Luxost - Hello Poetry

There’re poems upon blank pages Unwritten, waiting to happen Messages in spilled ink Unseen — yet to be deciphered So I cannot go today But theres a knot in my throat and the dew in my eyes won’t dry There’s a tremble to my nerves And an ache to my knees Yet, my soul is tethered to earthen life So I cannot go today So up until the wax melts and the final flame dies out To see where the leaves in Autumn blow south I cannot go today.

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Nov 4, 2025

Nov 4, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC

Not Today.

There’re poems upon blank pages Unwritten, waiting to happen Messages in spilled ink Unseen — yet to be deciphered So I cannot go today But theres a knot in my throat and the dew in my eyes won’t dry There’s a tremble to my nerves And an ache to my knees Yet, my soul is tethered to earthen life So I cannot go today So up until the wax melts and the final flame dies out To see where the leaves in Autumn blow south I cannot go today.

14

Destroy me again until I am nothing more than brittle bones and leave me so to tremble naked — kept in a chokehold See past my masks and bear me ugly, foolish and cold So, destroy me again until you think I know I find it cold in limbo’s trance bound in soundless, floating space — a silent dance Ah, Solitude knows my name There’s a black bird that’s singing It’s kept me at an ache I hold out my calloused hands, and it took all that it could take With cold lips pressed into a thin line I picked up my thread and stitched the scars with a cry There’s a tremble beneath my skin — it rattles at my bones teeth pierced my lungs, and I bleed once more So lest not to destroy me self hold that soft, warm bodied animal of my heart and tame that wounded beast of my soul

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Nov 1, 2025

Nov 1, 2025 at 3:34 PM UTC

Destroy me

Destroy me again until I am nothing more than brittle bones and leave me so to tremble naked — kept in a chokehold See past my masks and bear me ugly, foolish and cold So, destroy me again until you think I know I find it cold in limbo’s trance bound in soundless, floating space — a silent dance Ah, Solitude knows my name There’s a black bird that’s singing It’s kept me at an ache I hold out my calloused hands, and it took all that it could take With cold lips pressed into a thin line I picked up my thread and stitched the scars with a cry There’s a tremble beneath my skin — it rattles at my bones teeth pierced my lungs, and I bleed once more So lest not to destroy me self hold that soft, warm bodied animal of my heart and tame that wounded beast of my soul

26

You are but a mirage a whisper of memory In the depths of every sensory You are but a mirage Where stories lay acquainted As scattered pieces appear far, as in a faint breath Whereby close for the eye A second late gone with a sigh

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Oct 30, 2025

Oct 30, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC

Mirage

You are but a mirage a whisper of memory In the depths of every sensory You are but a mirage Where stories lay acquainted As scattered pieces appear far, as in a faint breath Whereby close for the eye A second late gone with a sigh

8

One day I will find the pieces of all I had meant and not said And throw it to the wind.

0

Oct 30, 2025

Oct 30, 2025 at 8:32 AM UTC

Whispers

One day I will find the pieces of all I had meant and not said And throw it to the wind.

3

Perhaps if I were older, I would have been able to love you better. I would have held a conversation better -- not with bitter tongues or sharp angles but with proper words not hidden in a letter Perhaps if I were older, I would have understood you better... But i am a child. For between love and hate, if I did a little less, I would have been able to talk about it more.

0

Oct 30, 2025

Oct 30, 2025 at 6:14 AM UTC

In-between

Perhaps if I were older, I would have been able to love you better. I would have held a conversation better -- not with bitter tongues or sharp angles but with proper words not hidden in a letter Perhaps if I were older, I would have understood you better... But i am a child. For between love and hate, if I did a little less, I would have been able to talk about it more.

11

The feeling of… It’s as if you feel the warmth breezing through the air the morning after a monsoon. To see clear roads, dry leaves and to smell the smell of grass. And to breathe, and to not simply exist But to partake in living And to laugh, and smile and to just feel even the smallest bits of content. And for once in a long long while, to feel greedy about something. To want to experience things even with bathed breaths. To want to shout and be angry at the world for everything that’s defined you. It’s those mornings that make me think… Maybe not today. And maybe.. the reality of it is that life isn’t okay, and we’re always free to choose to end it — but there will be moments that define what it means to be a dreamer. So yes, Maybe not today.

0

Oct 30, 2025

Oct 30, 2025 at 4:45 AM UTC

Maybe not today

The feeling of… It’s as if you feel the warmth breezing through the air the morning after a monsoon. To see clear roads, dry leaves and to smell the smell of grass. And to breathe, and to not simply exist But to partake in living And to laugh, and smile and to just feel even the smallest bits of content. And for once in a long long while, to feel greedy about something. To want to experience things even with bathed breaths. To want to shout and be angry at the world for everything that’s defined you. It’s those mornings that make me think… Maybe not today. And maybe.. the reality of it is that life isn’t okay, and we’re always free to choose to end it — but there will be moments that define what it means to be a dreamer. So yes, Maybe not today.

15