mystymizer

ties from burgundy carpet rugs my back is burnt just as bad as bad as the burns you left beside my lungs large flakes feel like chalant dates times that ...

I greet the busy lines of tired eyes Red fingers crisp from the tricked weather Icy fences with cardinals losing themselves The streets still full of dirtied snow Tire tracks ...

These words so foreign to my lips. When will my voice be able to say it? I hope it will soon come to me, just like the way it falls ...

I'm waiting for it to ripen, freeing my mind from all cares forgetting about my sin, giving up all these shares. It will bring suspense. I withdraw in solitude, grasping ...

So I'm wondering whose playing with spoons, Singing these songs and strumming out tunes; Filling our night with some sort of reprise. Who's deep within their own disguise? Just a ...

And there it was found. A once strangled hope cried out, I now know I cannot live without; For from your eyes spirits sprout, What else is there to write ...

Black fire paralyzed their eyes. Their presence disturbed none- a simple change in the wind. He cringed into a small corner, face splattered with dark mud. These chills questioned no ...

This is for beckiw's "Story From a Photo" Contest where you have to create a story inspired by a photograph. I hope you enjoy and please critique...If you review me, ...

This is an odd poem with strange structure. I wrote it how I felt inspired to write it. We keep falling backwards on all our regrets, Stepping around rotten petals ...

This poem is meant to be short but you can comment on the length if you really want to! Short clasps around my damaged heart; To bleed, to lead me ...

This is the first chapter to the short biography of my life that I am writing to basically keep track of things. It's called "Get It" and the first chapter ...

This sonnet was written about the first girl I ever fell in love with (and still am in love with). She was generally referred to as Alice, her favorite Disney ...

Standing against these waves, My feet flogged with mud. Shoulders hunched by problems, a weight I cannot handle. I can taste the salt seeping into my wounds. A buoy holds ...

Why do we do what we do, the way we do it? This universal feather becomes almost dead to us. Cris-cross our lines entirely, but keep far back. Shake up ...

* Meant to be almost like a stream of consciousness ballad. * Sauntered up to that tree earlier today, the one that invokes wonder in my soul my perfect solid-self ...