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1.8k · Nov 2019
irony
Isaac Nov 2019
shatter your heart first
so it won’t be broken

trade your soul first
so it won’t get stolen

take your life first
so it won’t get ruined
Humans are weird.
621 · Aug 2021
arson
Isaac Aug 2021
if only he knew
the lengths I'd go to for this
unrequited flame
589 · Nov 2019
feeling special?
Isaac Nov 2019
different isn’t special.

in fact it’s quite very normal.

ironically it’s the same for everyone.
please get off your high horse if that purple highlight in your hair makes you better than other people.
530 · Jul 2021
jamais vu
Isaac Jul 2021
there's an odd transience in the air,
borne of frosted breath and
hushed pain,
all too familiar yet still so strange

I breathe in the change,
as it oils the cogs of the old machine,
sweeping the dust out of metal arteries
amid plastic veins

a heavy step, deepest imprint
in the snow, joints creak in a melody
that only he understands,
a faint whistle, a mimic of harmony

the air is still, not stale
silence says, not feels

there's an odd transience in the air,
and he likes it.
I like it.
468 · Dec 2019
amputate my lips
Isaac Dec 2019
when i spoke
your words covered mine

when I speak
your words slip out

i don’t think I will speak again
i don’t think I can
maybe you can try
if im only speaking your words im not gonna speak at all
466 · Jul 2020
your eyes in the moonshine
Isaac Jul 2020
the glint in your eyes in the moonshine
are wrought now, with terror and scorn
what once was yours is no longer mine

a gentle rain turned to blurry lines
a spark grown, the fire now borne
the glint in your eyes in the moonshine

once one eye shut, now two are blind
facing catastrophe with your mind torn
what once was yours is no longer mine

windblown, torrential in the same kind
sunrise no longer leads to morn'
(with) the glint in your eyes in the moonshine

prostrate in pain, hands now behind
a final cry, alone and forlorn
what once was yours is no longer mine

a whisper from hate, a loveless sign
finally, clear skies now adorn
the glint in your eyes in the moonshine
what once was ours, is no longer mine
maybe it's time we let go
463 · Mar 2021
A Garden Dirtpath
Isaac Mar 2021
they say to stop and smell the roses,
but I have only been pricked,
and the only red I've seen is blood
436 · Nov 2019
Brakes
Isaac Nov 2019
“We better just stop right now.”

the slogan of betrayal woven into a warning sign

but we are always too late to see it

as we crash past the red lights into the traffic of time

where mistakes cannot be rectified and problems cannot be solved

as the warning sign gets off one stop earlier than it should

and you are left on a one-way trip to nowhere

as you watch the stop sign crash into the front of the
This time, it’s too late to stop.
Isaac Dec 2019
if you are always right

why did you even ask?
if you already know the answers and are just looking for an argument - please, don’t.
275 · Nov 2019
them
Isaac Nov 2019
when your dreams
fall
from the sky and die
don’t blame yourself

when your hopes
bleed
out on the floor in front of you
don’t cry

when the lightbulb
fuses
and everything goes dark
it’s not your fault

It’s theirs.

They are the ones that
tug at your laces
claiming to tie them
when they really are
pulling them out
and pulling you down.

They are the ones that
appear like guardian angels
too good to be true
truly too good
then the shaft of their spear
is already through your heart.

They are the ones that
welcome themselves into
your home
and crush the lights with
their words.

They are the ones that
enter your mirrors
and claim to be you.

