The tears feel heavy
Laden with guilt
Indifference at first
Why would I care?
Why should I care,
After all, we haven't spoken in so long.
then emotions come crashing
Each tear a liquid embodiment of the grieving process:
Denial
Guilt
Anger
Guilt
Sadness
Guilt
Emptiness
Guilt
Sympathy
Guilt
Anger
Guilt
Bargaining
Guilt
Depression
Guilt
Floating
Guilt
Acceptance
Guilt
The last one hangs like a stalactite
In the cavern that was our friendship.
Multiple paths and routes
Sometimes a light in times of being lost
And others,
collapsed due to disagreements and anger.
Words shared in contempt, not for each other
But for situations and circumstances that unfolded.
Ones that drove you to madness and despair.
But,
What if I answered the calls,
what if I said hello
What if I just said yes
What if I just
What if I
What if.
What if
If
If only
If only I had done to do what I always boldly profess to be an advocate for.
(I should have been)
My brothers keeper.
If only we had shared another fleeting moment of presence
If only...
The thoughts that drag their lifeless feet through my mind the most;
the swamp of utter loneliness and despair
that drove you to this.
The bag of holding
that I couldn't imagine you were trying escape from.
To stare death down and open your arms,
Not gladly I am sure,
But as a last resort to being rejected by the ones you called friends and family.
We can all sit and say
"It wasn't only us"
As a cathartic means to a mortal end.
There were things you needed to sort out for yourself
but only seemed to seek the help you wanted.
Listening to those who told you what you wanted to hear,
not what you may have needed to hear.
Waiting for the magical words
Or a sentence
To fix everything,
But those words would never come.
Of this I had no control
but I still feel sorry I didn't try harder.
That I didn't do more
That I didn't call again
That I
didn't.
Just.
Say.
Hello.
Old friend, how are you?
Simple questions I used to ask you so frivolously
not thinking of how one day,
sooner rather than later,
that simple question's weight
And desire to ask it again,
would mean more than any other I could've ever asked you.
A deep scar in my heart
To simply be able to ask,
Once again;
How.Are.You.
"Out, ****** spot!
Out, I say!"
It plays on my mind
But unlike Macbeth
This isn't a stage
But the world.
And this tinge of blood
Will stain my hands
For the rest of my days.
From the depths of my heart though,
I hope you have found peace
Rest and comfort.
I hope the after world is as you imagined
And filled with symphonies that sooth
So that you can play weightlessly.
I will always miss you
Even though it feels like
I have no right to,
I wish I did more when I could.
I will always listen for you,
Forever in the melodies.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 3:09 PM UTC
As the rain trails down the window,
Each droplet either standing alone,
or conjoining to form a stream.
Shadowed faces blur and shift,
as the river of souls pours into the train,
a moving gallery of stories
half-told, half-missed.
A woman with tired hands,
fingers ink-stained, smudging the page.
She writes in loops and pauses,
sorting through words that don’t yet exist.
A letter unsent? A memory unfinished?
Her lips move as if whispering to a ghost.
A man grips his suitcase tight,
knuckles white against the worn leather.
He checks the lock, once, twice, again,
he checks his ticket once, twice, thrice, again,
breathes in, breathes out—but it isn’t steady.
Is he running toward something,
or away?
Perhaps both feel the same.
A teenager watches the world smear past,
but their eyes are set inwards,
fixed on the watch in their palm,
a gift too heavy for their wrist,
but heavier still in meaning.
What used to be the time keeper of stories,
now only keeps the time for the last moments shared.
A whisper of "Take care now,"
a trembling wrinkled hand pressing it into theirs,
a last look before the train doors closed.
Behind them, the station fades,
a figure stands in the cold rain,
hand raised, but never quite waving,
face blurred by glass and distance.
They do not turn back.
Because turning back means hoping,
and hope makes leaving unbearable.
