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May 6 · 145
A Dead Poet May 6
What I had, is what I did not have.
Perhaps what my heart should have wanted,
each love song, a curse and blaze.
That singes and burns into my heart
I hear you, hitting me,
forging me,
into a statue forever stuck in emotional wanting.
May 6 · 42
A Dead Poet May 6
My love,
Tongue of vitriol,
amongst ripped pages.
Amongst unaltered belief of a winged partridge
at my back beckoning my faults.
Tears that stream, like trees with broken nerves
that never touch the ground.

This is what I see in the darkened hour,
This is what I see in the mirror,
amongst the pillars of the chapel
a figment of my imagination,
I am but a pigeon amongst a sea of doves,
incapable of words, incapable of love letters like Rilke the poet.
Only capable of vitriol at the tongue
scorning love, scorning life, scorning death
yet living it. . .how ironic.
Apr 18 · 131
A Dead Poet Apr 18
I hear your voice,
  nagging "put it back". . .
I hear your voice
  saying "it'll be okay". . .
I hear you everyday,
  am I crazed & deranged?
I just want to feel your love and see your face,
   for a moment in time,
      when you are not gone.
Apr 18 · 49
2̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶3̶
A Dead Poet Apr 18
Wasn't eating properly,
  lost a little weight. . .
Old pictures,
  smiles on the faces. . .
***** Laundry,
  perfume on the nose. . .
Clean Sheets,
  your arm on my waist. . .
your touch+ theirs,
for in this love
   we are not 2 but 3.
Apr 16 · 893
A Dead Poet Apr 16
I look in the mirror,
10 years passed in a breeze,
older, fatter, a wrinkle begins to form.
Youth begins to evade me,
Yet I do not feel sad nor glad,
I am simply living, okay, content with myself.
Is it not odd? Is it not strange? That I no longer care.
A Dead Poet Apr 16
I smell the air, as clean as a city air can be.
I feel the pollen, with its unrelenting itch on my nose,
I hear the birds getting ready for the summer heat,
I see the lovers who always cross our street at three,
I taste the honey, that you loved in your tea.
I smile, three years in the dark,
three years blind, death, within the darkness of this world.
For you are gone, and that is okay.
For in these moments I know you stand by me.
A Dead Poet Mar 28
I'll never fall in love again,
for I never knew love until I met you,
I never knew to cry,
I never knew to drink,
I never knew to long,
until I met you.
I'll never fall in love again,
for love is a disappointment,
& my greatest mistake.
Mar 28 · 40
A Dead Poet Mar 28
You forgot,
and yet I wait.
In our home,
with the peach tree that blossoms in the spring,
the lantana that loves its sun,
and the rose that only grows stems.
longing to forget, longing to leave,
but stuck in the same place.
waiting for you.
Mar 12 · 599
A Dead Poet Mar 12
I don't have much to give,
no tears left,
no money,
no confidence
I can give you me
simple, normal, human
kind. . .
Mar 12 · 59
A Dead Poet Mar 12
I look at the clock,
     waiting for you to get home.
I speak,
      only to be cut off.
You look at me and sigh. . .
     You are always right. . .
So please get your things and go. . .
     my heart pleads no, but my mind knows
there is no love, no warmth
     and that's okay,
        I'll be okay. . .
Mar 2 · 472
A Dead Poet Mar 2
Bruises turn to scars,
but memories never fade,
my soul weeps in silence for this love,
why do I stay?
The ? the outside world always asks, but will never know unless you live it.
A Dead Poet Feb 17
Princes don't exist in my narrative,
no magic wand, no mysterious old woman.
no happily ever after ending.
My narrative is no fairy tale,

My narrative is,
you looking into my eyes,
      you touching my skin,
           6 a.m. coffee, full of tired complaints,
playing house, yells , laughs, tears and screams.
You by my side, it is no fairy tale, it is just real life
and that is alright.
Feb 12 · 58
A Dead Poet Feb 12
Colorless time,
blank canvas without you,
only full of memory,
memory that invents you,
memory that recreates you,
in each stroke of longing.

Strokes of gray,
amongst the hills of the dying,
decrepit, silent, agony filled hills,
late train, filled with certainty,
to find you once more in the promise land.

Strokes of red,
longing for your voice,
and your ardent touch,
rosy red lips, amongst my skin.

