Peter Watkins
Peter Watkins
1 hour ago      1 second ago

We sit in the darkness not sharing looks.
I notice the orange spot of a cigarette light up.
It's in your hand and held by the book.
Nothing rebellious can pour us a new cup.
We drank all of the passion up last night
and now there is nothing in sight...

I thought the rush would last for eternity.
My belief carried me as yours did you.
Only now do I realise how shallow the affinity,
was between me and you; every last bit was untrue.
I wanted your mind, your body, your everything.
But there's nothing more to take, not even an inkling.

We're not lovers, not by a long shot.
Just pathetic, shallow thrill seekers out for nought.
Last night your eyes with light they did blot.
Only now do I see that was only my thought.
But please don't blame yourself, for what you can't ignore.
Don't blame yourself for wanting more and more and more.

Because I want more too, I want that rush again.
I don't care that it won't last, don't care who it's from.
I know what I need and I choose the rain.
I want to be drowned in pitiful pleasure so welcome.
Deliver my love and leave me be,
then return when you are truly ready,
to repeat our addiction again...

So, this was a thing, hope you enjoy the darkness of this romantic piece - Peter
Skyler Molina
Skyler Molina
26 minutes ago      1 minute ago

Each day gets brighter, while my eyelids slowly glide to the ground.
Summer is here but all I see are gray skies & snowy roads.
The world is calling my name but you can't hear the screams from where my heart is located.
I gasp for air every couple of seconds, but god's disguised hands keep pushing me back underwater.
The further I run away, the closer I get.
All of the lights go out right as I arrive to the last chapter.
I am burning down as my house just stands there & watches.
The one thing that would actually pour water on me to put the fire out was the one thing that had no access to it.
I get told "congratulations" & all I hear is "stop smiling".
Love turns to dust & death turns to sunflowers
(Sunflowers were her favorite).
Holidays do not exist anymore.
Days do not exist anymore.
Time stands still, as my thoughts run in place.
Forbidden memories have come outside to play.
Only pens that have runout of ink can truly express my thoughts.
Life as we all know it is pulling back the curtains, & taking its final bow.

ps - the sun only seems to shine on the days that I have no willpower to bring my eyes to the surface; & the scent of her palms was the only thing worth noticing

Ethan A Solouki
Ethan A Solouki
1 hour ago      40 minutes ago

Engines roar
The blacks crow
While the whites soar.
Trees they whistle
the plants wait,
Birds chirp,
The wind sizzles.
Humans communicating,
Roaming the surface.
Few may stay for some time,
Though soon enough comes their decline,
Decay, back down the opposite way.
In and out, expand & retract, forward and back
Solid to ash, consumption to trash.
Rock to sand, sand to glass
Glass to observe other mass.
The ash & mass come together once again
Solid for some time.
Eventually, rivers of wine.

Observation of patterns in life.
#sad   #life   #happy   #thought   #think   #observe   #cosmos   #pattern   #cycles   #duality  
Heather Awad
Heather Awad
6 hours ago      44 minutes ago

There's the air and the wind
and the sun and the moon
and our little nest
made of twigs and
soft fallen blooms.
On top of the world
in harmonic flight
follow you, follow me
in glorious delight.
Please sit for a while
as the river rushes by
I'll take you into my wing
sing you a lullaby.
We'll close our eyes
and rest cheek to cheek
wake melodious and refreshed
with kisses, oh so sweet.

punk rock hippy
punk rock hippy
1 hour ago      50 minutes ago

It takes two to make a couple.
What do I have?
A single? I have two singles so doesn't that make a double.
A daddy and a mommy, that's what I'm ment to have right?
But what happens when we walk out on daddy?

We got out of there so fast some people thought we were waiting for the right minute or right second.
We go out of there so fast she forgot to leave his last name.
She still wears it to this day.

Some people might think its right or its dead wrong.
I think it's black and white.

His heart was in the mountains, hers was in the hospital chained up to all the machines.
He broke free but we're the ones who left.

His heart is still on the mountain and hers is in her chest.

Dad had to be mom but mom couldn't be dad, he was nowhere to be lost and nowhere to be found.

They used to yell like it was the law, or maybe they liked the sound of their own voices a little too much.
He never laid a finger on her, I think she was waiting for him to.
She was waiting for that right minute or second.

Some people thought he might.
I knew he wouldn't just like black from white.

Bless that childhood.
Bless that house.
Bless not being able to remember.

Remembering is one thing while reliving is another. Everyday you've gotta relive it.  

No one will understand why my dad's eyes look like the hospital lights.
I think it's cuz he used to look at the dead tile waiting for mom.
They just got stuck in his eyes.

Maybe it's the moon, it shines bright enough.
He can see the moon perfectly from his mountain.
His hearts there.  
I know it ain't here.

When we left I dropped my heart on the mountain. We left so fast I didn't know what to do.
My heart didn't know nothing.
Not even black from white.
Its sorta grey.

The last thing my dad saw was my braid swinging from left to right.
My daddy could braid just as perfect as black and white.

One of my first poems
Love you dad
#sad   #loss   #mom   #dad   #black   #white   #divorce   #mountain  
Sia Jane
Sia Jane
1 hour ago      51 minutes ago

Maybe those afternoons,
were meant for,
that simple meeting,
amidst the quiet,
breviloquent chatter,
raw, uncompromising,
blissful uninhibited emotion.

Resounding cups,
mismatched china,
jasmine, rose, lavender tea,
celestial gardens,
plants; leaf-bearing
chinking lipped tea cups,
saucers pooling.

Immaculately intricate,
of Hadrian Denaruis silver,
an eighteenth century delight,
for ladies; un salon de thé,
sound waves wander as tea diffusers,
ritual & routine,
friendship & freedom.

© Sia Jane

I miss reading poems here so so so so much. I am so busy and too busy to even write at the moment. BUT I will be back around soon once things slow down. Miss you guys xxxx
2 hours ago      55 minutes ago

(By Brook Ilges and
Sverre G. Holter)

There's fire in it. Chestburn. Lungs
And lava, heart in heat; blood
Boiling. When I move,
Steam escapes from between
My ribs.
They cage a dragon's mouth.

Our edges cauterize
Unable to stabilize this searing
Electric firestorm
We coalesce into colors
Streaming through our nerve
Pulsing the rhythm of ages
Into the space between our gazes
Your scalding hide sets us apart
A rough reminder of the scars that
Stitch beneath

Sometimes I find myself.
Sometimes I find myself
Biting down on
Whatever is left of myself
After the vulcano sighs and
Withdraws its black; its
Ashes; its pieces of planet's
Core, just to hold onto
Something with
Sometimes I wonder if
The memories of surgical
Sutures are all that keep me
From falling apart.
Take my mouth; I'm saving
My hands for
My heart.

Darkness falls, low light lingers
I trace the confines of your cage
The lock rusted and still
A key exists, the heart resists
Too damaged to offer naught but numb
Cutting through pumice walls
Fiery thorns thick, penetrate with ease
Such paltry designs of recovery
I'm fading fast
While you still burn.

And while one of us fades burning,
The other burns fading, and all is as
It all should be, as two stars
Decide not to form a solar system, but
Instead to brush themselves into a painting
Of a dream that a child that has yet to
Become just dreamed; awoke from
And whispered: "I want them to
Be my mother and

Sverre is the regular script, mine is italic.
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