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Lost Poet Jun 2016
Is it really so easy,
For you to hate me?

Why do you want me gone,
What have I done wrong?

Why does this hurt like hell,
Is that something you can tell?

Because if I hate you,
And you hate me,
What does it hurt so bad?
I can't even write good poetry anymore. My brain's ****** up.
Lost Poet May 2016
I ****** up again...
  May 2016 Lost Poet
Stephan
.

*His words,
once a celebration of love,
poetic affection,
written from the deepest
part of his heart
for her,

are now
nothing more than
creased and torn
pages of empty verses
shoved in the back pocket
of his worn out jeans

Ink bleeding between
the lines of a man
who believed he mattered,
only to find that he is
as insignificant
as his writings,

a forgotten poet,
a dried up pen in hand,
scratching sad poetry
on a lonely sidewalk
between the cracks of his life,
etchings of who he once was
Lost Poet May 2016
How can I live in the moment,
When the only reason I am alive,
Are my dreams of anytime,
Other than this moment?
Lost Poet May 2016
Everyday I must heal you,
I can not live while you hurt,
Healing you is what I must do,
Why else would I continue,
There is no other reason,
For me to keep on living this tedious life,
So I will fix you,
I will try to fix myself,
But maybe someday you will be whole,
You will smile and be okay,
And will you still want me around,
Will you still need me,
And what will I do,
When you don't need me anymore?

Would I just dissapear,
Cease existing,
Living this cruel life,
Would I finally let go,
Or would I find another to fix,
While you live wholly,
Because I could never help,
Someone who lives,
So I will dissapear,
And leave them to lead happy lives,
After all,
They are much better off without me,
Trying to fix the things I broke.
  May 2016 Lost Poet
Traveler
Thawed from her icy stare
Her subjects gather
To bid repair

We were once golden
Amongst the evergreens
This energy of consciousness
Is an infectious fiend

Beckoning the call
Break free from the one
And beyond forgiveness
For all we have done

She sweeps across the open sea
To seal the final bet
But you better believe
There's still gold
   Amongst the evergreens yet...
Lost Poet May 2016
Stop, Just stop,
Please make it all stop.
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