Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Daniel Lockerbie Jul 2019
This black hole
swallows me,
ripping apart
the last fragments of light.
I wonder when
I will collapse
like a dying star
and fade away
into oblivion.

If you could see me now,
in this current state of being,
would your feelings for me change?
Would you welcome me back
into your arms
and be willing
to start again?
Daniel Lockerbie Mar 2019
If a writer falls in love with you,
bear this in mind:
they will find libraries in your smile,
and endless pages within the color of your eyes.
They will spend sleepless nights
searching for better synonyms and metaphors
with which to describe you.
They will carefully choose their words,
turn you into beautiful art,
and write of how the heart
that beats inside your chest
synchronizes perfectly with their own.
Whether you know it or not,
you will be running marathons in their mind,
you will build a house inside their thoughts to live in,
and you will drive poetry out of them
with one minuscule glance.
Daniel Lockerbie Mar 2019
When you broke my heart,
all of the pieces fell upon paper,
forming crooked lines and
I called it poetry.
Daniel Lockerbie Mar 2019
I like the idea that
each cell in my skin eventually replaces itself,
and that in due time, every single touch that you left upon it
will have faded forever.
Because one day I'd like to have a body for somebody
in which there is no trace of you left.
Daniel Lockerbie Feb 2019
"Describe yourself",
the blank space stares at me,
asking, begging, pleading to be filled with
a one-sentence answer,
something that will fit neatly into the line,
telling others in a minuscule amount of time
the scope of my entire existence.

How do I best express
that I am lost
and I
have never belonged anywhere?
How do I communicate
what cannot be said?
Daniel Lockerbie Dec 2018
Go ahead, my dear,
twist that knife in deeper.
Create some sort of echo in the empty cavernous hole
that is now my chest.
By your unwelcome departure
you have made yourself an unwelcome ghost in my heart.
I tried again to send my request of love
out into the universe,
only to have a door slammed in my face
and twice bolted shut.
I still feel you,
I still breathe in the resemblance of your touch
every time I close my eyes.
I gave you the world,
but it still wasn’t enough.
I hope you find in him the pieces I failed to press
into the puzzle that was your broken heart.
I will come to forgive you,
but the truth is still set:
You’ll always live on as my regret.

But now,
I see the truth of who you are:
your voice dripped with honey,
but was laced with poison,
your fingers worked their way along my spine,
promising to be a healing balm for my soul,
but cut into me like knives.
You have become a shadow,
a demon that haunts my thoughts in the night,
none of which matters now.
Because, in the end,
you chose the arms of another.
Daniel Lockerbie Apr 2018
I was almost holding your hand,
I was almost looking into your eyes,
as you caught a glimpse of mine,
and timidly looked away,
the wind dancing in your hair,
the ocean waves carrying with them sweet melodies,
their choruses echoing in my eardrums.
In that moment
I almost pressed my lips against your own.
I could almost feel my heart beating again,
with a reverberating thump
I could almost feel like there was life
once again flowing through my veins.
I almost mustered up the courage
to tell you everything that was welling up inside of me,
brimming under the surface like an active volcano,
or an earthquake,
ready to release itself upon the earth in a violent frenzy.
I almost told you
that you embodied everything I was looking for
but could never find the words to express.

I almost told you that I loved you,
but almost was never quite enough.
Next page