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You are parting to the heavens,
Leaving thoughts embedded
Into my mind.

How unkind,
That death must welcome you,
To hold you before I do.

This cannot be true.

How alive I felt.
Your smile,
And how outrageous
That you're being taken.

As you now awaken in a land of clouds.

But now,
My heart is aching,
Thoughts are racing,
I miss you now.

I miss us two.

My lips,
At a thought only one can dread.

'You are dead'.

As I lay
Sitting in pain,
By your bed.
This poem shows the first stages of denial in a person, from when they are about to die to when they pass away. This poem is one of many parts, please enjoy it!
Nothing hurts when I'm alone,
As I drink the sweet poison
That empties my mind.

How unkind,
This substance can feel
So fresh and fine,
Without a thought to mind.
As I run for fun,
Through streets of unknown,
Not knowing who the ones are
Vibrating my phone,
As they text and call me
To come back home.

A smile creeps on my face,
As i'm restless and dazed,
In a hypnotic haze,
For one can only suffer
The very next day.

But alas,
The day has come,
And I for one
Awoken by a
Frosted memory,
Of one late night,
Turned into a horror sight.

Was I there?

As I meekly glare
At the ones who care,
Standing before me,
Beginning to stare.

I hear silence in the air.

Not one feeling I remember,
Not one feeling I forget.
I wake up in a cold sweat
Of utter guilt and regret.
This poem is a more darker one, focusing on a very prominent issue in life which is addiction. Alcoholism is a serious and heartbreaking issue for many to suffer from. This poem is dear to my heart, so if anyone feels this way or knows of someone, please know that you are heard and loved.
please do enjoy!
thats the common word now

only if
only then
only maybe


Could everything finally fall into place?
Could this only cliff
that I have been struggling to get to
finally be within grasp
and something I can stand on?

just only for a moment?
Running from my self
Circling around in Hell
Chased by “demons”
Perhaps my imagination conjured up
Some grim reapers and a flowery, thorn-filled trellis
That was a gateway into another world
I was running towards you in the darkness
No shoes in the snow, I was so cold and numb
Chasing a light that I could barely see
Terrified by what I was hearing
I was alone on a Michigan street
Some thought I was a *******
Waiting to be picked up
A victim of a bad time
But I just wanted to go home
I got into some guy’s car
Luckily a good-hearted soul
A God-send he let me in
Warmed my feet and let me go
michigan summed up.
 Oct 27 Andrew
when our home feels too big,
i would glance at the wall
between our bedrooms.
i would trace the faded
pencil markings where
we used to mark how tall
we've grown each year.
i would crane my neck
and imagine how tall you'd be
if you were home right now.
i would never say i miss you,
but the traces of you at home
makes this place a house
deprived of warmth.
 Oct 27 Andrew
A W Bullen
 Oct 27 Andrew
A W Bullen
has banked,
-grown little teeth-,
portentous new alignments
meet , exaggerated,
weather veined,
behind impatient

Flames divine
entrancing shivers
breath, a ghost
an omen passed,
fragments carried,
Icy river

She dances
 Oct 27 Andrew
 Oct 27 Andrew
The autumn grieves in muted colours
of life in warmth, stuck in twilight's hold.
Wolves stay away from the edges of the city
and howl in the cold.
It was spring the last time I felt real,
and now it has been half a year moving in phases, through to tomorrow.
I love the autumn, the fall of summer's empire,
the way I can be cold without trying, only warm if I want to.
All the hype about mittens and toques and sweaters gives overrated expectations,
because a short while ago autumn was the death of life, and winter its mourning
because nothing grows.
Is life seasonal? No, its always,
and I will always love you,
love the little ways you live.
The hermit in me is tired and malnourished and I am grieving for memories that feel too good.
Because life is swell.
what procrastination yields

Even my shadow
refuses to walk with me.

Even my reflection
refuses to see me.

Even my imaginary friend
refuses to speak to me.

"Why then Ile fit you.
Dónall’s mad againe."

Here in my own
personal Waste Land

tangled up in Nerval
and Eliot. I Kyd ye not.

And with no explanatory

I'll get even...I'll get even
with the lot of them.


A piece of whimsy to deal with great grief. My brother had died and then my Dad...I was totally lost and falling out of myself. I just happened to be reading Eliot at the time hence all the references to the end of The Waste Land and his reference to Nerval's “El Desdichado,”   and Kyd's The Spanish Tragedy which served as my references to the great sorrow I was experiencing .
 Sep 2022 Andrew
For three years
3 ******* years
It was
I love you
You're mine
You're the best part of my life
You're the best I've ever had

In one week
It became
I can't be that guy
I'm sorry
I'm sorry.

And in so many ways that's fair…

But I still feel used

I feel like I was lied to

Like once again I was temporary to someone I saw as permanent

I guess I always knew this would end in tragedy
I figured it would be because of you
I was ready to go all in
Despite the distance I always tried to keep
I was ready
I mean why not?

It's been…
3 ******* years 
Of the same thing 
Every day

You told me once you needed me
And I refused to ever let myself need you.
But here we are
And I should have known

You would be the muse
And the death of my hope.
Go **** yourself.
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