Strokes of Black,
slow death, undeserved death
daggers on the back, from the treatment that was your "saving"
absent from your being.

Stroke of Purple,
stars, vapor clouds, constellations painted of your embrace
amongst pill induced dreams, false reality
false hope and false love,
but true longing which craves for your love again.
Feb 11 · 147
A Dead Poet Feb 11
with all the complexity in the world,
I would still write
"I love you"
Feb 5 · 227
A Dead Poet Feb 5
The breaking of day,
   your sweaty hand,
        and warm embrace,
           no ***, no words, no sound,
                 just two souls cojoined for a moment in time.  
                              its l̶o̶v̶e̶
Jan 27 · 241
A Dead Poet Jan 27
"why do you dress up?"
my heart dropped, in that moment I knew. . .
I was not a lover, your muse or your dream.
I was your o̶b̶j̶e̶c̶t̶
Jan 18 · 54
A Dead Poet Jan 18
Blue, iridescent hues of oceanic blue.
Green, startling twinkles of fauna,
Brown, strong mountains of emotions,
Black, losing my self in your abyss.

Such beautiful e̶y̶e̶s̶, that see me.
Within their reflections, I see myself
lost, broken, damaged, quick to fall into their spell.
Jan 18 · 49
A Dead Poet Jan 18
Have you ever laid on the floor, as you stared at the cosmos of paranoia and depression of your creation thrusting you into damnation?
You are quick to give advice (pre-judgement),
but unless you licked the patch,
    to cover the constant itch that burns in your heart,
       you have no clue. . .
of the sea of solitude that ever wraps you, within its cursed cradle,
  the song of longing as each day passes, grows louder,
      the voices in your head that counsel you,
           the feeling of elation as the demons take you. . .
you have no clue. . .
   no ******* clue. . .
you are quick to judge. . .
      as I die living. . . in a state of constant elation.
Jan 16 · 43
A Dead Poet Jan 16
Laying next to you at night. .
while he is on my mind. . .
Small chills across my spine,
   pull away from your embrace. . .
    as I kiss him from afar. . .  I wish I was dead. . . to find him again. . .
Jan 14 · 177
A Dead Poet Jan 14
Here you are,
even now,
bruised but alive,
Dec 2021 · 50
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
When you say "I love you"
   you say it to her,
           you it to them,
          so I fake this s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶. . . because its hard to say goodbye. . .
                 what a fool I am. . .
Dec 2021 · 172
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
My face in stillness,
threads a shroud of silence.
My skin lightens, my blood thus fades,
it burns and cooks my soul alive.
As it weeps and wallows in the agony,
slow un-coming unforgiving death
slow slow slow death
what a joke of agony
life plays
as its bow plays the tune of my pain
forever linked, forever intwined with your death. .
a t̶u̶n̶e̶ that never ends . . .
Dec 2021 · 46
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
Amongst the desert, with its silence
broken by the cricket that does not sleep.
There is a tomb, your tomb, adorned by flowers.
With their beautiful everlasting Hughes of yellow and blue,
tainted, sun bleached, plastic flowers,
trash littered amongst your grave
tells the tale of someone forgotten. . .
In this tomb your name is carved,
with its letters lost to time,
& on moonlight nights,
under the basking of the stars,
amongst the waves of my damnation
I wish I had more time,
   I wish I you proud of me,
        I wish I could turn back time. . .
for even in death, I fail you.
    just look at your t̶o̶m̶b̶. . .
          I'm sorry. . .
Dec 2021 · 47
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
3 years ago you left this world,
   3 years ago I ceased to exist,
        breathing became life,
             until yesterday,
                 I decided to live again. . . not for you. . . not for them. . .
                         but for me. . . -strength
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
He does not know how to run,
  run after; love, dreams, aspirations
     when you left, you broke him
         I want to fix him. . . but I can't.
             That's the worst feeling in this earth.
Dec 2021 · 43
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
This bed; 𝓘 lay alone. . .
I d𝓸𝓷'𝓽 want to be alone. . .
    I 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 you; next to me
       Please let 𝓾𝓼 conjoin and become one
          take me 𝓽𝓸 the heavens
             Take me to a happy place 𝓫𝓮 kind. . .  
                𝓪 duo, becomes one. . .
                  I lay alone living amongst this 𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓻𝔂. . .
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
The hardest thing,
  is opening your heart again,
     & seeing everything that is wrong with loving.
If I call; its because I miss your voice.
   If I send a text; its because I care
      If I want to be close; don't push me away. . .
for it makes me think I am not good enough.
     I feel stupid when I cry,
           I feel alone, in this cold world.
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
Don't ask me not to care too much,
     you will become my world,
          even when our cosmos collide
     even when sedation and lies of happiness no longer fix the break
   I will still love you, why? Because at one point we were best friends.
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
At sixteen,
  I knew the beauty of life,
      poor, hungry, but full of affection and tenderness,
I never suffered nor cried; until I met you.
you taught me love,
     pain, sadness, tears,
         when you left
             I learned of longing. . .
take me back to sixteen, b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶I̶ ̶f̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶. . .
A Dead Poet Dec 2021
Baby let me help redesign you,
you are a work of delipidated art,
Let me restore your shine,
      your luster, your being,
                  you. .  
                      for that is perfection. . .
                             or close to it. . .
Playing with new free verse styles (:
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
Loving you is my curse,
    and the gift from the cosmos,
      that weave your face, your being, your heat, amongst the stars.
Nov 2021 · 70
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
"why don't you date?"
we made a pact,
   when we said I do,
I promised to be there,
   even when he's not here,
          I'll always be there,
                  even in death. . .
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
It hurts. . .
the home we didn't build,
the moments yet lived,
the house not purchased,
the vacations not taken,
the memories not lived
it hurts, dreaming of what we could do. . .
Nov 2021 · 69
𝟜 𝕒𝕞
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
You explored each crevice,
   pulled apart each door,
      burned your image across the waves,
traversed every mark & every ridge
like the roots in dry desert heat,
you drank your fill and moved on,
naked & embarrassed
     I now lay alone,
          I wish it was not so.
Nov 2021 · 536
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
Close your eyes
   count to three,
it'll go away,
  it'll be okay,
four, five, six
   open your eyes
      you'll be fine
ten, eleven, twelve
when he died, I lost my sight
   I lost my purpose,
     twenty, thirty, fifty
I will never be okay. . .
       & that's okay. .  .
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
This Christmas,
   I do not ask for a lot,
      I simply wish to dream eternally,
                  so we may meet once more
just a second in time, to ask for forgiveness for who I became.
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
Inside my polished surface,
my seas are in constant disarray,
the soul, its sweet nectar that fills every crevice.
violent; angry; bitter soul.

