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Always in the poem
there are no tears
between the line
but we will get the fear
and pretend that's fine.
We fall short
and say "ah"
to be the final word.
We must ****
the November creep
waiting until the end of the year
throwing the days
that make you depress
by the message
in a fortune cookie.
Maybe,
by hoping to feel present
in the short future
on the dream we have
will be the last wishes.
We are all in pain
waiting for time
to the monotonous sound of the clock
ticking on the wall.
Indonesia, 23rd November 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2021
Fish in a bowl
Round and round

Swimming in ****
Bathing in ****

Soon I will die
A living prize

I’m a fish
in my bowl  

Round and round
Until I die
I am cheaper than the stuffed animals
I am a state fair goldfish
Ayesha May 2021
Rows upon rows upon rows of suns
and when I ask them where they’re headed
They go on voiceless
This one you hated, this one
you ignored, this one your forgot,
this one you tortured, this
one you never saw
Someone says
and when I ask them where they’re headed

they go on till
they stumble and fall
This one on that one on that
a shattering, the pieces are grey

Rows upon rows upon rows of moons
and I’m tongue-tied
This one you killed,
and this one and that one and that.
Someone says
and I turn around, you grab me
with your nightly glare
The dagger smiles in my hand
and blood, in queues, downwards flows
Stars in your skies wink
This one you killed
who?
where are you headed
Then moons and the suns rise up
their hues abandoned in rock

and follow you, smoothly, on
Down this tentative cliff
you vanish—
they vanish
—all vanishes
My feet stretched to roots
and them betrothed to ground
suns and moons march on
the dagger in my hand
smiles—smiles— smiles
Blood all about, but not one dies
not one winces,
the crowd comes and
down the cliff, vanishes

dagger in my hand smiles
—smiles
This one you killed
who—
September, 2020 something
I am a ******* coward
Alien Nov 2020
Its as if we have become too lazy to even exist.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
It’s just
Easier
To write about 
Objects
Because while most people
Are monotonous
Objects at least
Have variety.
Lillian May Feb 2019
The
          sometimes
          tremulous
glimpses of surprise,
I think
     what a book it would make.

I hear the late afternoon cheer
         the honest type
somewhere                                                          
                  lurking behind
                                old Sixth Avenue Road.
I suppose
it is not just a phenomenon of nature that goes instinctively on,
not the appalling detail of any large human scheme, eroded by schedules
But I accept it as one of the miracles.
(Which I never see anywhere else)
Destiny C Oct 2018
I can yell at my pen,
pull at my hand,
but there's no words this paper can comprehend.
My thoughts are stuck in a box,
stubbornly clustered together,
not willing to talk.
I try to persuade them,
but they crave my inner creativity,
not the monotonous reality I live in.
They want to dance in the rain,
swim in the ocean,
or even find a mysterious love potion.
But I can't take them there -
I don't know how to piece them together,
It is as if my artistic streak vanished in thin air.
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