Although if you see yourself
then please

switch the lights back on.
haha I’m blinded every time I look in the mirror
275 · Dec 2019
message from the skies
Isaac Dec 2019
your eyes are like the sun

if I gaze too long
I get hurt eventually

your eyes are like the moon

they reflect my fire
the lustre isn’t yours
a mere spot in my sky
274 · Dec 2019
we are but
Isaac Dec 2019
mirrors
questing to see
only our face
in their cracked mirages
and shattered dreams

windows
struggling to see through
one another
as we attempt to open
ourselves out to the
frosty winds of the world

doors
locking everyone else out
locking ourselves in
slamming shut
getting slammed shut

drawers
infinitely tall
full of unopened
chests and unsolved puzzles
rusty keys broken
in rustier locks

lights
trying to
glow and glimmer
in the pressing darkness
refusing
to be snuffed out

walls
some graffiti
some paintings
others ***** stains and *****

we are but furniture
used users using

we are but a home
with cracked walls windows mirrors
but we are a home

we are but humans
with broken minds souls hearts

but we are human.
remember

you are human too.
269 · Apr 2023
Untitled
Isaac Apr 2023
Your love is a violence I've learnt to love.

Too harsh for a melody,
to feeble to be worth a shout,
so the words lay upon their grave
of poetry.
268 · Nov 2019
cold
Isaac Nov 2019
walking down cold streets
with colder faces

i am unnerved
as my own cold face begins
to crack and fall apart

i am not surprised
when i shatter and collapse
their cold faces turn colder

i am pleasantly shocked
as their frost freezes me to the ground
and i become the soles of their feet
now that’s what “freeze to death” means
261 · Mar 2021
chorus
Isaac Mar 2021
there's a catch in my throat
a lump, a bump, a sudden
crosswords of air and thought
and the notes are suspended
midair, empty, a vibration
with direction but no motivation

there's a catch in my throat,
a hurdle in the road, a pothole
of accidents and apologies
and the music abruptly pauses
a welcoming dissonance,
warm but jarring

there's a catch in my throat,
and I can no longer sing,
and the rhythm has tumbled
and fallen, and I cannot catch my breath,
but still the silence goes on,
and I can only listen
256 · Dec 2019
light pollution
Isaac Dec 2019
i thought you were my star in the sky

but apparently

you were just an amber traffic light

and you’ve turned red

and I can’t even jaywalk.
let me cross.
248 · Dec 2019
feel your heart beat
Isaac Dec 2019
you can find it

in the cracks of the pavement
where the light casts
no shadows

in the corners
elusively small
tried and swept

in the eyes
of the child
against timeless change

in the ink
spilled and swirled
into infallible words

in the hair
silver in the light
facing the night with a glow

in the air
a sigh, a prayer
a frosty breath of warmth

in the tear
rolling down your cheek
a sign that it’s still there

don’t lose it.

we won’t let you.

you can find it in there

in you.
it’s never too late

even when it is

find it.

then it won’t be.
245 · Oct 2022
decomposition
Isaac Oct 2022
who knew love could expire?
i certainly didn't.

but when you leave anything out there
in the open, in the cold,
left to exist on it's own -
it will surely die.
231 · Nov 2019
glass
Isaac Nov 2019
you look out the glass pane
as your own face is reflected back and forth
as your voice echoes back and forth
in the fragile wind

you can see the world
but you can only see
as you fingers press hard against the transparent block
and they can only press

you can only hear
as your ears are flush against the colourless wall
sounds of your breathing echoing
in the fragile world

you can only hear yourself
so you scream

and the world shatters around you like the fragile wind and your voice is out to the world raging like storms and blazing like fire and the glass shatters and finally finally

you fall out the window
the fine line is really just a window.
225 · Nov 2019
privacy?
Isaac Nov 2019
we draw the curtains as if
no one can see us
but the shadows imprinted
onto the fabric thinner than
your lies
tells us the whole story

we shut the doors as if
no one can get in
but really, all it takes
is one soft knock
and the walls come crumbling
down
down
down

we lock the gates as if
no one can climb over
but the seemingly sharp
spines are as blunt
as your cheap words,
cheaper than that
metal gate you bought

we pull the blinds as if
no one can pull them apart
but it’s us that’s blinded
to the purpose
of windows

we think we’re keeping them out
we’re just locking ourselves in
Watch as they tear down your brick walls of lies.
219 · Dec 2019
final moments
Isaac Dec 2019
it’s the dawn
finally broken
into half

the sun sett(l)ing
down forever

the moonshine fading
in the dimming glares
of the stars

i can see everything
in the imminent darkness
that is now

my tears
are black like
the sky against the world

my smile is tired
of the frowns and
the laughter

as the clock strikes 12
and i fall asleep (forever)

i am rudely awakened by
the sun screaming
into my half closed eyes
cherish them
216 · Aug 2023
art
Isaac Aug 2023
art
The painter never
runs out of ink. He paints till
he knows he must bleed.
210 · Jun 2022
unsafe
Isaac Jun 2022
it lingers on my tongue
like sour candy

the desire to collapse into
arms that aren't mine
is far too invasive for my
liking.

