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I bleed with ink.
You breathe in brushstrokes.
Still, we meet
in the same shade of ache.

I call it a stanza.
You call it a sky,
but both are ways
to survive the silence.

My pen trembles like your hands do
when the colours won’t blend.
We try to tell the truth,
but it keeps slipping
into metaphor.

I say “I miss you”
through rhythm.
You say it
through smudged reds
and too much blue.

We never made sense
in black and white.
But somewhere between
my verse
and your canvas,
we almost
became a masterpiece.
When a painter loves a poet. Find me on the Poesie app as palindromic_angel to hear my readings :)
Focused breath steadies the storm in my chest.
Over and over, I rehearse what I’d say if you answered.
Remnants of your voice echo in the silence.
Gravity pulls at my hand as I reach for the phone again.
In stillness, I ask myself—what do I need: closure or connection?
Voiceless vibrations stir the table—false hope in digital form.
Even knowing it’s not you, I glance, conditioned by memory.
Not yet free, I carry the weight of what was left unsaid.
Each attempt to release you tightens the tether between us.
Some wounds disguise themselves as loyalty.
Slowly, though, I learn that healing does not wait for an apology.
  12h Carlo C Gomez
nivek
words to bluff, huff and puff
a wolf who looks alot like granny

but those teeth do not fit
that smile just does not do it

the fairytale wolf a reminder
a hungry grin seeing you as supper
Heart ache like sandpaper slowly eroding away giving up whats left of me day by day.
Memories of people and places i once knew fading, as the flow of life keeps erasing and
re-shading.
Who was i and who were they? What will be left when everything fades away?
Some people gone and some just pushed out of reach, makes me want to build a wall that you cant breach.
The ache of loss can drive you insane. Loss of others, of yourself , of hope… its hard to maintain.
Weak and weary from the push and pull. Feeling desperate to see something meaningful.
Pouring myself out like water on the ground. Feeling absorbed and not profound.
Asking myself  why? what is it all for? Trying to be less and then trying to be more.
Life is a vapor a whisper of smoke. We try to make it more and then we choke.
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