I hate that feeling.
That feeling when you are sad.
But you have no idea why.
You feel very empty.
But nothing in particular happened.
They ask you whats wrong.
But you can't explain
Or they don't even ask anything.
I don't know which one is wrost.
It just feel like
I miss someone,
I never met,
Like I need someone who doesn't need me.
The loneliness hovers over me.
Takes control over me.
I don't even care.
Iisolate myself on purpose.
Sadness become My best and only friend*..

A military necropolis , resplendent with period battle colors towering above , skeletal wrought iron guardians at her periphery .. Stately Oaks forever dispatch tall shadows across etched memories , unsure days of furious cannon and musket .. Ramparts once besieged before a forgotten battles fury , where deaths Angel culled the very land in search of heroes ..

I've been abused by poverty
And a mother whose lips have a velvet tongue of lies and unfulfilled promises.

You've seen her a hundred times
With a hundred faces
But she's always the same
Always at the bar
She's there when you arrive
And she'll be there when you you leave
There beside the fullest ash-tray
Lighting another cigarette
With fluttery fidgety fingers

Her lipstick is far too red
And not quite straight
Too much make up to hide the lines
Which show all the more
As she cracks the mask to smile
Her hair is too yellow
And her eyes are long lost grey
The arc which her glass follows to her mouth
Is restless and constant

As the evening wears on
She will talk too loudly
She may even sing out of tune
She will laugh too shrilly
When nothing is funny
But sometimes
When it's late
She sheds silent messy tears
As she rocks on her bar stool
Because there's a reason
This woman at the bar
Has a story as real as any other
And it matters just as much

                                    By Phil Roberts

******* coma

Cool
Calm
Collective,

Constantly
Caught
Consistence,

Common
Cold
Conflicted,

Colossal
Conduct
Clinic,

Climate
Cold
Conscription,

Condemned
Coma
Victim.