You left love notes
Written along my ribcage
You said the spaces
Made perfect lines for poetry
My skin still remembers
Even after I washed you off

the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.

"Hooray for loners," said he,
Slamming his fists on the bar.

"Three cheers for loners," he said,
Feeling surrounded by kindred spirits who refused to join in.

"Here's to the loners," he repeated to the ceiling, while falling off the stool.

"For all loners die alone," he croaked from the floor, as he was dragged away.

All bottled up
   Like a little secret message

Then placed to float in
  mother natures shifting motion

To finally arrive
   In the still waters of all bottled hauntings

Cold...cold...so cold
Can someone feel so cold?
Through the intertwining folds..
Of dreams so old.
The blazing sun
The scorching heat..
Yet so cold.
Heart beats .
Smiles within...sadly..
A spirit so old.
Is there no end ?
No respite
From this nerve biting cold.
-Rakshinda

I am a walking corpse
Looking for you
To take back my heart
Which I offered you before

Your cold hands
Your harsh words
Your dry feelings
Your empty heart
Is what killed me

I am a walking corpse
Looking for you
To take back my heart
Which I willingly gave you before

My want of attention
Your lack of affection
My want of action
Your lack of emotion
Is what killed me

I am a walking corpse
With a body and soul
Looking for you
To take back my heart

Strange creatures circle the edges
And their eyes are hungry and haunted
One day their teeth shall glint dangerously
And I know it very well
For I shall be their meat
Though I cannot imagine fear
And I should feel something

Several people are asking me for help
But I shall probably turn away
For uncertainty clings to my head
Like a monkey that cannot be shaken
With claws in my eyes
I try to see my way out
But, of course, there is none
And the demands on my name
Echo where my conscience should be

Passengers come and go
On my endless journey
The landscape is familiar
And occasionally a memory smiles and waves
All too briefly, it seems
I feel I ought to cry more
But nothing seems to hurt as it used to
Only my nakedness makes me cold

                                               By Phil Roberts