Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Shin Feb 2021
Tell me darling, can you taste upon your lips
the ashes of a million moments missed?
Do the memories still cry out your name?
Can you still recall the last time we kissed?

You once said lightning comes in a bottle,
while handing over my heart in a jar.
To this day I still hold it in my hands,
nestled to my chest, I wonder where you are.

I may never again taste life's sweet honey.
Weave the wicker basket's ringlets through the air.
Cigarette smoke offers a simple echo.
And I question what left I have to spare.
Sometimes mental illness makes you nostalgic in a peculiar way. This poem is a reflection on my history with mental illness and how it has shaped the man I am today.
Shin Feb 2021
A whispering brook drifting by my ear.
Tells me all your secrets, shows me your curse.
The songs it sings embrace this fetid earth.
Oh what I would give to rest in its depths.
Lay my head down gently, and treasure its worth.
Shin Jan 2021
Why do we do the things that we do?
Why is it always just me and you?
I wonder, I ponder, I play in the sand.
I look for the answer on the back of my hand.

Tell me your secrets, tell me your lies.
Tell me why we never really say goodbye.
Shin Jan 2021
Don't fall in love
with the life that you live.
Sit idly by and stare.
Let the static ferment.
While your ironclad wall stands tall.
Mark the days down in chalk
until the the lead burnt dust
makes acquaintance with your chin.
The suicidal ideation is high tonight.
Shin Jan 2021
Love once
And
Never
Again

Come home
Darling.
Shin Dec 2020
I am a man made up of
beginnings and ends,
flesh and bone,
friends of the dead.

I whisper to my sweet little Valentine,
Miss must I be so maligned?

And so, it goes, it goes, it goes,
until the end of time.

I hear nothing more than the echoes
of when you were mine.
Shin Dec 2020
I sang a simple song today.
Fingers laced together,
honey-soaked marbled whispers,
lost photographs drifting down a forest creek.

Silence sank in.
Static tore at my beggar's brain.
Ink blots stained his cheek.
I looked down on him yet again.
He looked at me and smiled with relief,

and uttered

"I must ask.
Are we the lock?
Or the key?"
Next page