it lingers on my tongue
like lies.

i am forever unsure of the
truth, of myself, and my
resignation is propping itself
up against the wall in the corner
of my room. i am tired.

it lingers on my tongue
like false hope.

disappointment is my best friend;
and i am eternally wed to her.
202 · Jun 2020
out of breath
Isaac Jun 2020
when you hit
that note
my heart shattered

autumn leaves like
windchimes in the
biting winds

dark skies like
mornings held high
to high noon
to full moon

and those eyes
of dark skies and autumn leaves
of windchimes and mornings

i gasp for air
as the wind stops
and the trees fade

when you held that note
to high noon
to full moon
when you shattered
in the beating notes
of my heart
187 · Dec 2020
tears and caskets arrayed
Isaac Dec 2020
fashion this pain
into an artwork of beauty,
line my scars up in a display
of blood and tears,
dissect the wounded and exhibit
their rage,

oh, how words do all this,
a surgery of the mind
that leaves no trace,
another world where
pain is beautiful,
where our eyes rest
their souls upon tireless dreams,
where we are all invited
to the gallery, as we reflect
on the ****** tears that have created
this masterpiece,

on sale now! Visit our brick and mortar shop to get it at a discounted rate! Terms and Conditions apply.
186 · Dec 2019
show not tell
Isaac Dec 2019
when your laugh is a cry for help
how can we tell?

your mouth is twisted upwards
into a cascade of muscles and sunshine
where we will never find the darkness

when your dark words tell a brighter story
how can we tell?

the words so dear to you to us
have rebelled against their meaning
"vague and unclear" is vague and unclear

when your long sleeves hide beautiful scars
how can we tell?

they don't roll up
even on sunny days
concealing a cursed tale etched in your skin

when the sun never sets
how will we ever gaze upon the moon?
and when the light is never turned off,
how will you sleep?
184 · Nov 2019
release
Isaac Nov 2019
the threads of time are not
ours to keep, nor cut nor pull
but we can do our best to
hold on to whatever string we
have, even if it’s our noose

the sands of destiny are not
ours to feel, nor touch nor soak
but we can do our best to
flip the hourglass over when
the golden liquid nearly falls

the edges of space are not
ours to bend, nor mould nor shape
but we can do our best
to smoothen out the folds
when the corners begin to curl

we cannot control everything
but what we can we must.

the beads of memories
strung onto the lines of time
are ours to keep, cut and pull
and we must collect them
no matter shiny or dull

the water of truth hidden deep
within the rivulets of destiny
is ours to feel, touch and soak,
and find our true fate within
the droplets of realisation

the ink of reality smudged onto
the aged papyrus of space
is ours to bend, mould and shape
and we have all the power
to write our own stories

finding freedom in boundaries is true release
Sometimes it’s the lack of boundaries that is the problem. There won’t be a fence in front of the cliff.
182 · Nov 2019
love
Isaac Nov 2019
lay your cards down on the table
the other one picks theirs up and holds it
up against their face the back of the cards
shining and shimmering in the dim candlelight
you know what they’ll do
they know what you’ll do

the rounded edges of the cards
thank you for your perfect trimming
pricking your fingers trying to
make your way around the points and corners
snipping and snapping the scissors go
one by one cloaking them in softness and warmth

the curtains sway in the sharp wind
the fireplace crackling in the clacking cracks
of the damp and dark walls, leaning
to the freshly opened smells of the decks
as they clatter around as clutter, filling up
your senses, sending you into a slight delirium

