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Mar 2016 · 523
Untie this rope
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2016
The smell of the grass reminds me of home
The old "hello's" ring through

The bark of the tree reminds me of ice cream cones
Cold vanilla made my fingers move

The texture of this rope reminds me of old
The smell of the air reminds me of hope
Feb 2016 · 511
Untitled
Eugene Melnyk Feb 2016
I would believe in god if nobody hurt

If nobody hurt we'd all be gods
Jan 2016 · 505
Little
Eugene Melnyk Jan 2016
I live in a cave
I have not slept for days
Maybe I'm starting to decay

I kind've smell coffee
Scrounging around for money
I kind've smell like codeine

Dreams flood over my vision
I haven't slept not even a smidgen
And now I'm passed out in the kitchen

I kind've smell nothing
And I kind've feel small
Jan 2016 · 464
Untitled
Eugene Melnyk Jan 2016
A time traveler's going in opposite directions.
Sometimes for the future, sometimes for the past.

Desperately trying to find a way to stop.
To live normal, as everyone should.

To go through-out life chronologically.
To see each moment as it is.
Not what could be or should've been.

To realize no matter what you do in every second,
you are you.

Humans as a self-identifying and somewhat egotistical species are especially bad at this.

We think in terms of "im this, im that, i can correlate to these people"
and sometimes we're right.

But a lot of the times a much simpler answer is needed.

"I am me.
I am not you,
I am not a thought,
I am not a theme nor a palette.

I only exist within this moment."
Dec 2015 · 314
Circa 2013
Eugene Melnyk Dec 2015
I am a mountain.
I am a vista.
I am a sea on blue floating above waves of trickled green.
I am the foam of the wave as it crashes.
I am the edge of the eye of the storm.
I am the darkest corners of your room.
I am the silence on a cool night.
I am the silence before death.

I will not erode
Mar 2015 · 1.4k
Woman in the Pale Gown
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
I sit and I stare at a body so bare not a single hair can be found.

It moans and aches as I lay awake, another sleepless night I am bound.

I toss and i turn as my full stomach churns, thinking of my queen and her crown.

I dream of a dance, and maybe just a chance, but odds are I'll be shut down.

So I'll stick to my corner and yearn no longer for the woman in the pale gown.
Mar 2015 · 388
New Cartidge
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
I thought to think before,
But then I didn't.

I thought to eat before,
But I was full.

I dreamt of colorful colossus kalydascopes,
But I lay awake

I thought to live before,
But I forgot.

I thought to think,
But I think I was all out of ink.
Mar 2015 · 1.2k
Mythological Creature
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
In senior year of highschool a fellow classmate called me a myth.

I felt this was an accurate title for what I was turning into.
Mar 2015 · 418
Blue Coat
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
And that day,
I said I'd be back.
So i buttoned my coat, and grabbed my hat.
And I said tomorrow we'll go,
So don't be frownin no mo'.

Tomorrow never came and neither did the next,
No calendar date marked by accidents.
Mar 2015 · 415
Untitled
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
I am but a tadpole in a sea of toads.
Mar 2015 · 992
PhobiaPhobia
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
I am afraid of leaving people.
I am afraid of people leaving me.
Afraid of the world,
But I am not afraid of you.

I am afraid of loosing control.
I am afraid of loosing my mind.
Afraid of people in general,
But I am not afraid of being kind.

I am not afraid of lions.
I am not afraid by bears closing in.
Not afraid of you,
But letting you win.

I am afraid of flying saucers.
I am not afraid of monsters.

I am afraid of a man who cannot choose.
I am not afraid of a God who cannot loose.

I am afraid of the men who run the country.
I am not afraid of the mounties.

Fear is logical.
Phobia is logical.
Obedience is nonsensical.
No more weird notes

Ha
Mar 2015 · 3.4k
The Man Woke Up
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
The man woke up.

He walked to his refrigerator hoping to find last nights left over veal, but he doesn't.
He thought maybe it's a sign veal is bad in the morning, so he made his coffee and sat down to watch the news.
Linda Sparoski was on talking about Gun rights.
"I kind've want a gun, but it probably wouldn't be the best idea."
He kept watching until he heard someone at the door.
Paranoid, he crept up to the peep hole.
Peering through he saw an elderly woman delivering what looked to be like a package.
"I wasn't expecting anything... **** it must **** to be her age"
He waited until the frail old woman made her way back to the UPS truck and drove away.
He went outside to pick up the box, only to find it very light. Much lighter than he expected.
On the outside scribbled in blue pen was "The man's name" so he knew it was for him.
He saw it was taped up pretty good, kind've how a child wraps a Christmas present.
He grabbed his kitchen knife.
"Scissors are like double knifes, except you don't need a cutting board."
He put the knife back and grabbed a pair of scissors.
"Scissors are ****** double knifes."
He put the scissors back and grabbed the knife.

