn't matter what you do
I'm hopelessly entwined with you
Awww
MsAmendable Oct 2015
Today, I looked up, And saw
a tiny stain in the shape of a bird
Pressed to my ceiling.
How ironic, I thought
That such a moment of freedom
endlessly trapped,
Is still so free for the bird.
I was looking at videos of black holes and how someone on the edge of one appears to stop moving (like a pause button) to any observers, but to the person it is just a moment passing before they move on. But in that one moment, they will live forever.
Baylee Oct 2015
The unique
drip-stain
left on coffee cups
is intriguing.

No two are
the same,
even if the same person
drinks from them.

But they aren't
all that different either.
A light tan drip
stains around the opening
in the lid
of each coffee cup.

Some are surrounded
by lipstick prints.
Others are just
a coffee drip-stain.
E Townsend Oct 2015
One day, maybe in two years, I’ll eventually
finally experience the rush
I’ve dreamt of the future
that I so terribly ached
for, that I would undoubtedly  risk
the factors of throwing away used

items that I no longer cherished, used
people only needed to be a stand-in, and eventually
the risk
will not catch up to me, since the rush
of real happiness overshadows the ache
like a penumbra clearing away in the future.

But it’s terrifying knowing that the future
will become a washed up, used
daydream to quiet the ache
I thought would never eventually
stop the overflowing rush
knowing that my biggest dream is entirely a risk.

I am willing to take the risk
so that my deserved  future
will swell over the echoed rush
coffee beans stained  used
cups will eventually
wash away ache.
supposed to be a sestina but I got tired and confused and frustrated, so I may delete this
Silence Screamz Aug 2015
Killed on TV
The shooter got three

Newscaster's nightmare
Filmed in the stare

Wonders did he need?
Bullets made them bleed

Click Bang Bang
Oh, What a stain!!

Gone in a moment
Stop the commotion
Another shooting in this country... Mentally unstable
oni Aug 2015
i sometimes hope
that i plague your mind
as often as you take over my own

because you are the only
consistent thought i have

and though youve become
more like a stain than a memory

ill never wash myself again
as long as your imprint
remains on my body
3:35am
Cat Fiske Aug 2015
I loved of milk stains from overflowed cereal bowls,
like too much love was the problem with you and I,
and not that you didn't grab a bigger bowl,
for all the love I wanted to pour out.

but like stains they fade away,
into backgrounds becoming nothings,
of somethings,
that were all once one thing,
worth the energy of the other side of what used to be,
but not everyone gets to be blown away by you,
others will do away with you,
leaving you.
to fade into the tables and become one,

you look at what you once had,
new milk fills the bowl never overstepping in things of love,
overspilling the love,
like you did,
and you'd cry if you weren't dried out.

and you look,
at what happiness they both have,
something you wished to of haved for the both of you,
and it tears your heart in two,
and you may cry on the inside,
but find it in your mind
that your heart may be broken,
but you need to let them fly,
and love,
for you couldn't love right,

and in that moment,
you shut your little milk stained eyes,
the right way to die,
is with tears of forgiveness,
and to remember and move on from the past,
and as you release a single dried out tear,
all of you fade into the background as if you were never there,
leaving no trace,
but your single dried out milk stain tear,
Just a few old Ideas I finally put together.
I am the stain
You are the white shirt
You can never appreciate me
Until you stop seeing me as a dirt
But as a work of art
It is all about how you see it.
Gita Jun 2015
Will my body remain a temple after you penetrate its innocence?
Will these hands be forever stained by filth and guilt?
Will the world forgive me for the sins in this lifetime?
Will I ever have the chance to see this corrupt ground rebuilt?
Next page