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 Apr 2018 Kyle
thepoeticwit
"**** it"
no
I refuted

I said,
"Bless it"

The world is enough a hell to be ******
Why curse it further?
a mini-work
 Apr 2018 Kyle
Nimbus
I can no longer hide
My soul ignited

once disparaged
I long to share it

The chills in my spine put into words

Lips on skin
Eyes filled with sin

What is this sensation

I drip colors you cannot see

Heightening my passion
Enhancing my touch

Raw emotion channeled as such

My desire aches
The color of flush
My cage breaks
Expressions of lust

I do not fear it
I can hear you blush

My favorite sound

Our souls combust
My restless soul longs for something fulfilling
 Apr 2018 Kyle
Rohan P
stellar masses collide
beyond you; they silhouette
your ethos, slip loose your
hair—
they pattern your fingertips
and colour your
sigh

their flame:
a colossus
in your eyes.
i love being in my own world; earphones plugged in, a stroll outside, or even sitting down and staring at nothing.
walking alone at night, the silence keeping me warm.
i guess  got used to being alone, that sometimes, it's loud even if it's silent.
i guess i got used to it so much, that sometimes, i love home more when it's quiet.
i know, to some it might sound selfish, (or maybe it's just me) but i'm just used to it.

that's why it's weird for me to feel the need for your presence.
it's weird to feel as if you should be here right next to me; to feel as if our skins should always be touching each other.
it's just... weird.

it's as if being alone feels foreign, now.
my hand now feels cold whenever yours aren't there to warm it.
now, i just love the fact that i could share my earphones with you; my music, my own little world with you in it.
i feel as if i'm no longer selfish.
as if home isn't home without your voice to fill it.

i love the fact that your mere smile replaces the deafening silence in my head.
and my eyes went from staring at nothing, to staring at you.
i love the fact that i'm getting used to that; that i'm getting used to you.

you who made my world sound better.
 Mar 2018 Kyle
Haydn Swan
We are the changelings,
carriers of hopes lost
carriers of hopes born,
casting asside our anchors,
setting sail for destinations unknown,
the calmness of tempestious seas,
horrizons of distant lands,
each journey neither begins,
nor does it ever end,
we are the darkest of skies,
the keepers of secrets,
sifters of the sands of time,
so do your bidding,
drift on a sea of souls.
 Mar 2018 Kyle
Pagan Paul
.
The ether shimmers.
Time slips.
Your words float,
and dance for my eyes.
But we belong apart,
destined never to meet.

Yet...

There is a connection
as images assault me,
directly from your pen,
wrenching my soul,
drawing the pain,
painting the pleasure.

And...

Your words found out
emotion is not dead,
its just a sleeping child,
waiting to be loved.
But we belong apart,
destined forever to be...

… perfect strangers.




© Pagan Paul (2017)
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