art

Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.

Man on the Street
Here you have it. Well, that is if you’re still keen on knowing the particulars of a typical night on these sordid streets.
By A. N. G.8 years ago in Poets
There's the Table!
There’s the table! The dining table! Oh how I wish I could see above it! But I’m sat at the children’s table, For my height restricts that which I yearn.
By It's my Write8 years ago in Poets
Depression
To say my depression is a straight forward person would be a lie, she's more like my favorite hair tie always close by and either is wrapped too tightly cutting off circulation or is slowly sliding down the back of my head. I don't remember when I got her or if I were to lose her would she end up right back on my wrist where she belongs. Some days she's a scrunchie; comfortable, soft, unnoticeable. Other days she's a rubber band; pulling my hair, almost unbearable, screaming at me reminding me she's there. Most days the thought of shaving my head so I no longer have to deal with the hassle of my hair tie anymore. But at the end of the day I'd rather be Rapunzel with some issues than a bald corpse
By Harley Jo8 years ago in Poets
Dark Thoughts
Sitting here thinking, I’m praying Mind's racing, as I keep going insane These impossible words rising up from the flames
By Raven Queen8 years ago in Poets
You Amount to Nothing
We are an army of metal Churned by the dirt We are reborn in blood soaked hurt Risen to reclaim this darkened stain That you seem to play
By Sickly Vindictam8 years ago in Poets
On the Fridge
There is just one magnet. There is Purple. There is Blue. There is Yellow. There are Lines. The sky is purple. The monsters are blue.
By B. Anonymous8 years ago in Poets
Outsiders (Lyrics)
You will never see what it’s like everyday. When all your thoughts do is run and play. They control every inch of you straight to the bone. Leave you feeling hopeless and more alone.
By Riley Zaminer8 years ago in Poets
Everyone Means Something
When life tries to get you down, Look up, left, right and all around. Who made this, who made that? It is what it is, The seam of an empty hat!
By Sarah Worley8 years ago in Poets
I Never Sleep on Saturdays
"I Never Sleep On Saturdays I... I never sleep... On Saturdays I don't know why (why), I just (I).... I just can't sleep....
By Amber Rees8 years ago in Poets
Were Most of Your Stars Out?
We are stardust. Beautifully radiating all we are, All we want to be. You tried to shine. You couldn't. Were most of your stars out?
By Shay Morgan8 years ago in Poets
Sun Adoring
So, this morning there was this tedious, slow thinking; An urge to forge, through the drinking of a coffee black, merged from the steam for my tongue to smack; So illicit it became, for I could not refrain, from drinking my thoughts, for whatever was sane.
By Frank Kemble8 years ago in Poets
Insomnia
Dancing with befriended demons that provide you with a false euphoria. You find the rhythm in the clockworks, the cogs being the instrument of a single thought that leads to another - maybe it is euphoria, maybe it is something to discover.
By Soul Feel8 years ago in Poets