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 1832° 
Sarita Aditya Verma
Gently cross over the wooden bridge
You have places to go
The bridge has to be there for every passer-by
Dawn to dusk, weathered, not yet to dust
Into the forest deep,
where the rivers rumble and roar
and sing lullabies
Thank you so much 😊 Agnes, bless your heart for all the love kindness and sunshine ☀️  🔆 that you share and happiness that you spread :)
 1822° 
November After Dark
I don't know what to call it—
there’s no labels on our jars
just the taste of feeling safe
when the world forgets
to be kind—
in silence
in tears
in the act of terrible singing
and to let each other be
without fixing—
like two cool cats
napping on opposite windowsills—
both catching light
without stealing it.

I don't ask
why you need to be quiet
whether happy or sad—
and you don't ask
why I stay up to see the sunrise
or why I stay up late
talking to the moon.

We don’t measure what this is—
we just make room
for each other's storms
place our phones on the counter
and mean it
when we take time
for each other.

You know
when I need a loud no.
I know when you need
a soft it's okay
and I never follow you
into storms
you choose to weather alone.

I never knock too loudly—
just wait
on the porch of your quiet
hands in my pockets
not asking you to hurry.

This—whatever it is—
feels like a home.
 961° 
badwords
We are not survivors.
we are residue.

the soot that lingers
on collapse's last tongue.

entropy's loiterers—
spiteful, unfinished.
neurons in feedback.
systems with no gods.

the architects left
when the scaffolds imploded.
we cradle their blueprints
like scripture in ash.

rebuild?
with what breath?
with what myth?
our dreams are famine-shaped.

nirvana is a severance package.
emptiness sold
in velvet robes.
a silence that never asked
about wreckage.

so we sharpen our vowels.
scribe ruin in elegy.
chant hymns for dead logics.
leave witness marks
in the marrow of this glitch.

we were not chosen.
we remained.
“Failure Spiral // Witness Marks” is a blistered fragment from the edge of philosophical exhaustion — a poem that resists salvation with surgical precision. Cast in scorched economy, it unspools a mythic post-mortem of civilization, depicting a world not built but inherited — a residual loop of cascading failures mistaken for history.

The voice is not that of a prophet, but of an archivist trapped in recursion — mapping entropy with a cartographer’s detachment and a poet’s poison. In this world, survivors are no more than loiterers of meaning, spectral stewards of systems that have outlived their gods.

There is no crescendo, only a ritual of reckoning. Each line is a witness mark — the scorched etching of presence, absence, and the irreparable fracture in between.

The artist, known for rejecting ornate redemption and preferring the poetry of raw architecture, constructs this piece as both indictment and artifact. It is not a lament, nor a sermon. It is a sigil: burned into the consciousness of a species too late to evolve, too early to vanish.

Drawing on metaphysical absurdity, systems theory, and the brutal elegance of unfinished futures, the poem contorts language into a kind of relic — not to beautify collapse, but to encode it. It neither heals nor harms. It names.

Nirvana is recontextualized not as liberation, but as abandonment — a cruel exit strategy for those privileged enough to transcend. The poem resists this, choosing instead to stay behind, to write in the ash, to claw meaning from the wreckage not for salvation, but for testimony.

It is a monument to those who remained — not as heroes, but as interpreters of the glitch, unwilling to forget what broke, and too lucid to lie about what comes next.
 538° 
Joel
Look at the moon
I'm looking at it
I'm looking at you
 484° 
Mark Bell
Good days
Bad days
The line is thin
Emotions have dried
There eating
You within.

Let me back in
I’ve done
nothing wrong
Let me back in
It’s where I belong.

I’ll sit on the floor
Outside your door
A week
A month
Even a year
Your worth
The fight
I love you
My dear.

Why you are like this
I do not know
Your sunshine is there
Please let it glow.
Let me back in
I’ve done
nothing wrong
Let me back in
It’s where I belong.
 478° 
Kalliope
Wash your hair
Pretend to care
Sit and stare
That feelings there
Fight or flight
Stay up all night
 385° 
Robin Edwards
Low horizon sun
Slips across a polished floor
February sky
 364° 
Damocles
Walk with me,
Tethered in interlocked fingers,
The gravel path, rain-stricken,
Petrichor mingling with pollen,
Tickling our olfactory senses,
Perfumed in her elegance.

Walk with me,
Through verdant wonderlands,
Where arboreal creatures dart in the rustling flora,
How their almond eyes spy,
Our synchronized steps as we tread the landscape,
Finding our great escape amidst the ancient giants.
Sit with me,
Under the umbrella of shade,
Where the canopies provide a light show,
As the sun’s beams dance in between the shadows,
Creaking through the cracks and holes within the curves of green,
We can be in silence, save for the avian symphonies,
And the fluttering of wings as falling tufts of feather puff,
Fall from their eager strides along the wind jet.

