.
Another smirking moon,
I haven’t slept for two days
Thoughts of her, of us,
dreams I used to have,
visions of happiness
now faded nightmare images,
swirling in my head,
congesting my brain
I try, I pretend, I wrap my arms
around my pillow,
it's not the same,
not even ******* close
Rapid (open) eye movements
Tear stained cheeks,
(I can't stop crying)
wet sheets
"not the good kind",
tossing and turning,
kicking off the covers,
pulling them back,
missing her smile, her laugh, her
I stare at nothing,
bloodshot eyes reflecting
red LED numbers
blurred beyond midnight,
ticking slowly,
minute after minute after
minute of loneliness
Then, here it comes,
another worthless sunrise
Maybe someday
she’ll come back to me,
maybe someday
she'll love me again,
maybe someday
I’ll get some sleep

I wrote this after reading some John Ashbery and James Cavanaugh, because well, I wanted to-- and they are different writers offering many options and feelings or no feelings at all.
“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us.
We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content.
We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret.
– James Cavanaugh

Solution to a View

What does it mean
To wander into
concrete places
or an open field
To dangle time
like the wizard of waste
something floats
all around me
and is serious
but it could be
nothing
To be selfish
And lonely
Searching
Through hills
And
unsure
of the surprises
in a melted state
over
discouragement
And
bewilderment of
why I even cared about the
View
after it rained
and after it
displayed
open access  
to death
or
a dream
or my future
noticeable and
unwanted
and unsure
chills
run through my veins
and aching bones
of the likelihood of this
memory
To these hills
hands held high
look down now on
empty streets
broken and mended
like details of a
mirror
and out of respect
for the view

©copyright 2016, Peter Piccolomini

The waters move,
The clouds move,
The wind blows back the trees.

People move,
The earth moves,
And mountains sink
into the sea.

Statues of marble
White as the moon,
Cold as the stones
Of the dead who are buried.

The lights are all stubborn,
Our backs bend low,
Our heads bend low
From the crosses we've carried.

All arrows we've fired
Hit the same ground,
Each of us friends
Who are friendless.

The waters move,
The clouds move,
I look up above and it's endless.

Arriving in the dark
like a listing ship
at your dock
my fingers skinned
all ****** at the knuckles
from christening your door
like a bottle on a prow
or a broken mirror
in the morning, caught
in the hurricane
of your crazy hair.

Today my  heart
      well it  is saddened
            it sits low
            in the Stillness now
            my precious voice
           I so long to find her
             taken weary
               by a wanton Thief

                  why...
                     I wish
                    for to ask you
                    your
             sweet sound
          that you  own too
       inspired chords
        oh I wish to hear you
          bringing tears
           in a thorny crown

            as you  steal
         my aching heartbeat
         in longing pangs
            of envy wild
             jealous lust
            is steering spirits
         if a willing voice
       souls lost in  time

           do not take
        that Midnight train ride
          consumed by feined
               affections lost
               sing my heart
              releasing chest pain
               forming blood
           in an endless tide

        as I lay bleeding
       morning offers
       a chance for peace
      in  moonsoaked clouds
        the trees
          I can hear them
            softly whisper
             gently near
           wounded wings
        were just repaired


      I pray for rain
     and to show us how to
      be better as
        we drain this ink
            telluric beds
          already laid in
         the laying long
           let go of sin

          like the voice
           that I
           can't hear now
          it's not you
       that I'm afraid
       it is the sound
       of  endless Silence
         Paining ears
          in a deafening pound

            I hear
         it  calling
           from
          a battle
              waging
                   lost
                   a tragic end
                    voices silenced
                 war of ages
             left to die
           a hefty cost.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

where i'm from,
we put towels on windowsills to keep out
     the cold -
dad replied

where i'm from?
we kept towels on the windowsills to hold in
     the heat,
mom beamed -

where i'm from, it's
     hot
and it's
cold
and i just need
some
fresh air

currently wishing
my uber driver would shut the **** up for half a minute

I just want to listen
to Joy Division
in silence;
with nothing
but the pressure
of my inescapable apathy

please shut up;
I really don't care
that two children were hit
by a tractor trailer this morning,
only a bit jealous.
I never thought I'd meet
someone as lonely as me,
but the continual conversation
that you regurgitate
proves otherwise.
I wish I could be
taken out
by a tractor trailer -
at this point,
I'll settle for anything.

uh-huh
yeah
really
no way

I feel as though this trip
is a metaphor
for my waking life:
just a blur of scenery
flying by,
while a stranger
makes noises at my depression -
and I just,
uh-huh
yeah
really
no way

I hate how
I hate everything

hate
how lonely I am

how regardless
of who
surrounds me,
        comforts me,
                loves me,
I still feel like I'm alone

welcome to the void