N H Nabass Mar 15

I'm not sure what it is
about me that people
find interest in.

In fact, I'm not even sure
I interest myself.

Maybe I just have poor taste.

late thoughts, i'm exhausted
N H Nabass Mar 15

I sleep with my blinds open
instead of using an alarm
there's no better feeling than
waking up to a warm streamline of orange light down half of your face
sitting up and stretching into a golden sky

and maybe it's a few hours earlier
than I would like but it's
worth every second
of lost sleep

I don't recall writing this, I found it in my notes. Although, waking up from a patch of sun in my face is one of my favorite things
N H Nabass Mar 15

The most distinct thing for me
is the dead silence
the sky becomes engulfed in.
The bitter grip of inaudible ice

shattered by a sharp snap of a
branch, echoing in its despair as it
can no longer accept the burden
of the white weights.

But my favorite is after the
impact disturbs solemn ground,
the earth swallows in silence  
as if nothing happened at all.

N H Nabass Feb 20

endless contortion creeping closer
wrists snapping, dead hands reaching
for ankles, thighs, they

slide up to her neck
force down on her lips: a reminder
she is confined to this penitentiary

eyes roll back, swallow their sins
cannot unsee the terror so palpable she
awoke trembling prayers to her god

to rather remain awake for all eternity
than face the grip of guilt that
torments her so, is but feeding

the zombies, never letting them go.

If you've couldn't tell, my dreams scare me more often than I would like to admit.
N H Nabass Feb 7

Uneasy legs shaking
with every muddy step,

tripping over loose earth that
refused to support my burden,

I now carry my own weight.
I am ready to start again

on solid ground.

Rely on no one but yourself, not even the ground beneath you./

very dry. I've been so out of it lately, I'm sorry.
N H Nabass Feb 6

A foot on the board and a foot barely kissing the
pavement over and over,
on beat with the pulse in the roof of my mouth.
Momentum forcing me down the winding road,
knees tucked, cutting through the wind.

What if I put my foot down going
at approximately thirty miles per hour?
Aerodynamics fail, knee snapping, body
jolting against the wind before the board
flies out from under me. Disfigured limbs,
a concussion, and a quick death upon meeting
tarmac instantly.

I know how this story ends,
so why do I still feel the urge to try?

One of my most pointless poems, but I think about doing it every single time I get on my board. Oh well.
N H Nabass Feb 6

And after everything you put me through-- every girl I tasted when you kissed me,
every bottle that was always the last one,
and every bullshit excuse you gave to get inside of me every night,

I would still give anything to
find shelter beneath your arms and
just share one more
fucking cigarette
again.

Old habits die hard.
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