Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I heard it.
The sound of a string snapping,
(....)
I hope I was mistaken.

Silence collapsing under its own weight.
Scattered quarks and anti-quarks  
shattering the perfect neutral harmony.
The remorseless swelling of matter.
Until no stillness, no Nothing remains.
Burning Lilacs Dec 2019
-
IF YOU THINK







DON'T
Burning Lilacs Nov 2019
If that of me which were rubbed away
got retrieved,
then


(Of course, yes,
it can't become "Me" again.)


It could at least be made mine. Arranged anew
as

"An eraser's poem"
The general idea for this poem came to me from within a dream in which I was tasked with titling and commenting on a book about my life.
Burning Lilacs Jul 2019
It's as though through letting ideas slip away into nothingness
I've died countless times:
unrealised, unfulfilled, unsatisfied.
Their last scream of agony devoid of substance,
reverberates through me,
Reminding me that
I've neglected to death that which could've filled me.

I sit alone quietly watching,

An ego of sand trickles down
each grain a like on a tweet, a seen video.
Aren't they really smart? The people who make these things?
Promised to make me golden,
And I am, indeed.
Just as cold and saleable as that.

NO no,

I keep trying to claw my way out.
It's taking too long, why isn't it working?
Hands getting weaker?
Nails dulling out?
Or maybe I've never had anything sharp on myself to begin with.

The worst is that I'm not alone in this
And most of you seem content.
Living being made to obey
With grains of dopamine being thrown around
as we dance to catch each in your mouths.
Not much different from these poor animals at the circus.

Let's cut this short.

Aim big and don't expect a praise or prize soon after you start.
People aren't brands and brands aren't people.
Let's learn to enjoy the ride more than the destination.
Good luck, I believe in me,
I believe in you.
Good luck good luck good luck, remember you're a knife that just needs sharpening sometimes.
  Mar 2019 Burning Lilacs
Kyra
Perhaps they were right
about cameras
They really do steal our souls
and place them
in pretty little squares.
Hidden.

Maybe that's why
we're all
soulless now.
Burning Lilacs Jul 2018
May it be quiet
May there be no light,
For May is quite tired
Tonight Last night Next night

Sleep tight,
Shall not one bird shout
What with doubt or delight
Insomnia-blue sky sounds out

May May fess up, call-self-out?
May I, Shall I, Am I?
What only a **** could spout
Burnt bridges, Eye melting an eye

This milk's rotten, I won't cry
Peace is all I dream about.
The birds sing, another fight
Goodnight cry out Be alright
May is a pseudonym I sign artwork with, my "internet artist persona".
Burning Lilacs Apr 2018
It is strange to move unburdened.
Feet so light that
with each step they shoot high up to the sky,
Threatening to kick the teeth out,
or rip my thighs' tendons,
Restraint so foreign to them.

Quite curious my hands feel
released from the duty of holding me together.
Consumed by bittersweet emptiness
As they confusedly try to grasp
something, anything to hold onto or
at least the meaning of what "freedom" actually is.

So please be patient
as I stumble around in this awkward body.
You see, the me this free wasn't here for growing up
So I'm just beginning learning how to
align feeling with being
All Right
Next page