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Nicholas Mar 20
Things were never perfect
That's what made it

It was good,
made beautiul from the illusion that there wasn't a

glass ceiling to
how much we
could love each other
Nicholas Mar 18
Fragile cosmos; not expanding but exploding what it wished were a
soulful, solitary display

All of His contemplations;
a quarry of quandry for
which the upper depths of
space are the baseline

Stars, no longer an expression of a
dying Son, ethearalize upon a canvas that can either
crush The Father

or remain
painted on the dark side of the
moon; a face mistaking it's
frown for a grin, nobody to correct him

Of His own volition;
a never-ending shift of balances

throwing Everyone into it's tantric evolution

Shotten wishes, raining onto the unawakened

Hushed gasps collapsing into
vacuous nothingness
Rambling spurred by an extended mediation on art and why we even create it to begin with.
Nicholas Mar 15
Universal entropy,
masking it’s plan

Perceivable good and
evil, much more than so

A light waiting to be shone
beyond which we can ever comprehend

Camouflaged, patient;
wickedness one day proving itself
God’s rippling gift

And yet, the present seems bleak,
The great unknown rests
behind a curtain,
even to you

Keeping us suspended
above countless destinies below,
those realities flickering like traffic from
a private city rooftop

Our actions,
for an audience we are unaware exist
So not for naught,
do indulgences befall

Some good can come of our mistakes,
even if it's to faces we'll never know
An attempt to explore the implications of the butterfly effect and how our actions as individual, no matter how seemingly random or potentially evil they may be, may inadvertently impact people we'll never meet in some positive way.
Nicholas Mar 13
Scattered across my bedroom floor,
glimmers of light staccato on wilted rose pedals

Memories of us, 
the faintest slapback of the person I was with you,
flicker with lethargic buoyancy 

Fondness for fondness sake,
denial as a delicacy

Your face, obscured in these floral polaroids
Impressions of who you were;
what you meant to me,
a struggle to behold
but recognizable in ripples across the faces of others

Remains of an entanglement that seemed to answer
why the universe was even formed to begin with

This omnipresent truth laying abed the other
jagged reality of our affair;
it was never you,
it was my self-possessing pursuit of wholeness
Musings on the idea that love can be a very selfish act and that, in it's absence, we sometimes look back on a former relationship, not because we still love or miss that person, but because we love/miss the way that person made us feel about ourselves.
Nicholas Mar 11
Nipping on earbuds
Frosty crackling intimacy
Voicemails unreturned
The idea of the title of this poem almost being as long as the poem itself amuses me a lot. I feel like it kinda suggests that, more often than not, the stories we tell ourselves about relationships, the content of them, are often much simpler than the labels and titles we associate with them.
Nicholas Mar 11
is excitement and the lack thereof

developing across
a bed of thoughts


Bending to your will and
guiding it

Alluding you entirely

Compatible in all ways but one,
or one way but none

Love is whatever you make it to be
defined only by the realization of it's existence
Nicholas Mar 8
how you have begot routine

An occupation entered most

Consuming a once
vivid and polymathic soul
Seeped into your bones
Left you forgot,
a flickering and
dying star

you're here every day,
but you're heart feels vacant;
gone away, or really still at
home, wherever that is

Your body's traveling the
world, but your mind's spinning in
too fast to see past the

Will you reminisce of these days to your future
Or will you skip this period,
for this is
not really you to begin with?

your intermission will come to an end

May you someday return, spirited and

— The End —