A puzzle I am
You wont figure me out
A puzzle I am
You will not find all my pieces
A puzzle I am
You wont put me back together
A puzzle I am
You see the broken, tattered pieces
A puzzle I am
You did never solve

The collateral fiction of Waves
The sounds of echoes scream as I strained by my body by the beat of the music  
Tears pouring down on my  makeup
You can hold me down if you want to
I don't really mind 'cause I'd like to
Feel love, how it hurts,
Guillotined of principles killing my subconscious thoughts of the injustice
When we cling on each other bodies doesn't matter the weather changes on over the collide of pauses
And I was writing poetry about you every day
And yeah, I know that things
They never tend to stay the same
But I don't think you love me and it kills me every day
Burned out by the red cuff of over lining shine
The word we're unimaginable
By the colorful pigments of fools
Like the collision of her blames that blinds her before she flies higher than the stars
Blink of the moon and the perpendicular crimination of crimson cream
Bloom all over the sky of orange and blue
The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity
What was she supposed to feel
What was she supposed to do
In the different universe, how was her story gonna end
So many victims tattered her eager thoughts
It is better to lock up your heart with a merciless padlock than to fall in love with someone who doesn't know what they mean to you.
Let her sin away her thought of us
Let her devils ruin her soul and peace of mind
Pictures of her burns alive as the wave take her away

Shuffling his feet
Banging doors and windows
Creaking his teeth

Stanley sat solemnly staring Sandra
His heart cloudy and stormy
What happened to the vow?

The matrimony defiled and *****
The smell of the bedding stings
The nose

The salt taste tasteless
Stanley made a vow
And that brought all the difference.

Written_by: Jacob Daniel Laari
©2020
TheGEniusPoet

Winter
by Michael R. Burch

The rose of love’s bright promise
lies tattered by the thorn;
her scent was sweet
but at her feet
the pallid aphids mourn.

The lilac of devotion
has felt the winter ****
and shed her dress;
companionless,
she shivers, **** and sore.

Published by Songs of Innocence, The Aurorean and Contemporary Rhyme. Keywords/Tags: love, rose, bright, promise, potential, tattered, torn, thorn, winter, naked, ****, shivering, sore, scent, fragrance, aroma, sweet, pallid, aphids, lilac, devotion, ****, hoarfrost, frost, ice

she wore hightops
and a tattered
old book bag.
and she liked
to tie
her red converse
to it's straps.
and walk
across
the fire escape.

the metal
beneath
her socked feet
was cool
and x-ed
and black.

she ran,
and she laughed
or she ran
and she cried
but she ran
and she ran
for it was all
she could do.

Woven flesh knotted with the confines
of my inner plague.
             A misery of reflections that I would
wish never to gaze upon, as I'm my own
               medusa, confined in stone impressions.

And I transfixed upon my own morbidity.



But then you gave me a tattered box.
                    It's confines rattled like aged bones.
A melody of death sombre in its gifts.
                  I collected them and used the
              webs of decay to knit them hanging
                        like lynched memories swaying harshly.


With this chime of
                               syllable decomposition,
I heard your message.
That even though every gift is concealed in a darkness,
                                          there is always a moment
where its brighter than any luminosity given by the light.

Thy crows loiter on mornings
fever, blossom brightening to
thee. But when  petals awaken,
onyx lullabies tear each asunder.

Woeful of the beauty of years,
            thy fallen moments collect
like tattered curtains of life.
   Crows sing sirens of despair,
joyful of the passing beauty..

And still they look upon thee,
        no longer petals of years stand.
they wait till your stem of life wilts.
With but a moment of silence when all
has fallen, they bow, wings dispersing life.