they take one of their cards
and let it float back down to the wooden tabletop
landing beside the bouquet of blood roses
a picture of the perfect gift appears
wrapped in all its splendour and glory: a ring of
pure diamond, of pure gold, of pure love

you happily dish out a stack of gilded cards
with no care or concern; you let some flutter to
the ground for the others to pick while they
eye your paper money with delicate hungry
hands hanging around, silently slipping some
into their own deck as you smile

the candle flickers as they play another card,
a portrayal of a house, a quiet place to call home
with children, hundreds, dancing and skipping
and being children, and all you can and want to do
is let the cards stream out of your hand, your
laugh lines creasing your already weathered mirror

the game goes on, no qualms about stopping,
and neither do you, as your wrinkles take over
your face in a sweep, with them mirroring yours,
the wind getting wilder, your hair in a storm,
a stack of chaotic cards in the middle, spiralling
about the room in a frenzy as the candle goes out
and darkness ensues and you reach out for them
in the now growing mess of a restaurant and the
curtains blow past your face windows shattering
and all you can think about is them them them them them and when you finally reach the other side of the table and breathe

no one is there. the table flipped over
like a game long lost and forgotten
and all the cards lying dead and roses pooling on the floor and oh how you want to follow suit;
but this game is too fun and you go on to the next
round, sweeping card edges off your suit.
This is the third poem in the set of 8. Play the game, play it well.
181 · Jun 2022
neverland
Isaac Jun 2022
the ever-expanding walls
run from me, as I chase down
impossibilities and pipe
dreams, my feet never touching
the ground, not even
once. upon a time

there lived a boy in his
head, and in his head he stayed,
blind to reality but inclined to
imagine. he knew not once
of worldly torment, yet was
all too familiar with that which
the ever-expanding walls ran
from-

the truth.
to be trapped in my mind
where all is free

is better than to be free
in the world, where all
is trapped
181 · Mar 2021
anxiety
Isaac Mar 2021
is an aching feeling,
a slow burning cold that
clenches its frosted fists
and clings on your ribcage,
tugging and bowing on
your heartstrings, a discord
of full blown paranoia and
silent cries for help

anxiety: the medical term for suffocating yourself from the inside
180 · Apr 2022
to gently berate
Isaac Apr 2022
emotions abate
i am no longer irate
in pupils agate
176 · Nov 2019
honey
Isaac Nov 2019
and we wonder why bees sting

we get a glimpse of a bullet
yellow and black
flying towards us

and we swat it away

maybe that
floating pill you’ve been running away
from since the beginning
of your existence
holds something behind
its bold sunshine and darkness

maybe we should
take some time
to listen to the whispers of
the “horde” of coloured
pebbles raining down

and listen to the
muted flap of their
heart beat of their
wing

and just maybe
just maybe

the bee won’t sting
we all see the bee differently

but we all know it’s there

maybe it’s time to stop running
172 · Jan 2023
untitled
Isaac Jan 2023
melodies lie bare
for I am far too ashamed
to give them a name.
172 · Dec 2019
irony (2)
Isaac Dec 2019
stuff yourself
even though you’re full

fill yourself
even if you’re bursting

bleed yourself
even when you’re dead
humans don’t know limits.

is that good?
164 · Oct 2019
friends
Isaac Oct 2019
awkward smile sticky wave
both stuttering in faked honesty and false sincerity
words crafted and sewed to fit around the other
perfectly like a blackened cardigan
lined with sweet sweet poison

killer eye contact keeps you out
and keeps you coming back for more
the risk and danger of falling into the grasps
of a worse person than you
is tantalising like munching on melatonin morsels
while dancing away from death’s ***** door

when backs are turned
smiles die and waves collapse
into the sweaty twisting of fingers
and the twisting of mouths into large long grins
ready for the first conversation the first contact
traps ready they turn around

with even bigger smiles
starting with the sharpened hook
of a fairytale introduction where
one came from antarctica and the other from hell
giggles and laughter only serve to make hair stand
cringing inside so much their stomach is a braid

