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The din of the second hand,
Quickly recedes into the ebbing tide.
We are not one, but we’re the same,
So is time, as it becomes the ocean’s bride.

The tide returns twice a day,
And so do the seconds,
Repeating for an eternity.
If love is sugar,
Leave behind
The long stale bread,
And use the stars instead.

Only in the clearing
Will you see a candy house;
A place of sweet temptation,
And bitterless deflation.
I tried to make this on several levels. I debated whether or not to explain them here but decided not to.
As the crow flies,
A straw is in its mouth.

It only takes a thousand more,
For the old scarecrow
To stand at death’s door.
Hate is a word I use sparingly. There’s not a single one I hate. Even when I was beaten up regularly by bullies, I couldn’t hate them. That kind of emotion is unnecessary for us.
Cold hands
Grasping at my arms,
Longing for some heat,
Unwilling to face
An icy incineration
Before jack frost’s
Legion of frozen winds.

My blood has run too cold,
And I have long since forgotten
That these hands are but my own.
My hands get really cold really easily. But I don’t feel my hands ever get cold. I’ve never felt my hands get super duper cold. everyone comments about it, but whenever I put my fingers to my neck, I still feel a gentle heartbeat, which tells me I’m still alive; not a reanimated skeleton! My friends love to call me that because I’m so skinny.
A doorframe,
Standing in the endless plane.
The gateway of nothing,
An entrance to walk around.
Little chains
Blocking my entrance to this frame,
But they’re comfortable and tame.
Their blades may cut into my arms,
But I smile, convinced it’s okay.

Entering the frame,
The chains are shattered.
A heart to recover;
Regrow my listless wings.
Expelling the lingering avarice,
I stand, renewed alone.
Adios, Mel and A.
Despicable,
Through these actions,
I dawn a mask of ignorance
To hide my potent arrogance.

Yet I know
That nothing hides these teeth;
The badge of my monstrosity.

Rain divine judgement upon
My scarred shoulders,
And I shall beckon the fleeting dawn,
As well as soul shattering boulders.
Petals falling
Over dead leaves,
Desecrating the earth’s
Lifeless memorial.

As the lifeless
May be sacred
To the living,
I still stand;
A living insect,
To be toyed with
By (in)human gods.
All those petty lies,
Futile tries,
And what’s you’re prize?

Nothing.
I don’t have a thing
To crown upon your head.
No crown
To coronate you an *******.

Disarming you upon your decent,
Shocking you when you’re grounded.

Stop seeking my comfort,
For soon I will lose this pity.
Don’t **** with me. Not that they’ll ever even read this. Ugh some people are so ******* annoying. They degrade themselves or say that you’ll do something bad to them just to be complimented or to get a gentle confirmation that you won’t do anything bad. I’m tired of that.

Title is from the song King Nothing by Metallica. It’s a good song.
Mistily drifting
Through lazily flowing
Streams.

Morning mountains
Wave a warm welcome,
Hiding the torturous glare
Of the oppressive morning sun.

These white mountain mornings
Surely are the best.
Naming poems is hard, but I really don’t know what’s happening to what because they’re all “Untitled”

I’m remembering when I climbed mt. Washington a year ago. I’m actually trying to climb all 48 4k footers in NH, then I’m going to go back to Washington and do the hardest trail (i did the second hardest last year)
Oil
Oil
Incinerate my heart;
And the emotions contained.

You may not need
To do any labor,
For the monster inside
Will eventually consume itself,

Leaving me
But an empty shell.
Gazing through
Stories of others’
Trials,

Once again,
Feeling reluctant
To ink my trials
Onto eternal pages.
I feel like my ink would just be violating for any piece of paper.
Sleeping into sleepless nights,
Waking the morning
With deprecating words;
I stand, alone...

Inside your mind,
Looking back through the glass,
Wondering how much time has passed.
Because tomorrow I’ll be alone,
Sitting on my own;
Just a memory for a sour mind.
All I can hear is the screaming in my head. Telling me how much I’ve ****** up time and time again. I’ve lost too many friends because of my actions, how can I be happy with what I have when I’m soon to lose it?

I just need some control over myself.
Maybe if I stop
This run-and-hide;
Let the wind
Carry me with the tide,
I’ll find the reason
A monster like me
Lives to see
Yet another day.
Maybe it should just eat me,
Take over my entire mind.

Once again,
I’ll be nowhere to be found.

If I’m gone
You wouldn’t miss me,
Because I’ll still be there.

I just wouldn’t be the me
That you know,
I’d be the opposite.
But maybe that’s a good thing.
A small release
Of pent up oxygen,

And now I wonder...
Does he hate me?

Why is my mind
So cruel in my thoughts?
“Maybe if you would just give in,
Become the crumbling bridge.

Scream within this vacuum,
Sever all ties with gravity.

Float off into space,
Like the useless bridge
That crumbled long ago.”
I’m using quotes as if someone else is saying it, not me, but to me.
The clouds daydream overhead,
as if they are in sync
With the petals of cold rain.
I think my style has changed a bit.
Let the pain flow out.

Let me be there,
Before I fall away.
I’m on an arrogant throne,
And nothing but a beast,
But...
Let me help.

Smile, and take my embrace.
Let me comfort you,
Help carry some of the pain.

Maybe I just need comfort too...
Drain me of my blood
Let the acid drip further down.
Watch my corrupted heart
turn my blood to toxin.
It doesn’t matter
Where I’ve been,
Just listen to the pitter patter,
And avoid the noxious splash.

