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 Jul 2015
John Ashton Upston
Just to hear your breath,
Even though I am literally deaf,
Oh the twinkle in your mischievous eyes,
The realization that in another world, another life,
Your mine...

It's too much,
My once great mind is,
made low, by the self-same beats of
my heart.
My love I've let you go,
Oh and I cried, that day I died,
Take me back there, let me take you back,
I want that John back,
That's reluctantly in your arms.

I am without you.
Who knew death could feel so good,
Another lonely ******,
Le petit mort,
And oh I only want more,
I find myself addicted to your absence,
Coursing through my sickened blood,
Hungry, ravenous, Like the Raven,
Nevermore,
Darling, love, dearest,
I'm listening to breakup songs,
And it's how many years since,
It's not an obsession,
Because I constantly forget,
but when I wake and take my shower,
Its your body my mind connects with,
I'm nothing, humanity, life,
there is no meaning
a void an absence,
That's why we all seek connection,
Hey if you'll understand me,
Maybe I AM something,
No, just a dream,
Fleeting among the sea,
Washed away till you are alone at shore,
Beached, frostbitten, with a lost stare,
Looking at the sky,
Dreaming up a heaven,
And that you will
take me there.
Not anymore.
 Jul 2015
Ivy Swolf
A kind of blue lay
thick over her,
swallowing mouthfuls of suffocation
and drowning in nourishment. It's times like these
when the person you are today
doubts if they can reinvent themselves in time
for tomorrow. Blue is everywhere
like your perspective is bruised
and it feels like hell.

The familiar grip of apathy
makes everything foreign
and you're wilting under water like
some kind of mutant...

Observing people talk with an unrestrained
fluidness is enchanting and why doesn't
your erratic behaviour include something useful
in its repertoire? You swallow things that burn
but spit it out again because
all the nerves in your system left you
for a love affair less volatile.

This kind of blue is fickle. Its melancholy
in a heartbeat. It makes you lie awake
in bed until the sheets have lost the warmth
of your empty touch, examine heartbreak like
its a specimen of a scientific experiment. It makes
you hyper aware of nostalgia at 3am. It takes your
breath away and clouds your eyes with an absent minded
look. It's a surge of sorrow and a burst of hope
unceasingly whispering in your ear...

Someone's talking but you're not listening. The world's
troubles are rippling through you, and
this kind of blue makes you silent.
This kind of blue is you.
summer makes me sensitive.
 Jul 2015
Sandy
You preferred the heat, I loved the cold
But i'd gladly burn to be with you
I'd cross the **** Sahara desert for you
I'd go to hell
I tried to love you in 200 degrees when i couldn't even last 90
I was meant for the cold but i'd set myself on fire for you
But you wouldn't even freeze for me.
You set my frozen heart ablaze
I couldn't freeze your heart if i tried.
 Jul 2015
Alyanne Cooper
The ground shook yesterday,
And the limb I perched upon
Bowed and threatened to break.
The sky above darkened with clouds
As moisture gathered in the air.
My fingers loosened from their firm grasp
Round the branches to which I clung.
And as the sky lit up with nature's fireworks
Of crisscrossing patchwork lightning
I stood up and spread my arms.
The wind picked up and beat icy droplets
Into my chest and cheeks.
And in the moment before I fell,
I yelled.
As the breath escaped my lungs
In a violent echoing release,
I closed my eyes and steadied myself
And then stepped off and flew.
Oh what a flight it was!
And the ground caught me
Like a frypan catches the tossed up pancake.
And all life was beaten from my body
And all my demons exorcised.

And then my eyes peeled open
To see the white ceiling above
And i felt the starched sheets
Chaffing my sweat-soaked skin
And I realized I have to live the day
All over again.
 Jul 2015
Neex
The heart wants what it wants,
This heart never gets what it wants.
I don't even know how to feel anymore. False hope seems to be coming a lot more often.
 Jul 2015
brandon nagley
Dunk mine head in the ocean
Split mine tongue to the red Sea
****** me with good emotion
I seeketh just one to touch me
To maketh me throb
With their soft untouched hands,
I  seeketh that angelic touch
Not one but both appendage's on mine stomach to land
Not to much to ask
Just a simple feel
Though I feeleth none flesh
Tis I knoweth the feeling is real...
I'm dying for it
Needing it
Like a calf to his mum
Hath I just gone crazy?
For what normal beings hath and want???
 Jul 2015
brandon nagley
Many's parent's told them at birth
Don't waste thy time on rhyme's
Get a job and real life....
Though to many of us....
Poetry is a job
Poetry
Is life......


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
I've never had mine parent's tell me to not do this growing up yet I know many who tell their kids don't do this or that it's just a dream... well as I more than know!!!! Dreams can be a reality if you make them and want them to be
 Jul 2015
brandon nagley
Spurious microbes in green tank's maketh blunder's by the inch, The mut eateth their own secretion, whilst frustration of the crowd groweth hungry for martial law take-down. Strayed away by liver decay, consevator to their likeness awaits them, yet they just debate him as some unknown source....The war-torn aeroplanes art diverted by their own bucolic, idealistic and yet sadistic ways........ They play political course action.. As Lucifer is their stand in man....


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
 Jul 2015
brandon nagley
Some mute their ear's
Whilst other's bludgeon their eyes
The crowd's own suicide....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry.
 Jul 2015
brandon nagley
Everyone wants to have
The look of the poet
Yet noone these day's,
Wants to be real poet's....
Everyone wants to be a rock star
Or movie star.
Or even an athlete.....
But the poet,
Is one not of this world...
A poet
Is one unearhtly
Celestial in his way's.....
A poet doesn't follow the paths of this world......
The poet followeth his soul,
Which cometh from God....
And no rock star
Or athlete,
Couldst match up to that....


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
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