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Sharlinson
22/M/India Professional writer to be.
It's never too late. The sun also takes Time to rise, But the sky Never remains empty. - Christian
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Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 2:40 AM UTC
Rise
And with the longest night, You become Stronger and heavier.
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May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 1:45 AM UTC
Nights
Her breath smelled of Winery Yard, And the mix of daisies and lilies, When my lips caressed hers For the first time. - Sharlinson N.
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May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 1:43 AM UTC
Winery Yard
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 like ******* 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.
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Oct 16, 2019
Oct 16, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
If You Could Read My Mind
10th July 2017 To My Husband As I watch your life, slipping away We share all the things we want to say We have time to reflect, encourage and love To be grateful with warmth, to look beyond and above We remember the good and laugh at the bad And take time to listen and embrace the sad It is a rich time, this time that we have What has been, what is now, is what will be had As your strength fades, and your eyes slowly dim We look beyond the body you are in When death approaches and your final breath taken We know your spirit, will soar with elation You will look at this world and say your goodbyes And peace will take you as you pass through the sky’s All the best for your journey Your loving wife
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Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 4:16 AM UTC
My Husband is Dying
Love them, fearlessly, But do not fear losing them.
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Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
Fearless love, doesn't exist
Remember, Each end had a beginning And Every beginning will end.
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Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
There's nothing like never ending
Her soul is tired now and all she ever wanted to do was calming her crowded mind and resting her heavy heart Her soul is tired now and the only path she’d go through was no longer runaway full of eyes but an empty and quiet hallways Her soul is tired now and the dreams are no longer dreams, they became possessions and hunger that consumes her alive Her soul is tired now as the passion slowly fades away and the flame in her eyes began to vanish can’t you feel the absence of her warmth?
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Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:32 AM UTC
Her Soul is Tired
i. I intentionally failed to wish you a happy birthday this year, though I know significant dates, hours, moments, people, by heart. I still search for you in boys I mistake for bandages, the ones with eyes almost the same shade of your hazels, lips resounding your laughter, resembling a wisp of your smile, But they aren't you. ii. Sometimes I pretend you're dead, because it's less painful to stop reaching out into voids. iii. My mom still blames you for everything that preceded that year. Though you probably had no idea what happened when we stopped talking altogether. Can you believe it's almost been three years? iv. My dad wonders who was my 'one that got away' Though, I'm pretty sure he knows it's you. v. Remember how I mentioned Sylvia Plath? How most everything she wrote brimmed with melancholy? How I loved every single word? Especially that piece where she talked about expectations and disappointments. You'll never know that up to this day I still think people are selfish enough to always, eventually turn into the latter. Even you. vi. It's sad I never got the chance to tell you about Ted. How she loved him so much, she just had to figuratively dive headfirst into the flames-- burning herself, what was left of her-- after she found out he never really loved her the same way she loved him in the first place. vii. *truth is, some of us never learn to accept the love we think we deserve.* viii. I don't know if you still read my poems or if you still think about me, about us, sometimes. Every time you fall asleep past eleven, a part of me hopes you do. because I always remember you-- in birthday candles, red ribbons, off-tune voice records, golden arches, concrete sidewalks, pedestrian lanes, the last flickers of city lights softly fading out of the blue. I remember you in everything, in everywhere, in everyone. It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget. No matter how much I just want to forget. I want to forget. But, how could I? When forgetting means forsaking the very memory of you.
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Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC
i'm sorry. i thought i was done writing about you
i. I intentionally failed to wish you a happy birthday this year, though I know significant dates, hours, moments, people, by heart. I still search for you in boys I mistake for bandages, the ones with eyes almost the same shade of your hazels, lips resounding your laughter, resembling a wisp of your smile, But they aren't you. ii. Sometimes I pretend you're dead, because it's less painful to stop reaching out into voids. iii. My mom still blames you for everything that preceded that year. Though you probably had no idea what happened when we stopped talking altogether. Can you believe it's almost been three years? iv. My dad wonders who was my 'one that got away' Though, I'm pretty sure he knows it's you. v. Remember how I mentioned Sylvia Plath? How most everything she wrote brimmed with melancholy? How I loved every single word? Especially that piece where she talked about expectations and disappointments. You'll never know that up to this day I still think people are selfish enough to always, eventually turn into the latter. Even you. vi. It's sad I never got the chance to tell you about Ted. How she loved him so much, she just had to figuratively dive headfirst into the flames-- burning herself, what was left of her-- after she found out he never really loved her the same way she loved him in the first place. vii. *truth is, some of us never learn to accept the love we think we deserve.* viii. I don't know if you still read my poems or if you still think about me, about us, sometimes. Every time you fall asleep past eleven, a part of me hopes you do. because I always remember you-- in birthday candles, red ribbons, off-tune voice records, golden arches, concrete sidewalks, pedestrian lanes, the last flickers of city lights softly fading out of the blue. I remember you in everything, in everywhere, in everyone. It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget. No matter how much I just want to forget. I want to forget. But, how could I? When forgetting means forsaking the very memory of you.
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78
Crave for me like a smoker Craves for a puff each night.
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Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
Cigarettes