Anonymous Poetry

Submit your poetry (Anonymous or not).
Feel free to make comments and give constructive criticism to any other that have been posted.

Jul 28

the Dreamer

He closes his eyes

and is taken away

he disappears from existence

though he is still there.

He sees random fragments of his past

put together into a story


he sees things that never were

sometimes he sees creatures

which never walked the earth

and sometimes

just sometimes.

he sees himself

and everything about him.

he sees his passions and fears

his hopes and his losses

and he sees his dark side

and all the evil inside him

he sees how tormented he really is.

but he also sees his bright side

how kind and loving he ever was

but in both he sees sadness

and in both 

he sees some sort of pleasure.

even in his dark side. 

but then again.

that only happens sometimes.

sometimes he goes on an adventure

sometimes he dies.

and wakes up.

but since he’s a dreamer.

he lives many different lives.

one moment he’s a painter

and he can create beauty and life with nothing but paint.

and then the next moment he’s a killer.

a killer with nothing inside his horrible head

except death and fear.

it scares him.

but he knows that monster is him.

he sees the bloodlust in the killers eyes.

or rather, in his eyes.

and it is unsettling.

but he doesn’t mind.

sometimes he writes poetry.

poetry without rhyme.

he doesn’t expect anyone to read it all the way through.

he takes his dream

and puts it on paper.

it is called poetry.

but sometimes

he takes his dream

and turns it into sound. 

and that is called music. 

Then he wakes up.

Five Years Gone

Five Years Lost,
Mind astray, shattered heart,
The life pursued; a false trail.
Frozen in time.

Soul cries for freedom,
The chains are taut.
Forever a slave to misguidance,
Alone in the dark.

Mirror image remains blank,
Friends swept away.
Ambition drained,
Self worth gone.

Chains tighten, pain sets in,
A light appeared,
An angel stood present.

Soul awakened,
The light grew bright.
Chains loosen,
The angel lifts me.

Happiness sets in,
The angel revealed,
The key to my everything.

False hope,
She’s already a muse,
Not for me, never can be.
Soul cries for her.

Self inflicted pain,
No not the reason,
My soul is a prisoner to love.
Still waiting for my heroine.

I can do this. Im falling apart.

this is sweet life is tart.

I’m ready this stinks.

Im not stressed at all! I can’t even think.

thats reality for you.

I dreamed of you last night

Your touch was warm

Like the sun’s first light

Just after the tropical storm

Like fire it spread, burning

Me up from the inside out

Light me up with yourself


I cannot love you

You’ll only make it hurt


Perhaps that’s what I want.


He was the ocean,

calming and uncontainable.

He was the feeling of the waves

As they crashed against her ankles.

And the smell of the salt water

Burning her eyes.

He was the wind.

With each fragile step she was careful not to fall down.

She held on for the sake of her heart,

And tried not to blow away.

He was the earth.

Moving and shaking day after day.

Rattling the thought of her very existence.

Destroying everything she knew with each word he spoke.

He was the fire when he hurt her.

He was the feeling that she got when she inhaled the smoke

and realized that fire will always burn you.

And mother nature isn’t always kind.

If you decide to post please just credit me with my initials -A.S, thank you.


Some days I wouldn’t even mind waking up next to 8 empty bottles of wine

and maybe 2 or 3 new faces that I don’t even know

and the thought of wondering “where are my clothes?”

I’d have pink confetti stuck in my hair.

New shoes that I would only ever wear on Saturday nights

for maybe only 1 or 2 hours because they’re not even mine because I don’t fit size 7.

I’m not asking a whole hell of a lot

just the thought of maybe waking up and doing more shots

because life’s better when there’s no in between.

I want this to be a reality, not just a dream.



Alcohol, the taste maker of death,
the bringer of pain and contentment.
A actuality so cloying yet so bitter,
one sip will deluge your being and obscure your analysis.

so why you ask? 
why do we take such pleasure in the intoxication
of body and soul?
something we know may seize our last breathe and cripple us to our knees.

the answer is simple,
one not to query.
we are all in this laybrinth,
and how exactly are you getting out?

A Requiem

(For how long do they stay –

            they stain only a smattering of vague unconscious moments before they leave

            without returning,

            those visitors of an older time who go down with the sun.)

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