janreest - Hello Poetry

excuses excuses excuses excuses excuses reasons reasons reasons reasons reasons to remove me from yourself courtless alibis for whom why no reason no reason no reason your soulless boredom suicideless constitution non-consensual manifest flesh on Earth on behalf of noone breathing each breath for no one I used to belong I used to belong I used to belong

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May 24

May 24, 2026 at 1:44 PM UTC

Untitled

excuses excuses excuses excuses excuses reasons reasons reasons reasons reasons to remove me from yourself courtless alibis for whom why no reason no reason no reason your soulless boredom suicideless constitution non-consensual manifest flesh on Earth on behalf of noone breathing each breath for no one I used to belong I used to belong I used to belong

27

I defeated Wroth on Mount Elbrus He was bloodied in the snow, slowly becoming a monolith, a landmark for skiers and mountaineers to mark time. My fists still clenched, I remained unmoved for a few moments, watching the snowflakes gather, as I read the eulogy. The warmth seeps away breath by breath from within as I whisper into the harsh winds. Words which shall nourish no one. If Wroth lay bloodied on the snow, why am I cold?

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Mar 16

Mar 16, 2026 at 2:35 PM UTC

the coldness of warmth

I defeated Wroth on Mount Elbrus He was bloodied in the snow, slowly becoming a monolith, a landmark for skiers and mountaineers to mark time. My fists still clenched, I remained unmoved for a few moments, watching the snowflakes gather, as I read the eulogy. The warmth seeps away breath by breath from within as I whisper into the harsh winds. Words which shall nourish no one. If Wroth lay bloodied on the snow, why am I cold?

15

love is a block of cheese with holes in it — enough space for warmth to pass through and pollinate a ****** heart, enough to rot from within.

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Mar 16

Mar 16, 2026 at 1:25 PM UTC

block of cheese

love is a block of cheese with holes in it — enough space for warmth to pass through and pollinate a ****** heart, enough to rot from within.

5

Mosquitos under the lampshade, dilly dallying without care — a drop here, a drop there, then drinking some more to sober up in the morning. My ankles are stiff from holding up empty weight. Old promises flare up and shed like dead skin, but the memories remain — this time, without the foolhardy beliefs of growth.

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Mar 16

Mar 16, 2026 at 1:18 PM UTC

Untitled

Mosquitos under the lampshade, dilly dallying without care — a drop here, a drop there, then drinking some more to sober up in the morning. My ankles are stiff from holding up empty weight. Old promises flare up and shed like dead skin, but the memories remain — this time, without the foolhardy beliefs of growth.

12

germs love a loaf of bread thrown away without regard — riverine dolphins in the Brahmaputra are blind, not hopeless. They want to live. Wildebeest form a cyst where a lion's fang penetrated, fooling death. Why can't I be a loaf of bread or form cysts?

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Mar 12

Mar 12, 2026 at 3:50 PM UTC

growing shadow

germs love a loaf of bread thrown away without regard — riverine dolphins in the Brahmaputra are blind, not hopeless. They want to live. Wildebeest form a cyst where a lion's fang penetrated, fooling death. Why can't I be a loaf of bread or form cysts?

9

It's been eight months or so. Summer arrived before winter clawed away the final leaves from the withered trees. Dried leaves dewed in sweat, besmirched upon the warm, wet ground, wishing to be petrified, but here they remain, dying a slow death in the heat. I gave you the words you needed to sever me from your life. You'd accuse me of a wrong doing, and I'd stand witness against myself in my own trial, this life. You'd say I was unfair, rude. I'd say I was sorry, and that it was all my fault. You'd say you stopped talking because you felt insecure, I accepted. Even though I knew of the surgical precision with which you severed me from yourself. I was the whetstone, the sword, and the executioner, you merely watched. How can one be so foolish? Perhaps I was desperate for love, perhaps I romaticized you, perhaps I idolized you into a figure of worship. But were the prayers meaningless? The words of affection, and of assurance, were they meaningless to you? You received them so easily. Where is my reward? Where are the fruits you promised to bear? Where is my love?