poison and sarcasm don’t drip like honey
they slide and slither and burn like snakes
in the grass, camouflaged in the already dark night
up they go into your brain your mind your soul
feasting on your fear your weakness your love

then comes the main course the connection
the stories of broken childhoods in succession
not stopping for a tear or a comment
flowing like the poison flowing like the river
of thoughts that fall from your head
as the story goes on, getting stuck in the endless
ebb and flow and tide and spiral of hypnosis

it’s too late when you realise
you’re in his palm his hand his fingers
a puppet for pain of pain by pain
the strings no your own strings
wrapped around your own hands your own feet
your mind caught in its own trap

just a tunnel to the other side
a flight of steps in a thunderstorm of rickety
elevators to be stepped on and off
crumbling to dust in the very end
an underpass to the above, just the cement
crusted and turned to stone frozen
in time, unmoving, resigned

and finally you sleep
in your own cocoon you made for him
tighter and tighter the strings are
the more tired you become
falling into the eternal rest
barely slipping from the dancing fingers of death
slipping past it into a place
your place, faraway
lost in your own dreams and nightmares
This is the second poem in the set of 8.

Realise that the only things faker than your smiles are your friends.
159 · Jul 2021
warsong
Isaac Jul 2021
march on brave warriors
feet drumming the earth
draw rhythm out of pain
the metronome of life
the right of way is
your right today

march on brave soldiers
veterans who have seen
everything but nothing
more and nothing yet
cry for the lost
weep for the found

march on brave children
tiny palms hold Atlas' weights
unbeknownst to them
they carve the cliffs and valleys
that they will live and die in

march on brave souls
who live on in us
in the tolling feet of warriors
in the tearful eyes of soldiers
and the tested palms of children

march on march on march on march on

march on bravely
march on knowing full well that we will
march on with you as you
march on.
159 · Apr 2022
unspeakable
Isaac Apr 2022
the rhythmic, unfeeling bars and tones
make me feel more than
dry words from
dry lips
155 · Dec 2019
mindful fatigue
Isaac Dec 2019
it is tiring.

watching their faces smashed
against the windows smiling
almost aggressively laughing

having to not hurt everyone
as i trip about corners and words
and deadly sentences
and yet still get there
get to “friendship”

standing in an
unending burst
of my own energy
just to calm theirs

pulling up my
****** muscles to
create a paper thin emotion
a semblance of contentment
just a semblance

cascading upon me
a pool of thoughts and opinions
i never asked for

i am tired.

of them.
but being tired is wrong. It’s rude, they say.
153 · Dec 2019
drown
Isaac Dec 2019
i drown myself in the noise

because i can’t bear your silence

because you’ve drowned

and the only noise i can hear

is the whisper of a smile

muted in the seabed
come back
153 · Nov 2019
nature
Isaac Nov 2019
you think that flowers are pretty and the forest
smells fresh and they are all made for you
just for you. you think that the green grass is soft
and the seas and skies and sand are all for you.
you think that nature is generous and kind
and good and pure just like you

i also wonder about humanity’s ever-increasing
records of stupidity, their eyes blind with anger
entitlement suspicion frustration the heat of rage
miniature suns burning and blistering and
destroying everything they see touch anything
in reach, thinking that all is theirs and theirs is all

they don’t see the blood on the floor and the
bodies lying all around. they step on them like
pillows on a road, rolling over them like the stones
they are, don’t see the teeth and eyes and edges
lying all around, all the traps biding their time,
waiting to crush a few pebbles

the true monster has yet to show, eyes shut
but not asleep, dormant but not oblivious
waiting in the shadows of the air and the black
days that the humans pass by like the stones they
are, blood pooling bodies rotting, and the humans
can’t care won’t care couldn’t care less as they
continue to fall

time is ticking and so is their patience, a silent
bomb waiting to be free of the grasps of dirt
and soil soiling its body, when finally nature strikes
back, strikes hard, as the humans fall ten by ten,
grass blades flying and petals dying, when nature
reclaims what has been stolen

nature will come back, and erase humanity like
moss on a stone, eating and destroying and
poisoning their already heavy hearts and souls,
dragging them over down into the earth, till
their blood has replaced theirs and their bones
have melted back where they came from,
and humans finally realise the moment just before
they fall from the earth, that it was all in their minds

they never owned nature, they were the ones that
needed her

nature never needed humans

they’re just mouldy stones at the bottom of a
fish tank long forgotten
This is the fifth poem of the set of eight.

