Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Dec 2014
Dorothy A
Don't say nice things after I die.
Don't write a pretty eulogy of what I meant to you.
Don't go on and on with words I won't hear.
Don't wait til I'm gone.
Say them now.
And I'll try to heed my own advice
And do likewise.
 Dec 2014
Devon Webb
We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.
 Dec 2014
Charles Bukowski
you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
distress.
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they have moments of
grief
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
sleep.
you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.
but I am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one
of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them
but they are
there
and I am
here.
 Dec 2014
coyote
wine for
breakfast:
the taste
is both
grape jelly
in a
childhood
summer
sweet;
and rock
bottom
bitter,
on my new
morning
tongue.
 Dec 2014
rantipole
the moon rises slowly,
and it makes my heart sink.
because the darkness knows all of
the thoughts that I think.
I fall 'sleep blaring music,
to get them out of my head.
but they've already crept through,
the sheets of my bed.

they torture my mind,
every night, every week,
when they whisper to me,
fantasies that I seek.
they chuckle a laugh while
I awake with a shriek.
now you know why at night,
I try hard not to sleep.

— The End —