𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎
𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎.
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚗.
𝙰𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢,
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛
𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚢;
𝙸'𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕’s 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜.

..
𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑠𝑦𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑠，
𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝..
𝑖 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓
𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓
𝑚𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑
𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑜
𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑙 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠
ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑠
𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟
..

Do I really have to completely and painfully forget about us, deeply and frenetically in love, passionately devouring each other?!
Must I abandon my sincere dream of being joyfully and profoundly yours?
How can I escape being so obsessed with all of you? I’m surprised by my own strength, acting as if none of the turmoil around us matters.
I can’t overcome this silence and emotionless moment, but I swear it’s all due to the melancholy inside me.
I’m depressed, yet you’re still the one and only who can drive me crazy.

Grief has a lexicon that
I’ve spent a period of
hard times seeking it
I gained nothing but an enormous
failure to devote myself
to its complete literature,
The perfect Salvia Plath is
patting on my cumulative sores,
admitting that it is my right to
file a grievance against my chores,
work, and daily unfair routine,
as she said that she used to be
so wicked; writing all the day
and forgetting about studying,
she said that I had gotten such a
black-and-white soul for
almost uncountable centuries of
self-wars,
Dear Nicole: She wrote—  
Whether you are a believer or not,
You dare to be the
ninety-nine hundredth savior to
the definition of our nihilism.
Sincerely yours,
Sylvia Plath
I closed my eyes and
bleakly enjoyed her poetic
admission that I had faked it
for a while to
keep my victories beating
against all the brightness and
naturality inside of
my pores,
I’m not a happy person;
I belong to sorrow.

Baba,
I know you better now.
After a long, ferocious time—almost thirty years,
I couldn’t write you a poem that expresses my mixed feelings toward you.
Despite this inconsistency between knowing you and being unable to write to you, we are not arguing or fighting anymore.
My cumulative hatred toward you is calming down.
I forgot about all the wounds that you had drawn on my borderline personality disorder portrait and the demonic words that you used to say to me every morning and night.
I got rid of all the ruins that you had spent time injecting into my pores.
No more writing dark letters and lifting them with balloons to the world to show it how evil you were or spending three hours creating black-and-white videos about family abuse and not posting them anywhere.
I’m a grown woman today; I’m thirty years old, I guess. Keep this in mind.
Baba, in spite of these unfair feelings, I love you to the point of tears.

Your daughter
Nicole.

‎‏I danced through, your eternal desires
like a prohibited shimmered star
that has no ethereal heaven to belong to,
where the lone fear scattered in
its enigmatic expanse
dared to accost the whole cosmic void,
you said that I was like a breathtaking nightmare
that tenderly captured you and
left you breathless.
But I knew It was like a momentary trace,
you would never be mine, my fervent boy.

English is a medicine, not a pathogen.
English is safety, not war.
English is kindness, not viciousness.
English is a trust, not a trap.
English is a gift, not a robbery.
English is freedom, not detention.
English is a poem, not a verdict.
English is a reward, not a punishment.
English is a fairytale, not a calamity.
English is forgiveness, not accusation.
English is honesty, not manipulation; keep it close so it will fly mountains for you, and so I am.

I would die for another fight,
another calamitous night,
another plight,
and more dark moments
next to you.
Now,
I'm still unfamiliar with this peace
without you here to wreck it.
I miss you.

It’s all our typos fault,
incomplete stanzas are weeping,
blackness into an ocean
full of sparkles,
dots that stamp on
chaotic poems.
I forget the passcode
of our favorite verses
as I'm still there wandering
for some complex curses
to decay the rhythmic lock
of our typewriter.
Hello World! is a code
for hacking into poetic souls,
Out there.

she kept her death
within her breath,
she joined the destruction
with its half seduction.
until she fell in love with
its obstruction.


by:blackedpoison

How can I liberate myself
When my hands are not handcuffed
Yet my mind yearns endlessly
For more of you around?