We won’t expect the grass blade through our hearts.
152 · Nov 2019
people
Isaac Nov 2019
there’s so many of them it’s almost impossible
to tell who’s living and who isn’t because of all the
sweat and stench of fear and deodorant
that masks their heavy breathing and
heavier hearts - burdens that they carry around
as if they were important. if only they knew that
wounds heal and scars fade, maybe, just maybe
they would already be flying

but of course you can see the halos and the horns
and the tails and the wings that flicker like
their souls in their hollow chests, only the slightest hint of their singular intention - to try to fly
but it’s the halos and horns and tails and wings that truly prevent them from flying

they are jealous of the birds that walk above and wonder how they fly - their hollow bones and hollower hearts uplift them to the black skies and
blacker stars. but these people full of blood and
bones and lifelessness are like stagnant stones
infested with dying moss, littering the ground like
ugly splotches on an ugly painting

only some know the way to hover and float above
everyone, instead of taking in they give out,
give out death and anger and hate and frustration,
let it flow like a river, washing down off away
the pain, like a stone caught in the gentle floods of
rage, leaving a trail of love and loss in the depths

these are the people who will rise up and rise
higher than anyone ever because they
know how to let go let off let be and
who don’t need wings to fly because they
know that memories are boulders and grudges are
killers and only when they give their whole
heart and soul then do they take off and



fall, fall when they realise they had asked for
too much, way too much, and realise that flying
has its own burdens, a paradise in hell, a curse
with the shading of a blessing, floating in the air
for all who reach out for to, and realise in the end:

walking was always enough.
This is the fourth poem in the set of 8.

Do you fly?
148 · Aug 2022
indescribable
Isaac Aug 2022
i can barely put this feeling
into words.

it is awkward, it is uncannily
difficult to deal with, and i am desperate
to let it out but there is nothing
i can do.

there is a war in my mind,
and both sides
are losing.

it is not silent, it is
a low buzz, a muted
whisper, not really there
but still so real.

it makes its way into every
thought, every action, an invader
and intruder, an insatiable,
feral desire that you never
really know

i am trying to go both
ways at once, leave and enter,
exist yet be nothing at all

right and wrong are
never too far apart, and
i am getting tired of choosing.
the desperation for human connection is ironically so hampered by not being able to trust yourself and trust anyone else - it almost hurts.

how can they tell me to believe when I've done that all my life and every single time it's ended up the same way?

I will not willingly place myself in a position of disappointment. And yet...
138 · Dec 2019
sidewalk sidestep
Isaac Dec 2019
it scares me
not because they’re all different

it’s because they’re all the same

they all never last
im sorry, but I think I’ll pass
138 · Nov 2019
serial lover
Isaac Nov 2019
you’d said I’d broken your heart
said it was all my fault
said it was because of me

you flaunt the scars on your heart
blaming me for the crosses and trails of blue and black

telling me how irresponsible I am while your hand fumbles in my pocket for my heart while you’re just reaching for my wallet

squeezing your arteries and veins
pouring it all in a wine cup
sipping it in front of everyone
and it’s my fault that you’re a vineyard

putting your legs on the table
boasting about the abrasions on your knees
bragging about the finger marks around your neck
and it’s my fault that you live in a brothel

swaggering about in your “cheap” designer nightgown
gloating about your lipstick that isn’t waterproof
and it’s my fault you’re not a trending makeup tutorial vlogger

you can go on and on
but why should I listen

when you were the one who juiced the life out of my heart made me kneel before you choked me till my neck caved in turned me into a loveless prune painted my face red with your blood

