”Well, my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not comin' on.
I'm just payin' my rent every day in the Tower of Song”

Leonard Cohen lyric from The Tower of Song


§§§

this lyric hits, it’s a ten fingered cheeky ****** marking,
fits like a new white t-shirt, clean~perfect in every aspect,
I’ve just changed song to poetry, so nobody’s complaining

axiomatic, slept less a than three shambolic hours last nite,
don’t ask what I was doing or even a simple why, even the
vultures grew tired, helplessly hoping for solutions to start appearing

water pressure ok, poem spigot strong but the words desiccated,
it’s time to revisit roots, back to where I’ve come-begun, bury losses,
seek no consideration, write in isolation, a-quiet niche, a shhh! beach

my silent reverie owns me and the angels, biggest fans, just can’t
get enough, know their faith is strong, never proofing reads required,
content to wait till find my lost chords, comforts of only fresh truths

so arrivederci, until we meet again, when cadences have resumed,
rolling in unbroken, won’t need other’s words recirculating my blood,
till my slip sliding over, direction from arrows stabbing new openings

rented a storage unit in nearby woods, empty shelves greet ya with a
‘ready, willing, and able,’  many open arms looking for fulfilling, a job, that don’t even pay minimum wage, but the benefits are just fan-tastic

So:
should you spot a man ungainly wrought,
weighted down by a harpoon cross, resting,
‘pon on his cursed Cain-marked back, fingertips,
you need not move to the other side, or hide,
'tis only a make-believe poet, no longer believing,
with his recording device, seizing your rhapsodies
to rhyme with his own collected artifacts, your crinkly
smiles are his meat, his metier, his chosen career,
to be again a comfort caresser of your illusions into
a shapely sculpture of words be-loved, keeping-worthy,
tokens of a reexamined self worth, a new girth, leaner,
a celebration for the keeping, dug up with pail and shovel,
a best left hid on his treasured island, in a treasure chest, only his new-no-good-best-most-satisfying-new-no-good-best-mystifying-sati­sfying-cursing-muses-who-got-two-knee-on-my-soul-I’m-
howling...
­
Monday Jun 1, 2020

Forget me,
I ask you.
I forgot my smile,
I forgot my laugh.
I forgot me as a child,
I forgot my wrath.
For I have forgotten myself.
So don’t try and think that I am near
I won’t be here
And go away,
Once I fade,
Forget my wrath,
Forget me as a child.
Forget my laugh,
Forget my smile.
I ask you,
Forget me.

twenty seven candles
unlit
on a cake
with frosting
almost as sweet
as the
girl who lost her breath
with nothing but
sugar on her lips

You promised me a lifetime.

“Unconditional” you said.

But you left.

While I wept.

- lonely heart
-L. Ramorola

i poet
writes about suicides
impulse cutting
you get misunderstand

you need polarized
we am writes about depression
you so emo

me so emo
need u to reads
more socials justice
more racistism

you were rights
for me to reading
american poetries

because read a poetry
spewed out by
bot software

Come! Into the resplendence glow of this moment, shall outlive the powerful spell of the mind, O’ inner symphony of the blooming lilac, breathe deeply in the fragrance of thy sweet dizzy rapture, Pacing forth the twirling presence imbued in silent wafts of the scented kisses, O’ lucid beauty embrace by the tender folds of the ripen ecstasy, sprout forth the seed of sincerity into the golden fields of bliss, spilling smiles tripping into giggling fall of the bottomless well, O’ eternal sound of the glorious glittering bells racing across the radiant sky, transport the flickering whirling into the delight of no-knowing………..Awareness.      Written By Bakhtiar Ahmed.

"Egg Shells"
Tip toe tip toe
Silent foot steps
Tip toe tip toe
Walking on eggshells
Tip toe tip toe
Too afraid to talk
Tip toe tip toe
I'm walking on eggshells

My life.......






Is a mess......😒😓😭

Not Black,
Not white,
Nor Brown,
If it is living being,
It matters.
Love all,
Be kind,
Be happy.
--Jayalalita B Iyer

I stopped writing

For awhile.

Because I found that when I write
It’s so real.
It’s like hearing back my own words from the lips of someone wiser

Not from a broken child,
But from a bitter miser.

twenty dollars is not worth a life.

it is a meaningless curiosity,
to wonder where you went.
the anonymity of the future
seems to disembody what came
and went.

and i sat, and wept,
and inhaled what your cigarette bled.
there, lonesome, where
two sparks had once met.

a fire so bright that  
dripped kerosene where it stepped,
was put out by time,
and i observed as it crept.

i did spend restless nights,
and i prepare. more will come.
but trust me my dear,
one day you’ll know where i'm truly from.

just as you told me we were,
that there’d be no more “us”
as the sun rose in morn’
and then set off towards dusk.

the light will dismiss,
like the flicker from a chalice,
my skin will thicken
like mountains on an atlas.

and i will rise, and i will tremble,
as my words craft me a temple,
colossal in height, and treacherous in-depth,
where my scripture will live, and in solitude kept.

but you’ll hear, and you’ll listen, and you’ll reflect on my image
as i watch myself glisten, from you and beyond.

on that day, understand my duty as an artist,
and why my memory of you will last.
as the suffering turned to art for my future
will be composed of our distant past.

-melancholicreator

"are you
still in love
with me?"

asked the moon
with tears
flowing down
her cheeks

"i am afraid
that i
no longer am."

answered him
as he vanished
from the sky

the setting sun
leaving the world dark
leaving the moon behind

one bullet to the head
two pills to ingest
three knife stabs to the heart
four steps to the railroad crossing
five cuts in the wrists
six






feet off the ground

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

Without all my lovers
I would never enter the realm
of the fully human.

It's time for a name
Not to be just another 'name'

To anyone who lost a life
You didn't die in vain

Colour doesn't matter
Inside we're all the same

It's time to stop the suffering
It's time to stop the pain

there is a heavy stillness in the silence
that precedes the words of man
who thinks he is right

I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Sometimes I wonder
if noise had a colour
then what shade
would silence be

And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't

If it doesn't make
you a nicer person
it's not love.

I long for love
without heartache.
To be free from pain,
loss,
failure,
and sadness.
In a world shrouded in darkness,
I long for the light.

like water
I poured myself into her until she was overflowing at the brim

like reinforced steel
I bridged my heart to hers and welded myself to her soul

like the sun
I filled myself with light to cover her darkness

like a blanket
I shielded her from the harsh world underneath the covers

like magnets
I orbited her aura until we inevitably collided

like a seed
I felt myself growing up from her

Then, like an idiot
I could tell she felt nothing.

while we
let the sun kiss our skin
we watched the sky
through the leaves
and talked
about the weight of the world
which is laying on the shoulders
of our generation

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

a girl
her eyes red and crusted
white

a boy
missing an eye now- the blood so dark it's
black

and why do they go for the eyes.

as if blindness will make us compliant

no-
it helps us to see.

I used to have interaction on here but for the past 6 months my account has had zero.
No one is seeing my writing. Please help

I was starring at you
Smile behind you
Screaming while cutting you
Until you ask me "U okay?"

For almost 2 days, now, I have been wondering what has been going on.

I can't upvote and comment on poems, and most poems that I see posted have no view counts.

By now one would have hoped that the fallen would gotten back on their feet.

I just wish there was a voice out there, somewhere, instead of speculating.

Logan Robertson

6/02/20