How to move on.Remember what it is that has broken youHow to move on. by ~valkvick
and reforged you along intricate shatter lines;
remember what it was that made you panic
in dusty corners and sob quietly into your fist
while you hoped (knew) that your coworkers
would pretend that you were taking
yet another bathroom break because
they didn't know what to say to you anymore;
remember how it felt to hide all those years while you
display your external scars for the world, watching
with guarded interest as a select few who are smart enough
not to comment glance your way with respect.
Acknowledge that your past has changed you
into someone that you were never meant to be.
Consequences Be DamnedSheConsequences Be Damned by ~valkvick
glows with
a secret
knowledge; and the
electricity whispers through dancing
irises; I am reminded of the
devastating
power of
reckless
hope.
IdentityIIdentity by ~valkvick
think you
are the main
reason that I
shy away from pain; we are caught in this
disquiet dance of he-said, she-said. It
depletes me; an
exhaustion
that I
am
not
skilled at
explaining
away. You say
that I deserve this, that all I touch and
taste (and break) will rot me within the steep
confines of a
sickened, blank
mind; but
who
are
you to
judge me, I
insist. Who, to
assume--to decide--with your maddening,
deadened logic, what I know? What I feel?
What I choose to
believe? And
who I
am?
AutobiographicalI am not definedAutobiographical by *apple-fresh
by the way my eyes
flutter
or stutter,
or the way my mouth
cups blisters
instead of flowers
I am not a word
lost in a dictionary
or an unspoken writ trapped
in the chambers
of your unrequited mind.
I am not defined
by the way your words
roll of my tongue
or the silence
that comes without them
this is the definition
of a legacy:
veins dripping with blood
seeping through the valleys
of these papyrus bones
and raven feathers unfolding
the beauty of their afterlife.
The spine-sewn pages and
their only story
unraveling fast
like a motion picture,
the art of
ink staining vast oceans
of whitewash
to fill the memories
of fragmente
why can't i love you enough whywhy can't i love you enough by ~ryka-the-fallen
loving you
[and, or]
leaving you
i am afraid
can't
two months
too selfish
to commit
i
missing you
and hating myself
are two sides
of the same coin
love
how can i
be your antidote
if you are dying
by my poison
you
i hate
how i helped you
to break down
further than your hell
enough
Your daughter is dead. The man who opened the door of the apartment was grey and tired looking. He was wearing a very tatty suit and very scuffed shoes and a very lopsided tie, and there was a darkness around his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and restless days. He didn't say anything, just looked at the man on his doorstep like he wasn't sure who he was or what he was doing there.Your daughter is dead. by *sentienttree
That makes two of us, thought Calead gloomily, as he peered over the man's shoulder into the little, scruffy room beyond him. There were stains on the peeling wallpaper- smudgy, dark ones around the lamps and stove, grainy, sooty ones around the window, a single splashy grey one that looked like a spilled drink, a pale, bleached one that could have been anything.
The man asked him who he was, asked him if he was here from the landlord, said he didn't have the rent, but he would, soon.
dA Love 
. It's exposed me to some fabulous people. Glory Be! I think that with the feedback I've been getting, my writing has improved at least a little.
Thank you for reading, critiquing, and enjoying my work. It means the world to me.
Sta.sh