Fall into me,
As we watch the daylight die,
Tropicana citrus palette painted,
With the hints of pinkish Lilly and lilac purple,
Strike upon the dimming light,
We can watch the pearlescent dots flood the sky,
Under the careful watch of their mother,
As her waning half shyly hides behind the blanket of deep indigo.

Be with me,
In this dark cozy embrace,
Where the navy blue cascades through our forested restaurant,
A pyramid of dried logs, light to a flick and a flame,
The orange glow dances like a ballerina,
Interpretive in its many shapes and tendrils reaching skyward,
I’ll cook for you, a simple steak, buttered and brined,
Sautéed with picked mushrooms,
And asparagus,
Grilled marked and fire etched,
Medium rare, like these little moments.

Eat with me,
While fireflies strobe about us,
And moths surround the embers,
While diamonds sparkle above,
Winking eyes that encourage this,
A simple kiss on anxious lips.
Would you like to walk with me?
 332° 
Agnes de Lods
In our unfinished garden,
warm stones resting atop one another,
forming a wobbly tower,
trying to connect with a true light.

Above the smoky air, faltering steps,
can I see the true shape of your struggles?
Does a malicious gnome
shape my projections?
He topples our confidence.

Do we know if we still want the same?

Your anesthetic drops,
drunk in secret behind smiles.
Your cruelty is a sarcastic, sober blow,
breaking down fleeting joy.

I long for stillness,
for a day without wrinkles.
Why do we argue for first place?
I lost to our demons, invisible enemies.
I heal my fading certainty,
Last night, I dreamt of a well,
repeating my thoughts.

Without context, we are lost,
surrounded by thick walls built by rifts.
We are still impatient for closeness.
We grapple with a weight of assumptions.

Seeing the tower of wobbly stones,
I don’t want to let go of your hands
trusting, warmly kind,
like a promise of endless green,
in our unfinished garden.
 332° 
Ryan O'Leary
My grandfather used to
sup from a saucer, and
he called milk, colouring.

The term of quench the
light endured long after
he got the electric city.

Food had to be respected,
his peaky tweed was always
doffed and put on a kneecap.
 261° 
lore
I don’t know,
is not a very good answer
when someone asks
“who are you?”

it is the one thing I do not know
the one thing I could bear,
simply being told

someone to dig into the very rotten core of me
hands bleeding as they cup my face
and say,
“there you are, I’ve been looking for you”
 225° 
Lakz Poetry
Love a feeling
with different shades
Selfless Love
Obsessive Love
Romantic love
Friendship
Self Love
Playful Love

Each shades got
different love language
Some could make you feel
treasured, valued, loved and motivated
while others could make you feel
down, hurt, worthless and destroyed

Fun part is
Everything is LOVE!
Love is life
My dearest friend Isabelle,
We’ve not known each other for long,
But don’t you find it peculiar
How well we get along?

What isn’t there to admire
When from the very first impression
You reeked of such charm,
That you instantly earned my affection?

What isn’t there to love
About your gentle psyche?
And your keen, ardent eyes,
And your superlative artistry?

Just know, dear Isabelle,
That I mean what I say,
That you truly beguile me—
Enchant me in every way.

And I am so proud
To have you as a friend!
So I swear that each time you have
With me is worth to spend.
I decided to just upload this for some reason. I know I haven't been here in a while, but it just so happened that a character from my novel was a poet, so I decided to steal his work (I mean, technically it's MY work because I wrote him, but oh, well...)
 163° 
Isabelle Davis
breathe
inhale
exhale

cut
slice
burn

same thing to me
They said I'd never be enough
They said I'll only mess things up
Look who proved them wrong.
 144° 
Kai
13
While I watch you slip away,
My reflection peeks from behind
I see me in that look
Your puffy eyes,
Your flushed face
Are you ever going to talk to me?
You’re too young to shed that blood
Too young to lose that spark
Still so young that your voice cracks,
Still so young that your hair’s blonde
While I watch life break you,
My heart is wrapped in flames
By blood I want to heal you
My blood, by our shared name
Long time no see!
 143° 
LL
struggling to
make things
make sense.
2025/089
 124° 
Traveler
Awaken onto nature
Set your spirit free
Mighty are her waters
Ancient are her trees
Open wide oh starlit sky
Magical summer heights  
Mighty forest kingdom
Feathered furred in flight
Embrace her in the mornning
Evening tides roll out
In the cycle of her Venus
Ending way down south
Love her when she's frozen
She shall thaw again
Awaken on to Nature
Enjoy Her
While you can!
Traveler Tim
 106° 
Strying
When it's time,
let me know.

I'll be there,
whether it's now,
or in 24.

We're all fools in love,
'till we're actually fools.

But life just goes on for me,
and for you too,
despite the way you,
break,
          break,
                     break,
                              my heart.

