What is want,
A craving or desire?
Consuming need
That sets the soul on fire?

To want is to wish
Though it may be greed,
To wish is to want
Or to be in need,

What is desire
Whether it be hers or his?
We may not know what we want
Or what want is,

Unrequited longing
That seems to smother,
We've all had it in some form
One way or another.

Tommy Carroll
Tommy Carroll
2 hours ago      2 minutes ago

I watch and  stand
and let a passing
cloud
hit by moonlight
make a rimmed
spectacle
of a distant want.

I shift my weight
and blink;
recalling wordless
feelings before
I put into words
those useless
aphorisms.

It's the words,
with their wanton
un-mouthed ache,
that bleat silently
against the ear,
tangling those
as yet un-marked
and un-surveyed
desires,
whose syntax'
obliterating duster
transforms an
ancient passion
into a grammatical
smudge.

I blink again
and return
to my frosted gate.
Pausing, I catch
a reflection
of the nearly moon
breaking free from
the hiding clouds-
and for an instant
my feelings,
unwritten,
unspoken,
return.

The Black Beast
The Black Beast
1 day ago      7 minutes ago

Would you rather start the day with a smile
And risk the chance of it getting broken?
Or would you start the day with a frown
Praying that there will be someone to fix it?

ghost
ghost
1 hour ago      9 minutes ago

Seeing you today felt like deja vu
mostly because last night
I had a dream
of you.

LizzywhothefunkC
LizzywhothefunkC
1 day ago      17 minutes ago

A Watcher in the distance
Emotionally charged stares
Thinking I'll speak to you
Keeping a close eye out
I feel your glares
You keep watching me
But you won't get me back
This time it's too late
So keep watching
That's all you'll ever be now
A stranger Watching me
Watching me be free
Watching me walking away
never looking back on yesterday
Watching life pass
Because of stubborn pride
Thinking of the days we were happy
The day a piece of me died
Keep watching you can see
I am happy now
So much better than I used to be
A wonderful life now
I was set free
Go on now, stop watching me

#ex   #relationships   #away   #gone   #done   #finished   #watcher  
Atypnoc
Atypnoc
35 minutes ago      19 minutes ago

I found out there was fire lingering beneath this skin,
but it isn't of desire and I don't want to begin
accepting death because a pressure expects breath because of flesh.
I need a cure that isn't time for expiration of the fresh.

For incessant insecure impressions,
For obscure convalescent depression.
For when the most unsure become expected to procure
From those defaulted most demure, the idolatry sense of pure(ity)

[Pure] (it evil answer idol along and so sure)
purity villains were right all along and so sure
maybe for eternity despite killing wrong I'm insecure.
'twas thought was sure
Now wrought hot fur-(y)
(Fur)[y motion] from the prime upon itself,
[Emotion]
To where the very notion of good health,
fuels firey devotion to destroy myself.

I found out there was fire lingering beneath this skin,
but it isn't of desire and I don't want to begin
accepting death because a pressure expects breath because of flesh.
I need a cure that isn't time for expiration of the fresh.

I'm where the very notion of good health,
fuels firey devotion to destroy myself.

Written about last month's serotonin syndrome, spurned by doctors who don't care to listen, and offer only, "what we are doing is the best that can be done."
About the suffocation of depression at the idea of THIS being the BEST WE CAN DO.

This isn't living.

For the growing hatred for myself. Unknowing the line that defines what is within my control and that which is not (neurological), the issues I am having and resulting inability to leave the house become attributed to lack of character. And i hate myself for losing tome, I hate myself for sleeping,  I hate myself for staying up. I hate myself for avoiding and I hate myself for isolating.

Thank God for the appointment on the 12th in Seattle with a neurologist and narcolepsy specialist.
#heartbreak   #sad   #depression   #heart   #alone   #sleep   #thoughts   #you   #awake   #narcolepsy  
Ron Gavalik
Ron Gavalik
38 minutes ago      25 minutes ago

Laying in bed alone, again,
in gray boxers and a whiskey stained t-shirt,
half drunk at 3 AM.
The few rational thoughts still rattling around
are pushed aside by creeping madness,
clobbered by the disillusionment of worthlessness
and death.

Closing my eyes brings anxiety.
Fifty-foot brick walls erupt from the ground.
The walls tower over the bed.
The walls imprison me
from the beautiful, ignorantly blissful people.
THEY do not enjoy reminders of their racism,
their hatred, their greed.
When the inevitable arrives,
THEY will barely remember
the fat nobody, the over-read slob,
the abrasive writer, with no cash and
no woman.

In this sick fantasy,
two simple-minded jerks spew a few flippant lines
and that’ll be all she wrote.

‘Ever hear from Gavalik?’
‘Who?’
‘Big guy. Writer or something.’
‘I think he's dead.’
‘Really? These are some good mozzarella sticks.’
‘Definitely.’

To be included in my next collection, Slag River Sins.
 
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