Inside my mental shell of self protection,
and the "person" it protects
from the poison that spews from my heart
my soul speaks to me; it reminds me I am weak
violent; angry; bitter soul.

I know well that there is no escape,
no sculptor can prefect; the stone that is broken
no painter can fix; the lines that have bled
no poet can create; emotions which no longer exist
I drag the stones of my own damnation
eternal ; violent; angry; bitter soul.

As time passes, my exterior becomes unpolished
manicured hands become wrinkled and weak,
legs of harden meat, become toothpicks
time is constant,
there is no escape,
but one thing remains
my eternal, violent, angry bitter soul. . .
    that weeps for you. . .
Nov 2021 · 43
n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
I know my beauty pales in comparison to the beauties of the world,
        the beauties you can find.

Your connoisseur feelings were dragged by my brain, by my words, by my heart with all its splendor, the cadence of my thoughts, the idealism and peculiarity of my mind.
      but I'd be joking if that was true.

You fell in love with my looks, the fury of my ***, and even when I have you I can't help but feel that I lose. . . for I know this love will n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶. . .
Nov 2021 · 66
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
I sit under the desert breeze,
under the tall palm tree pondering,
who I am, what I want,
  what I need, where I want to be,
      why do I live, why do I wake?
the desert sand on my toes, a slight reminder
  of living, a brief sign of my humanity,
        a simple touch. . . with no answers. . .
I am alone. . .
    not even my conscious answers.
          I miss myself. .
Why am I alone? why is my heart scattered
   upon the questions unanswered
          pondering; lack of living
                     I want to live; not p̶o̶n̶d̶e̶r̶
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
I am here in your eyes,
look at me, hear me, feel me,
better yet forget me
I am like you. . .
we are one in the same; one of many
we are nameless, due to our sameness
sparks, comets, eruptions, cosmic clouds fill the iris.
and yet we are all the same,
filled with darkness, filled with death,
filled with sadness
lost lovers, lost in the cosmic sea unaware,
of our loss of joy, loss of love , loss of fire
ardent passion filled flame lost to ashes,
we are dreamers, dreaming of the beyond,
dreaming of the cosmos, dreaming of love lost
dreaming. . . dreaming . . . dreaming. .
until the day finds us,
   time does not stop, nor is it forgiving.
       yet we cling to night, to our cosmic dreams,
as well fall into walls of depravity,
   on the foggy shores of life,
        on the train that never reaches the station,
we become fixtures, tied to our dreams,
   tied to the past we are s̶h̶a̶d̶o̶w̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
The world is cold with you,
for the flowers that bloomed,
  filled with the hum of the bee,
turn , dreary and cool.