Drain me of all I have,
Leave me with nothing.
Maybe I can start again,
Learn from my mistakes.
Exile love from my mind, then I won’t hurt anyone due to my ****** heart.
Don’t stop me
I’ll be free,
You’ll soon see
What’s meant to be.

**** all this ****,
I hate every last bit.
Connections are taking a hit
And you’re having another fit.

Let me run away,
Fly myself over the bay.
All you have to do is pray
For my safety as i go my way
A, I’m done.
Somniferous clouds
Of amber green smoke;
Trees in the fog,
Or rocks in the stream.

Delicate ripples of sound
Disturb the silence,
Like a gentle breeze
Among the evening birds.

As the waves roll in
The tide slides out,
Nursing me into the depths
Of healing darkness.
A sensation forgotten so quick,
As if it never even existed,
But it always returns.
A noxious heart
Pumping noxious blood.

Let my feelings run free
As I call a flaming flood,
And lower myself
Onto the sadist’s throne.
I have more
Than just a bone
To pick with myself.
I’ve always known
With ears deaf of tone,
So I’ll patiently wait
to get blown

Away.
Hiding behind a closet door
Peering through the slats
Wondering if I should reveal my spot,
Or just stay hidden forever.

There’s always another way out
But that path is new.
The fear of it is irrational...

And so is my embarrassment.
I’ve never shared my poetry with anyone before, so it’s a bit embarrassing to post it for the world to see. Maybe “bit” is an understatement...
Saving face
With a mask of lies,
Avoiding rainy puddles
And radiant glass,
Because my reflection
Might not show.

******* blood
From the wounds
Of tiny truths,
And lying
To justify the damage,
I persist with life.
I know my poetry isn’t great, well not as great as one of my friend’s poetry. I never shared my poetry with him because I didn’t want him to look down on me. Kinda sad, my only writer friend is so much better than me that I’m afraid to tell him I write too.
If the chorus passes a false note,
It will hang from the ground;
Suspended like an elephant.

Nobody dares to comment,
Or to continue to dance.

We’re all motionless in white,
Looking at what’s passed.
Strings winding,
through and around.
Sharper than knives,
Yet softer than feathers.

Wrapped around my finger,
Connecting it’s vitality.

Is the red my fate...
Or just my blood,
A friend started hinting that he likes me, but i don’t know if that’s true or it’s just my dramatic mind. I don’t even like him like that though...
Inescapable fates
Brand cinders onto our skin
Like the fluorescent shadows,
That outline our soul
In this cell’s darkest corners
Hmm...
Defining the laws,
Destroying young chains.
Descending lost walls,
Dissolving forces to grains.

An army of enslaved,
And you sit in the middle.
Any spoken words are engraved,
I’ll play your deathly fiddle.

Maybe you should speak
So you’ll finally see
Just how weak
You’re meant to be.
I was the ground,
The caves that trapped her in.
I was the chains,
That gripped her wings like a vice.
I was the devil,
Tempting her against her morals.

Now I’m the hole,
That once held the caves.
(Then was filled with cement)
The key,
That set the locks free
(Then was thrown away)
An mistaken demon,
Who never meant to do damage.
(Then was destroyed at the core)
I was never an angel, but I didn’t want to be so awful to a person, intentionally or unintentionally.
The edge,
Bringing life to man,
As man brings
A relentless surf
Onto the unstable edge.
Death grips worth losing,
But remain in your stubborn defiance.

Maybe you should just let go.
We’re two parts of one,
But you can’t stay in now
If you’re clinging to then.

You’ll just split us up even more.
I can feel my conscience splitting in half...
Charred stone
To molten ash;
Exchanges made
From fire to flame.

I evolve with the world;
Such changes are never tame.
Words meant to cut
Slice no better
Than a knife for butter.

Words that cut
Without intent,
Slice through
With clean, decisive strokes.
Slashing cloth
Like an angel’s wing.

Ripping through
This tapestry of love.

Among the ashes
Of the severed half
Lie my mistakes,
To be lost from mind...

But never repeated.
What’s this section even for? It says notes but what should I note?? Maybe I’ll find out later, but, for now, I’ll just use this to talk to you fellow poets.
False love
Masking the truth.
Emotions felt
To service oneself.
If that’s all you have now,
You’re worse than I ever was.
I know I’m awful,
But I’m at least accepting this,
And stopping myself from continuing.
The petals on the stem,
A red without shadow.

Blood stained flowers
Marking us red;
The color of our hearts,
And the connection in our minds.

The fibers in the stem,
Become the python of my throat,
I’ll slowly lose air,
Until there’s none left for life.
I honestly don’t even know what I’m writing. It’s not a love poem though, because I’m not in love with anyone.
Wishy washy
Goes the machine
Wishy washy
Making clothes clean

Wishy washy
And filled with lies
Wishes lost
With a broken prize.
As a fallen leaf
Clings to the decaying branch,
I stand, fallen;
Throttling the past
With twisted recollections
And lemony memories.
I feel it beneath my skin,
Wearing me paper thin.
Vibrations stronger than
The normal laws of man,
I can’t conceive
What I’m meant to be,
I feel I’m to believe
That I’m now a monster.

Feeding off ample life
Living through thinning strife,
Why not burn me in the square?
After all,
Monsters don’t play fair.
Brushing my hands,
An invitation
To a wavering future.

The still;
Almost silent glass,
Beckoning me closer.

However,
All I can do
Is ripple the surface,
Breaking a glassy illusion.

— The End —