And I—just another reflection,
half-seen in the trembling glass,
a passing ghost among the living,
watching, never known.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 3:52 PM UTC
A letter to a lover
A letter to a friend
A letter to a foe
From a past you want to mend.
The rust colored paper
With water stains the width of eyes.
The bright red lips
Marking passion inside
Or the solemn calligraphy
Of a recipient unaware.
This box of unsent letters
Filled with that which won't be seen.
Worries that won't be said aloud
And thoughts that lay dead.
Emotions that once moved a pen,
Now lay dormant with no end.
You got those thoughts off your chest,
And to send it?
Well, you tried your best.
Your fingers tremble with hope and regret.
One day you'll send it
But not quite yet.
Hold tight dear friend
To your letter with secrets.
You wrote down the words you Just couldn't get out,
Timeless, yet dated.
They're words that once mattered
Things that stirred so deep.
Just write them down and put them in the box
Under the letters unsent,
Unaddressed beneath the massive heap.
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 8:28 AM UTC
He sees me.
The stranger looks deep,
deeper Into me
than I see myself and analyse and care to critique the way
that I'm conducting myself.
He's harsh with his eyes
but
He doesn't know me.
scrutinizing every pore
every hair that stands in place,
every conscious thought and un-thought.
He thinks he doesn't
But he does.
Like a whirlpool of judgement that swirls in a silver reflection, I stare at the man that stares at me.
he seems familiar and now I judge him.
the table turns to see myself
staring at this silvery
this...
this...
Imposter
that
I think
that
I know.
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 4:16 AM UTC
To captivate someone the way
You do
Is an art form many never learn to master.
With eyes deeper than the Marianas trench
Your being
Just draws me like a moth to a flame.
To make someone feel the way
You make me feel
Makes me wonder how many ages
You've experienced.
A soul so ablaze no person would know you and not be warm.
The strength of nations upon nations
To carry the weight of the world and
You still grow.
The confidence and grace that
You move
With, can't even be challenged by Aphrodite herself.
With cheeks if crimson and eyes of ice
Your joy
Makes the rest of life seem baron.
Leaving me
wanting
Craving
Thirsty
Starved
And lucky
To know a woman of your sheer
Prowess.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
If a rainy day was every day
Then every day would be mine.
If every day, was a rainy day
By me, that would be just fine.
But if a rainy day was every day.
Would it still be special to me?
Or if every day was a rainy day
Would that dampen the joy for me?
-Oskar roux
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
This sick feeling in my stomach
caused by the thought of you upset
courses through me.
I did this.
I’m sorry
On the verge of vomiting for a full day
like a sickness that won’t wane until
you’re in my arms and smiling again.
I’m sorry.
I did this.
I’ve never taken you for a fool, or for granted and
I never will.
I’m sorry I made you feel this way.
If it were to happen as you wished,
the true car wreck would be my life.
I know these apologies will only bare their fruits in time
and for this, I cannot blame you.
To me, you truly are too good and treat me with the utmost respect and for this I thank you.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
As I grovel at your feet
And follow your every move
With gashed and bleeding knees
Begging for something that should come naturally
For me it does,
The lust
The longing
The desire
The urge
And the yearning
All the things you have no idea about.
All the things you ignore
And push to the side
Just like my wants and needs
My feelings
And my longing for you
All in a pile labeled
“who gives a **** for whatever happens to this”
I wonder why I’m the sorry one
Feeling horrible for wanting
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
Let the world be the rubber
And you be the glue
I'll bounce off others and stick to you
Catch you when you fall
Pick you up again in the winter
Even tend to your nasty splinters
I'll be the one that gathers your rosebuds in spring
And be your cooling shade in the summer.
And when
Sticks and stones
(Against you)
Will crack and splinter,
And words for your beauty will never leave me
Remember ravishing is what you are,
As I am ravenous
(How do I know)
Because it takes poetry
To know poetry
And that is just what you are.
Poetry in motion
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC