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 Sep 2022 Phillips
Zywa
Hygiene costs smooth rooms,

electricity and a --


lot of loneliness.
Verhaal "Opgegeild" (Story "Turned on", 1991, Kristien Hemmerechts)

Collection "Shelter"
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Bowedbranches
I pay my ***** 4 quartas
To sit in the corner
And make sure
I'm safe while I rage
In a game with torture
And gore
No need to be afraid
Of horror anymore
My ****** got my back
And a pocket full of quarters
A funny inside joke poem
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Battery
Falling,
Falling Endlessly down the rabbit hole.

Learning the truth,
the truth of things I never wanted to know.

screaming,
screaming until the world has no breath for me.

crying,
All the tears orphans have to spare.

dying,
blood from the core dripping slowly down.

I was falling,
Falling endlessly through my own personal hell.

I was dead,

my poor heart was no longer beating,
Silence in my chest.

my empty lungs were no longer trying
Fire in my body

my porcelain limbs were no longer attached
Floating around me

my Brown eyes were no longer seeing.
Rolling back in my skull

Falling Endlessly down the rabbit hole.
Down into hell

Oblivion
Just a little impromptu work
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Ciel Noir
I Am
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Ciel Noir
I am made of energy
evolving into light

I am a wave
a galaxy

revolving in the night
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Ciel Noir
Smile
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Ciel Noir
we all give             but we find
         so much time          we are all            
    just to find          just a moment
who we are               in time  

we are all only here for a while
we are all just a moment
so I'll take a moment
to smile
Solving riddles from my dreams.
It's an ever changing story.
Some of it makes sense but just barely.
The rest is nonsense and possibilities.
We are riddled with madness over our dreams.
Maybe the madness is what keeps us sane.
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Bvaishnavi
Do you get that feeling,

You are loved by everyone,
Yet you are no one's favourite,

The slots are always taken,
They were never empty,
And you are always left behind.
 Sep 2022 Phillips
Bvaishnavi
Once I asked a question,
Why do we write poems mostly when we are sad and not when happy?

I think I get it now,
Happiness is a sweetness,
Which can be shared.
But unhappiness is that bitterness,
Which we tend to keep within ourselves,
Everyone understands sweetness,
But bitterness has its own variation,
Which isn't known until YOU taste it.
So we rely on our ways to express it.
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