carrey-c - Hello Poetry

The muscle squeezes and contracts So you can only take shallow breaths Tired and sore Like strained muscles after a run You know why? That's the heart working doubly hard To keep you alive When your spirit wants to die

0

Mar 8, 2017

Mar 8, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC

Heartache

The muscle squeezes and contracts So you can only take shallow breaths Tired and sore Like strained muscles after a run You know why? That's the heart working doubly hard To keep you alive When your spirit wants to die

8

You were the only flower Budding in this long forgotten bed So I watered you And watered you Only to **** you instead

0

Mar 8, 2017

Mar 8, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC

Untitled

You were the only flower Budding in this long forgotten bed So I watered you And watered you Only to **** you instead

5

Between the now and the next is a steady snailing train carrying a heartbeat anxiously tapping its feet checking its watch pacing a few steps up and down while the time train drags forward to the next time when our eyes can meet.

0

Apr 2, 2016

Apr 2, 2016 at 7:59 AM UTC

Between the now and the next

Between the now and the next is a steady snailing train carrying a heartbeat anxiously tapping its feet checking its watch pacing a few steps up and down while the time train drags forward to the next time when our eyes can meet.

10

The fair buildings that have seen the yester-years bask in twilight. Generations of footsteps and handprints have worn and wrinkled them. The wisen walls have overheard conversations both whispered in confidence and declared in boldness, and the floors have long absorbed the tears, blood and sweat of characters in their own private dramas played out within these walls. You and I will never see what the buildings have watched, hear what they’ve listened to all those years – the stories each brick and mortar holds in secret. And twilights and days will pass till the impending moment comes, when, along with concrete pounded into dusts, gone will be these flickers of images, the memories of these fleeting lives, buried, like tapes and film rolls burned by the progress of time.

0

Apr 2, 2016

Apr 2, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC

Passing by some old buildings

The fair buildings that have seen the yester-years bask in twilight. Generations of footsteps and handprints have worn and wrinkled them. The wisen walls have overheard conversations both whispered in confidence and declared in boldness, and the floors have long absorbed the tears, blood and sweat of characters in their own private dramas played out within these walls. You and I will never see what the buildings have watched, hear what they’ve listened to all those years – the stories each brick and mortar holds in secret. And twilights and days will pass till the impending moment comes, when, along with concrete pounded into dusts, gone will be these flickers of images, the memories of these fleeting lives, buried, like tapes and film rolls burned by the progress of time.

22

We live in parallel worlds, you on your journey and I on mine. We wander in our own routes in separate paths. So why do your words elate me? Your messages are like threads connecting points in my journey to yours. We are pinging signals across boundaries. Making sure we are travelling along the same orbit? Side by side, and you’re still with me? Does that assure you or me? Because though parallels walk side by side they’ll never meet.

0

Mar 31, 2016

Mar 31, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC

Parallels

We live in parallel worlds, you on your journey and I on mine. We wander in our own routes in separate paths. So why do your words elate me? Your messages are like threads connecting points in my journey to yours. We are pinging signals across boundaries. Making sure we are travelling along the same orbit? Side by side, and you’re still with me? Does that assure you or me? Because though parallels walk side by side they’ll never meet.

13

My mind is filled with too much of you. Sometimes loudly at the forefront, re-enacting happy times. Sometimes muted at the back waving once in a while mischievously distracting. Other times you hung over my dark thoughts making me wish I have the physical you to grab hold of, to find comfort in. At times you are the dark thoughts, bluntly disproving all my assumptions of us, questioning my worthiness mocking my confidence. You are the overwhelming preoccupation I want to and don’t want to let go of. You fill up too much of my mind.

0

Mar 31, 2016

Mar 31, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC

My Mind is filled with too much of You

My mind is filled with too much of you. Sometimes loudly at the forefront, re-enacting happy times. Sometimes muted at the back waving once in a while mischievously distracting. Other times you hung over my dark thoughts making me wish I have the physical you to grab hold of, to find comfort in. At times you are the dark thoughts, bluntly disproving all my assumptions of us, questioning my worthiness mocking my confidence. You are the overwhelming preoccupation I want to and don’t want to let go of. You fill up too much of my mind.

16

You’ve always pushed Sleep away and now he has left you. So now, you sit around and mope awaiting his return. Sipping on your coffee ain’t gonna bring him back (He hates it when you drink) But what can you do Except to sip your loneliness away While waiting for his return.

0

Mar 31, 2016

Mar 31, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC

Coffee

You’ve always pushed Sleep away and now he has left you. So now, you sit around and mope awaiting his return. Sipping on your coffee ain’t gonna bring him back (He hates it when you drink) But what can you do Except to sip your loneliness away While waiting for his return.

9

Each delete is a jabbing pain, A dull baton pressing, suffocating, smothering the heart to silence it. Jab- At the life that could never be Jab- At the throbbing ache within Jab- At memories now turning sour Jab- To muffle the affection of each picture Jab- Out of sight out of mind Jab- Trashing evidence and burning bridges Jab-

0

Feb 1, 2016

Feb 1, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC

Deleting pictures

Each delete is a jabbing pain, A dull baton pressing, suffocating, smothering the heart to silence it. Jab- At the life that could never be Jab- At the throbbing ache within Jab- At memories now turning sour Jab- To muffle the affection of each picture Jab- Out of sight out of mind Jab- Trashing evidence and burning bridges Jab-

15

The leaves on the tree have now a different shade. They were green and orange and red. Now they are green, orange, red and ache. Not dark, deep ache. Ache with a tinge of nostalgia. Light. Something between missing and longing. Not so light that it stands plain against all other shades Because that new one, that ache, though light, stands starker than the rest. The leaves on the tree have now another shade. Green, orange, red and ache. Light, conspicuous ache.

0

Jan 23, 2016

Jan 23, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC

The leaves on the trees

The leaves on the tree have now a different shade. They were green and orange and red. Now they are green, orange, red and ache. Not dark, deep ache. Ache with a tinge of nostalgia. Light. Something between missing and longing. Not so light that it stands plain against all other shades Because that new one, that ache, though light, stands starker than the rest. The leaves on the tree have now another shade. Green, orange, red and ache. Light, conspicuous ache.

15

I measure my worth by the texts you’ve sent and the texts you replied. Every one I’ve sent that weren’t replied is a demerit, a subtraction, of the tiny hopes the merit points have built. Like hitting a snake on the game (there are no ladders though) and every lack of words from you is that awful step that slips down. And though I hope to climb up again slowly I think I wish more than that for this game to end. (Or maybe not.)

0

Jan 23, 2016

Jan 23, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC

I measure my worth

I measure my worth by the texts you’ve sent and the texts you replied. Every one I’ve sent that weren’t replied is a demerit, a subtraction, of the tiny hopes the merit points have built. Like hitting a snake on the game (there are no ladders though) and every lack of words from you is that awful step that slips down. And though I hope to climb up again slowly I think I wish more than that for this game to end. (Or maybe not.)

19