how can you say all that
when you’re really the murderer here
midnight frenzy~
138 · Jun 2020
disappointment
Isaac Jun 2020
once, it was like a knife
grabbing at my insides,
cutting up my thoughts,
my heart, my mind,
a clear line of chaos spliced
into this line of fire

now, it is but a teardrop
left uncried, sitting on my
eyelid, a muted feeling
that rings harmoniously
through my soul.
As I grow accustomed to pain, I feel scared. How do I know when I've reached the limit?
136 · Nov 2019
Moment
Isaac Nov 2019
it was a silent splash
into the river
and all its bewitching curves

as it sank into his pores
his mouth his ears
his eyes his body

as one second of purity
washed countless years
of killings and being killed

cleansing him from the inside-out

then he sees him
on the other side

again.

for a moment they freeze
in their shock

the quiet ripples are no longer
silent as they scramble out to shore
as they ignore their bare bodies
as they reach for their veteran
killing machines

and for another moment

he watches him crawl up to shore
while he aims it at his head
his finger at the trigger

but in this moment

in their nakedness

stripped of identity

they are one and the same

they are no different

there is no violence no hurt no war no sadness no killing no hate no guns no knives no punches no kicks no grenades no trenches no shrapnel no-

and with a muted splash
he feels the river
of blood running down
his head

as the moment of realisation
slips away
In war, everything seems to be black and white.

Will you get killed by your own grey heart?
130 · Aug 2021
my fingertips hurt
Isaac Aug 2021
not a stirring storm, rather
a lake in crisis, thunderstorm
rhythm in motion, my body
is used to the churning

acidic vandalism of the inner
walls, scars like stars in the
midnight sky, constellations
of hurt, trapped within the
observatory I am

soon enough, the familiar
pain eases itself through
the rusted pipes, leaking,
faulty, unfeeling cold
like stalagmite formations

it returns home, unfortunately,
again, and I am no stranger to
the wintry tendrils that have
replaced my blood, that give me
life that isn't worth living

my digits twitch and spasm as
the metallic river snakes to
my extremes, shores of icicles
erupting to the surface

if am numb to the numbing anger
then why do my fingertips hurt?
125 · Nov 2019
deathlines
Isaac Nov 2019
Flurry

Whirlwind

Storm

Of papers filled with crosses and corrections and grades and marks and questions

Round and round

It goes, never stopping

Around me is a hailstorm of

Judgement and fury

Because everything I do is always

Wrong

even though I always

meet the

deathlines
123 · Nov 2019
crossroads
Isaac Nov 2019
they look at it like x marks the spot
in a cradle of apprehension they are caught
in a chrysalis of fear and self-fulfilling prophecies
disturbed sleep descends like cold blankets on colder memories

they fiddle with the dirt with their calloused toes
an imprint of hope on the sands with their soles
the fleeting winds chide them with gales in the night of day
once a broken mind, a broken heart you’ll stay

turned head twisted neck on the floor broken back
from the burdens of many, their condolences in a sack
tugged along for many years to come,
a mission long lost, aimless as the sun
travelled paths leave marks like many stains
of fights long lost and won, of broken limbs and pain
weathered faces carved into fallen pebbles chipped off a boulder
made for something big, something more, just resting on your shoulders
maybe it’s just my horrible sense of direction
123 · Nov 2019
stream
Isaac Nov 2019
It calls for me.

It laps against my bare feet
barer than the dead bodies.

It is an actual mirage
A true illusion
A real lie.

It calls for me.

It whispers in my ear
And this time it’s not the wind
Not the screams not the cries.

But it’s the whispers
Of a kiss on the neck
Of a finger on the small of your back.

It calls for me.

It reaches up to my
Legs of age and death
Of loss and grief.

This time it’s not a bullet
Grazing past my calves
It’s the blood trickling down.

I long for it.

It calls me.

I fall into it.

It calls me.

Bare and broken.

It calls me.

It calls me.

It calls-
second poem in the three part series

the feeling of after having been deprived of something you want for so long - the desire reopens that cracked and dry heart
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