There were black and white balloons that rose into his beautiful, colorful soul. He kept their Helium safe, glowing within his incredible sympathy. My poems are floating for the sake of love and longing. I’m the grayscale little paper boat that merges with his bright-colored ocean.

This trap is filled with poetic tricks…
Sorry, but I knew it…
I can sense your devilish intention,
Through your charms
But I'm still there…
close to your heart, trying to
Teach it how to be kind and harmless…
Also, still,
This pain is familiar.
Those tricks are similar.
But I got used to horrific nightmares…
I would not ask you to stop.
I would keep my midnight prayers
For the earth to make a safe crack
Between our contradictory intentions…
Go home; leave me for my beautiful
nightmares and that ancient level of pain.
I’m totally fine with them.

I’m home again,
alone,
with the same tragedy
that I used to smile through.
With the same cup of coffee prepared,
yet I’ll never drink it.
I’m home,
strong,
yet lonely,
seeking solace through my silence.
I have no expectations for tonight,
except finding joy
in solitude.
In love with the silent moments
of mine.
I’m home.

I am no longer yours to keep hidden,
They all know now,
Yet you refuse to acknowledge
That I am yours.
After the battles I fought for us,
To be together,
You vanished from the truth's gaze,
And sought refuge in falsehoods.
I apologize for investing so much in you,
For sacrificing everything
For your sake.
I regret clinging to the hope
Of our forever.
I'm sorry.

Just Smile,
Make these lullabies’ wonders shine.
I used to hover over the bleakness.
But exclusively for you, I will angelically fly Thousand miles.
Turn this miserable wood into a real paradise,
Just smile.

The final written
poetic line of mine
was yours.
I still strive
for more innovation..
that made the apprehension
no longer a pal.
I'm yearning for
your altruism
to assist me again
with my trepidation.
Mi amore,
I called you my home
as it was the most
gentle exorcism prayer
that would beautifully
evict the demonic attack
of my anguish
and set my remaining
awareness perfectly at ease.

He left.
I’m not ready to cheer myself up again; to bring all the bright phrases to the point of being so intense and real inside my flesh, I prefer to commit to writing deadly, like there’s nothing more interesting than stamping your departed soul with all the Poets’ nihilism.

It's killing me when
I couldn't reach you anymore,
when I couldn't fight for you
or even cheer you up.
How far we've come,
you and I,
like a spell without its flame.
I miss you and the way I
used to pamper you on your birthday,
but today I couldn't even say it to you
because we are no longer together.
I'm bleeding from the inside,
and you're not here
to tell me to stop overreacting
and grow up.
I miss you,
I really do.

I will drag your predation  to mine
to mix it and prepare it as a perfect wine.
I will not leave your line
until I make sure that our gloom is fine.
trust this dust-path and this shrine
of our love that will always mar the sunshine.

Sadness is shivering,
a broken heart is healing,
madness is calming down,
Nothing is the same.
Birds, flowers, and the moon are upstairs,
flowing through my wounds like velvet glares,
Patching the appalling nights,
wandering around and spreading lights.
I’m in love with myself today,
after he came in and sent the fear away.

I was born to be alone..
As you weren’t there
for all my panic attacks
when I sent you a message
that I needed you right now
as my hands were shivering
to the point that I couldn't yearn for help,
when the doctor was the only one
who patted my shoulder and said;
It's okay, you are safe now…
When I saw a semi-reflection of my parents
through your soul….
Well, I’m here, fighting demons,
As it’s Thursday,
and you didn’t come home.
I know I should do better
and ignore this intense fear of mine.
I should yearn for something else
rather than the idea of
your colorful permanent settlement
in my black-and-white corners.

They are both crowded, my calamity and your selfishness.
Our birds left, and we are still whistling for the sake of patching this failure.
That colorful portrait you etched on our hallway is pondering integrity, still wandering into this massive mess.
Our woods are filled with broken musical boxes, as we are still there, sensing their tenderness, drowning in our psychosis’s final chapters.

ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪꜱ ꜱʜʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ.
ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜱ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴇ.
ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ
ɪꜱ ꜱʜᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ꜱᴏᴜʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴ.

Same words
Same tricks
And same humor,
I would not interrupt either of the masterpieces.
I will completely show my admiration.
Both traps are alluring.
But I'm too careful not to get trapped.

Seagulls are over there,
awaiting your call,
to desperately penetrate your layers,
in order to master integrity,
inside your velvet ocean.

I wish I could cut my heart in half
to distract the inflammation inside
and ferociously dive
into the inner weeping
for the sake of rebuking sobriety itself
To braggingly behave.
I’m a hopeless woman
who keeps hacking into little things
that powerfully destroy her.

My lord,
I decay,
Then I flourish,
I collapse,
Then I sprout out,
Wounds,
Chasms,
split open,
Rupturing,
Overexposing The virtuousness,
Ripping it out of my flesh.
I am in agony,
but I love you.

He is an alert child,
trapped in the predicament of
growing up,
swollen with a forceful,
armed heart,
sinking in an intensifying
neutral panic,
in the middle of innocuous paradise.
Parched,
hungry for tranquility
among a ripe, fruity spring.

she reached this ugly place
and found a dark trace
that captured the terror within her face,

the trace became like a hole
within her senses and heart
like a nasty big ball

she ran towards nothing !
like she was in an actual race
because, this dark lie!
put her in a dangerous case
until the trace shone again!
behind her, like a grace
and suddenly, stood up!
in front of her!
like a heaven base

she stoped, and felt sorry
when the evilness within the grace, was too sick
she licked its inner wounds so quick
until it healed, and its health became thick
but all of the sudden,
  she felt the hit!
on her head by a huge stick.

there
within this scary darkness
she left her breath with sadness
and about the evilness
that hiding within the grace soul
you can taste its gladness

The day I craved you
When the sunlight was accurately positive.
When the world was beautifully discussing your handsomeness with all the curious gardens,
I gave up on my parchments for the sake of admiring your features more and being blessed with you every day; despite it taking up my words, my ancient quill, and my beauty. I’m still a believer in your magic. I’m no longer a mermaid; I’m the betrayer of the ocean.

after the doomsday
there was an actual poet from the hell,
who always had a knout
to torture their  pale faces
within huge dark fiery cell ,

he ruined and burned their compositions
and made them melting together
again and again  
in a very dark position.

when the god revive them for the sixth time
one of them wailed and said to the poet:
my dear destruction divine
secretly, let the heaven to be mine
and stop giving our thirst
this cursed brine.

the poet responded  and said
yes, i'm the real destruction divine
of course i will not give you a wine
but i will turn off the pine
to keep you close
to your final dark line

once upon a dark time
there was a dart
that came and made us apart
with huge different wills of arts
I write
when he likes to be within the plight
I draw
when he mars glow
I swim
when he likes to drowning
near to the brim
of our fancy dark dart.

he wrote that:

when she write her poems
she published the fire within my bones

she killed me, with her thrones
when she was fighting the life, with her tones

I lived there, between the groans
when she knew, how to bloom the stones

when she write her poems
I have to try to withheld my moans

My friend
Our pain is creative.
It gathered us
And made us share it.
with impressive excitement
to the point of forgetting
about its tragedy
and focusing on how beautiful
We are together in this painful life…
My friend
Remember,
What spring brings to folks’ hearts
You bring the same emotional
beauty to the lost children out there.
The children who had never
heard about spring, the colorful one
That we knew it from fairytales
And we prayed to have it.
My friend
Believe me
When they hear about you once
They will definitely call you home.

He kept thousands of sacred seas
Inside his kindness, his wings are full of chastity. You can sense his soul floating in the sky like a guardian angel. You dare not wish to be an angel too. But you yearn to be in his holy heart forever.

Your hell is different,
It extends to be a semi-heaven,
But I can’t belong,
It burns all the paper and ink.
I've got nothing there to be a half-sinner.
I’d rather be a completely miserable poet, in an uninhabited void.