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Mar 5

Mar 5, 2026 at 4:31 PM UTC

How you and I ended or began

It's been eight months or so. Summer arrived before winter clawed away the final leaves from the withered trees. Dried leaves dewed in sweat, besmirched upon the warm, wet ground, wishing to be petrified, but here they remain, dying a slow death in the heat. I gave you the words you needed to sever me from your life. You'd accuse me of a wrong doing, and I'd stand witness against myself in my own trial, this life. You'd say I was unfair, rude. I'd say I was sorry, and that it was all my fault. You'd say you stopped talking because you felt insecure, I accepted. Even though I knew of the surgical precision with which you severed me from yourself. I was the whetstone, the sword, and the executioner, you merely watched. How can one be so foolish? Perhaps I was desperate for love, perhaps I romaticized you, perhaps I idolized you into a figure of worship. But were the prayers meaningless? The words of affection, and of assurance, were they meaningless to you? You received them so easily. Where is my reward? Where are the fruits you promised to bear? Where is my love?

28

Thoughts erode in a loveless soul like plants showered in pesticide fruitless is the existence of thought bountiless is the necessity for speech

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Feb 16

Feb 16, 2026 at 6:21 PM UTC

5:20 17022026

Thoughts erode in a loveless soul like plants showered in pesticide fruitless is the existence of thought bountiless is the necessity for speech

4

sitting with the taste of me sitting with the stench of me minutes before starvation that odd warmth when hunger forgets to caste a scar that odd warmth even when I remain without you outburst of coffee lozenges throughout the day a cigarette for a soul high on sugar high on your sweetness a few moments of solace before the taste of me

0

Jan 18

Jan 18, 2026 at 12:19 PM UTC

rupture

sitting with the taste of me sitting with the stench of me minutes before starvation that odd warmth when hunger forgets to caste a scar that odd warmth even when I remain without you outburst of coffee lozenges throughout the day a cigarette for a soul high on sugar high on your sweetness a few moments of solace before the taste of me

15

Home sweet home. The journey from rickshaw to rickshaw is perilous. Suspicious soup and odd shaped boiled eggs being sold on the street, where buses line up for diesel, and hawkers sweep the streets. I never see those eggs anywhere else. I never see those faces anywhere else. Only in twilight, when the air is heavy and cold, and there’s a particular sharpness to people, and definite danger around every corner. Opened the lock, and called out to mother. Once, twice, thrice. She was in her room, door’s open. No answer. She couldn’t hear me, she said. I went to my room, door’s closed. Listening to Cigarettes out the window by TV Girl. There’s an odd loneliness. An odd silence. My lips murmur, hesitant to call out your name, but no tears flow I should freshen up.

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Jan 14

Jan 14, 2026 at 7:22 AM UTC

i

Home sweet home. The journey from rickshaw to rickshaw is perilous. Suspicious soup and odd shaped boiled eggs being sold on the street, where buses line up for diesel, and hawkers sweep the streets. I never see those eggs anywhere else. I never see those faces anywhere else. Only in twilight, when the air is heavy and cold, and there’s a particular sharpness to people, and definite danger around every corner. Opened the lock, and called out to mother. Once, twice, thrice. She was in her room, door’s open. No answer. She couldn’t hear me, she said. I went to my room, door’s closed. Listening to Cigarettes out the window by TV Girl. There’s an odd loneliness. An odd silence. My lips murmur, hesitant to call out your name, but no tears flow I should freshen up.

28

A few dozen heartaches for seven miles nearer to you. A hundred heartbreaks to know you as you do. A thousand muddy days in this hole just to forget you. A million and a half dreams that never became me and you.

0

Jan 14

Jan 14, 2026 at 7:17 AM UTC

Regrets

A few dozen heartaches for seven miles nearer to you. A hundred heartbreaks to know you as you do. A thousand muddy days in this hole just to forget you. A million and a half dreams that never became me and you.

8