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Simone13 Aug 2018
Like an aberration
A colossal of ways  
Is when the moonlight
Meets the sun raise  

                                           Time-lined asphalt
                              Orb shadowing the dawn
                          Avoiding flickering wounds
                                                   By moving on

Like a neighbor
A wall mould to clay
That is the burden
Between night and day
Simone13 Aug 5
No amount of guilt can resurrect the past and for some that past is still a future

still there is an innocence in the thought of sowing a piece of oneself in life

but I’ve learned we are not remembered we are not remembered for our changing seasons or for the gifts we bring

no , we are not remembered for our perfections
it’s the imperfections that leave a fingerprint
a fingerprint sowed into the veins of life pumping and shaping the vessels of our memory

we are not remembered by those who do not remember themselves
we are remembered by our morals and actions ,for the way we drowned with air in our lungs

we are remembered for trying to leave a little piece of ourselves in the lives of others

as a parent, a friend ,a tutor ,a sister and a child

for the unbending ,heartfelt , seer-willed deeds of someone untamed of life only caged by the deeds of others

You ,pained by your memories and the vessels sowed in your place ,stuck questioning your loss of the unknown when you realise what you lost was yourself

your sorrow and entrapment will fade away and your shell will remain
that little piece of a perfectly , imperfect , fading smile imprinted into my life

and now that you don’t have to be perfect anymore
you can be remembered
This poem id dedicated to someone in my life who has passed away , someone who made an impact in my life and i will always remember her for how strong she was even if the world tried to break her.
Simone13 Aug 19
People take it for granted
And just assume that everyone has it
To feel themselves be captured
By something they won't admit

To feel the pain
That consuming torture
To have that warm beat in your chest
Spreading like wildfire

To feel what
I want to feel

Not when the music starts
Or when a novel ends
I want that constant suffocating feeling
That gives my life meaning
I want to be whole and broken

I want what words can’t explain
Or letters can't decode
I want to be  torn apart
And sowed back together
I want to feel my stomach drop
when life nocks me down
I want to feel my vocals rip
When i cry

I want to feel
Like something to someone
I want the emotion of knowing
I ment something
I felt something

To feel the raw emotions
Of being human
Not this numbness

Not the dread of the sunrise
knowing It will be gone
Simone13 Sep 2018
quills unburdened cuts
small as threads

some words are better left undone
then said

little by little
day by day

but for paper they’re scars
that won’t fade away

each beat is stained
flowing with ink

but it goes more unnoticed
than you think

even if they try to mend those
they seep through

papers pages will never
be brand-new
The words people tell sometimes ,they leave scars and even if they beg for forgiveness... sometimes you can forgive but you struggle  to forget
Simone13 Aug 2018
Cold, naked blurred
Dustless,  maetallic tang  
White, like a dying star

Creak ,  clunk ,  clink

Small laces swaying
against the chair in sync
Beating to the rhythm of....

              Patt    patt    patter

Beige clunks rushed
First to the wall
And then the latter whe...

      Buzz     buzz      buzz

The so...

                            Murmur ,   crackle ,   snort

Why does...

Buzz !   buzz !  buzz !

                   Patter ,    patter,     clink

I cant even think!

Clink !      clunk !         buzz!
Murmur !          swish !              slam!
Patter !    Gasp!!            Buzz!


Whale!      weez !      cry!

The sounds of another
Saying goodbye
About someone trapped in a hospital, stressed of the outcome of a loved one and with all the sounds around them they struggle to think straight untill they hear the cries of other people .. scared that they might share the same fait
Simone13 Aug 5
Young child , his father would say
Dont ever let them coerce you away
But he as a child he had a mind of his own
How else was he to be fully grown?

Strong and brave they came marching on
All the young men who came along
Old cowards would pass them by bandaged in bags to say goodbye
Blinded by what they think they know
They all saluted to join the show
his fathers chair just rocked away
Hoping his son would come back one day

But Old Soldier ,why do you run ?
The war is over the battle is won
envied by the young cherished by the old
Your Fables are written from the stories you’ve told

Maybe its your eyes this turned to stone
From the truths you’ve come to know
A Third leg and a stumbled walk
Is this the dream that they all talk?
The past is lost of what the future holds
All your days you had lost and sold
Out the window you sit and stare
Just like your father when he was there.
A child believing the lies of war , he joins against his fathers will and in the end he came to relise the truth of what his father told him.
Simone13 Nov 2018
Mabey it was just the days
that seemed prolonged

My mind that resurrects the dead
To the reaches far beyond  

Fatigued i let myself wander
Fulling false emotions blurred by imagination

Confined in my prior self
Till Im a tyrant to my own degradation

The bittersweet animosity of false hope
Like watering a blossom in hopes of a willow

My self-pity only absent in my dreams
had i wished they where nightmares not long ago

Strangled with fists and stains my pillow bears quotes i suffocate through

That quote
Go to bed
He’s not thinking about you
When you love someone, but that love is not returned.
You know this as a fact ,yet you still torment yourself by hoping
Simone13 Aug 2018
down the Valley
where the river flows
flocks of graves
swarmed with crows

ashes to ashes
turn dust to dust
where their metals lei
and turned to rust

stenches of blood
screams and decay
where wasted sheds
are left astray

down the Valley
where the river flows
are plumps of graves
where flowers grow
Simone13 Aug 16
Who am i
A speck of dust
Buried between a dessert
In a world to large to perceive

— The End —