The city is cool with you,
church bells no longer ring,
   our future is bleak,
as the sky comes down to drown the trees.
life is obscure, dark, dim.

Life is cold with you,
  I lose my spark,
     my creativity, my being,
          I lose me.
What little beauty I defended,
is cut , hidden, gone.

The sun escapes my orbit,
   my skies grow darker,
      I toss and I turn,
          pleading for a light; long gone.
begging to return to me; me before you.
Nov 2021 · 30
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
I'm sorry I am broken,
But I am not your modern day simile,
I don't choose to compete,
I don't choose to check off the boxes
I am broken, different, and strong.

Does that scare you?
I am not your definition of beautiful,
  I am mine, and that is okay I choose to embrace my flaws.
Nov 2021 · 35
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
in the middle of my madness,
on the edge of life,
darkest of my days,
3:00 a.m. no clue whether its day or night,
clinging to your photos , sobbing, pleading, snorting, pretending to live my life.
I took back my life,
I started accepting that you are gone,
no words, no moments, no tears
will bring you back. . .
I needed to stop dwelling,
for as I spiral out of control,
I can choose when to stop,
I can choose when to change,
I can choose sadness or happiness,
I call the shots,
they are my own,
there's no point in meeting again,
you are gone. . . I am here. . .
your memories are here. . .
I am strong,
   I cry,
       I loved,
I will learn to love again,
for the destination I choose to find, is not where I hope to meet.
I am here. . . I choose to live. . .
Nov 2021 · 34
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
As he leaves, he takes his memory.
His ways of being, his current of emotions,
His sweet honeydew smell, his way of being goodbye
and never.

Still nights, the superficial,
Without noticing you went from him,
to it, to a thing.
polished thing.
Falling, slipping
crying, sweet anguish thing.
Sweet thing, trapped in captivity of the entrails,
of the knot already forever binded,
blinded from the sobbing, you lose yourself
sweet thing.

Until one day, another stops the pain.
Stops it, and reduces it to an annoying
voice, a mysterious touch, to a resurfaced polish.
Offered, given, taken,
sweet thing the hidden loneliness all but awaits,
you fail to feel its quake as you play the game again.
Nov 2021 · 84
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
My vocabulary did not leave me,
I could write exquisitely,
  from transportive imagery,
to subtle allegory's
but when he left
I lost the words
I lost my song
I lost myself
so I take this h̶i̶a̶t̶u̶s̶
to learn to be free
to learn to be me
once more
I choose to live
Nov 2021 · 611
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
You give yourself to him,
        he takes and he takes,
             until your reflection is a stranger,
                                      a cheap, overly used, stranger.
  -He will n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ love you.
Nov 2021 · 902
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
The saddest thing in this world,
   is constantly being used by him,
       and continuing to play the game, you are going to l̶o̶s̶e̶.
Nov 2021 · 35
A Dead Poet Nov 2021
We are born into this world to love,
Born to find it, lose it again and again,
in a reoccurring tune, like the phoenix each love must start anew.
So why am I b̶r̶o̶k̶e̶n̶? As I continue to ponder and long for you?
A Dead Poet Oct 2021
Please hold me tonight,
  reignite the unspoken sparks,
     tell me its okay,
         & hold me tight,
            as you love me like our first night,
                  Lets pretend as if we are still love.
So , please h̶o̶l̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ . . .
A Dead Poet Oct 2021
If you life up my sleeve,
  you will see one scar. . .
If you peer in my heart,
  you will see fragments of what is left. . .
They called it "attempted suicide"
  but I am a void, ****** into nothingness
I simply want to sleep. . . for us to meet again. . .
I want to be a̶ ̶d̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶p̶o̶e̶t̶. . .
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