Like it's yours,
to have and to hold...
because it is yours,
to break and to take,
I'm yours.
the truth is while i'm yours, you were never mine
 88° 
Damocles
However the wind moves,
Swaying through and beyond you
Feel the wisps through your fingertips
Whispers from ancients' parting lips
Riding into ascension,
Feel the love of all mother
Rush through like a rapid river,
Resplendent
there is a power and magic in just connecting to the earth.
 85° 
Dr Peter Lim
Wisdom
without freedom
is tantamount
to mental prison
I'm fading with the light.
My shadow takes flight
naked unseen from sight
'til full moon midnight.
 71° 
collin
i know she’s more than capable
she left me at the table
the lines we drew won’t intersect
it’s probably best we never met
 63° 
Albamaine
What's the point of a race
If you're not an ace
Just embrace your disgrace
You can't keep up the pace

No trace of your practise took place
What's grace now ain't the process
It's the blaze of the podium's stances
So just graze upon your downtown phase


I know you're fazed
Just bowdown and embrace
Your defeats, carresed
Can't stay careless, but it's headles

Your glory isn't victorious
Agony might feel rigorous
Isn't that obvious?
Intense and oblivious
 62° 
S
-
What would happen if I wrote to an abandoned email address?
 57° 
rin
I pour my guts out
hoping to be loved
I am a swirl of emotions
I am pieces of everyone I’ve loved
they’ve only left me with shards of them in my back
 57° 
JJL
.
Here I am.
At the edge of all that is real.
Taken over by thoughts.
But my lips remain sealed.

I could've stayed,
But I was dead ayway.
JJ.
 55° 
Nicole
Oh look, that's nice...
Do it again,
Over and over
Continuous loop
Side to side
Over and -
Ow
I guess it's not so
Nice after all
 51° 
Jia En
I sent you a parcel the other day.
I don't think you check your mailbox frequently
Enough, because so far there still hasn't been much to say
Between you and me.
But it's okay
I guess. I mean I wouldn't know
Because there's no way for me to go
And check it for myself— or at least no
Way for me to check without making
A fool of myself but it's sure taking
A long time for you to see it. I
Know I left the return address but if you
Don't like it, I'd really rather you just put it to
The back of your mind than return it in pieces.
be careful. this parcel's rather fragile.
Some days,
the storm is inside me—
a scream that learned manners,
a panic attack at the dinner table.

I sit still,
pretending the world isn’t moving
when really—
it’s me,
sloshing around inside my ribcage.

I learned that healing is not forgetting—
it’s watching the sky go quiet
and not flinching or exploding.
It’s trusting the calm,
even when I am shaking.

Some days,
I anchor myself to the smallest thing—
a cat wanting to be picked up,
the smell of toast,
the sound of my own breath
not rushing anywhere.

I know now—
it takes practice.
I am learning
to arrive,
and so will you—
unforgettable you.
 50° 
Mike Hauser
There is nothing better
In this world you’ll find
Than the stealing of watermelon
Straight from off the vine

Makes them even sweeter
If there’s a challenge to the cause
Being chased by buckshot
Or old man Jamison’s dog

Running cross an open field
One dangling from each arm
Just make sure you’re fast enough
Where you don’t buy the farm

Make it to the edge of woods
Count yourself as lucky
If both you and the stolen goods
Arrive at the scene Scott free

There’s nothing better in this world
That you my friend can find
Than in the stealing of watermelon
Straight from off the vine
 49° 
Frances Raeburn
let me give you my
words
I have ten million
and three
as do you
it’s just you don’t need
to share your pain
with me.
 47° 
Austin Meehan
The rain
Knocks on my window
Begging me to come on out
The clouds
Hang over my soul
Saying that I'm sheltered

I've become used to
Just enjoying the precipitation
While the storm around me
Does what its always done
 43° 
Salmabanu Hatim
My daughter's friend in masjid,
She greeted me ,
I asked her how she was,
And about her cute daughter,
She was triste for not visiting me,
And promised to do so.
Actually I don't blame her or her good intentions,
I blame time,
It flies on autopilot
Flick of a finger morning becomes night,
Monday zooms to Friday,
And presto!
It's  the end of the month,
It seems just the other day was the beginning of 2025,
And it's already middle of the year.
22/5/2025
 42° 
Que
When existing is the same as breathing in water
Drowning, sinking to the bottom of the deepest sea
As the sun gets tired from making everyone else shine
And dips her weakened toes into the depths of what is
Slipping past what could be and slumbering
At the edge of every river i’ve cried
Trying to be more than the dead end of the void.
 42° 
Mya
I know it's selfish
To laugh at your pain
And still wish
I could take you home
At the end of the night
 42° 
Barton D Smock
gesture 6

enough
about me
these gaps
in your grief
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