When he returned to the box, he seemed to stare at the handwriting for quite some time.
He began to cut into the box.
On removal of the layers of scotch tape was a little note before the rest of the box could be open.
"Promise me?"
He was really confused now.
"I need more coffee"
Chugging his third cup, the man returns to the box.
Determined to open it.
He lifts the ***** keeping the pieces of cardboard box cube shaped, and begins to look inside.
The man sees photographs stacked on top of a few letters.
"Possibly something underneath."
As he dug through he saw a picture of himself dressed as Captain America on Halloween.
He tries remembering that Halloween but just can't quiet do it.
"I was never Cap.. "
He dug through more.
Found pictures of old beach houses he vaguely remembers, some pictures almost looked like a sonic drive through.
Stomach growl.
"Last nights quesadilla"
The man went to his fridge, with no luck of finding this cheesey goodness.
In fact his fridge was empty.
He doesn't remember it being empty.
He starts thinking about Halloween.
The man kicks the box under his coffee table, and stumbles to bed, even though it is only 6:47 pm.
Dreams of sand.
Dreams of sand.
Dreams of water.
Dreams of her.

The man woke up.

He heads to his coffee ***.
He has not made coffee yet.
He heads to his refrigerator to find last nights left over lasagna.
"When did I make that? 2 weeks-ago-ish?"
He does not find lasagna.
His coffee is done brewing.
He walks away without a cup to find the box.
The news was still on. Linda Sparracci was on talking about the man's town.
She said that the man's town was experiencing the worst drought since two thousand and sixteen.
"What year is it?"
The man tries to find a calendar but only finds twelve.
"So it could be 2025, 2026, 2028... Wait."
He deducted that it must be 2026, for this calendar had the most dates circled, and he has felt quite busy recently.
The man then fell.
When he came too he was on the couch.
It was snowing out.

Deciding it must be around December  time, he goes throughout his home looking for objects to wrap up and give to his family.
He finds a box.
The box has a note on the outside
"Promise me"
Without looking through the box, he wraps it up with what he can find.  
Thinking of where to send it, he thinks of the first address he can remember, presumably his parents house, and sends the box off.
"Captain America... "
The man decides to watch Duck Dynasty season 34 for the first time, without seeing the prior 33 seasons.
The man passes out.
Dreams of white.
Dreams of red.
Dreams of death.

The man woke up.

He walked to his refrigerator hoping to find last nights left over veal, but he doesn't.
He thought maybe it's a sign veal is bad in the morning, so he made his coffee and sat down to watch the news.
Linda Spurokik was on, talking about the new Captain America movie.
"I was Captain America once.."
The man gets up to feed his dog.
The man does not have a dog anymore.
The man sits down.
Halloween 3 comes on the television.
He remembers getting her roses, because she was mad he didn't want to go trick or treating.
They ending up going trick or treating anyway.
She didn't like the roses.
The man tries to imagine what Michael Meyers must've felt like.
Being cast so many times over because of his creepy plastic face.
"I bet it was really hard to find other work though..."
The man was unsettled with this thought and turned off the television.
With nothing to more to do, he crawls to bed, even though it is only 6:24 pm.
No dreams
Just blackness.

The man woke up.

He heard someone at the door.
Paranoid, he crept down the stairs to the window.
Peering through he saw a young man delivering what looked to be like a package.
"I wasn't expecting anything... **** it must **** to be that young in this day and age"
He waited until the man made his way back to the USPS truck and drove away.
He went outside to pick up the box, only to find it very light. Much lighter than he expected.
On the outside scribbled in blue pen was "The man's name" so he knew it was for him.
When he opens the box he finds a picture of himself dressed as Captain America and she was beside him.
"Even trying to look ugly she was beautiful."
The man begins to cry a bit.
Gently places the picture down, he digs through more.
He finds an old Valentine's Day card.
"Signed your's forever, love you so much"
The man puts the contents of the box back, and gently pushes it under the table.
He turns the television on and Linda Sadok is on talking about a fire.
"3 dead, 2 injured with 3rd degrees burns along 85% percent of their body"
The man states "****" and turns the television off.
"I'd rather be one of the three than one of the two"
The man grabs the last pack of tostitos he can find, and chows down for awhile.
The man dozes off.  

A few hours later the man awakes.
He house is quieter than normal, but he normally has all the washing machines running so he thinks "all good."
Walking to his refrigerator, he finds it filled with Mexican Taco Hot Pockets.
Not wanting to get fat, he rejects this refrigerator and demands a new one.
He does not get it.
Hot pocket.
He walks to his coffee table.
It is very long.
His box is gone.
Befuddled, he walks to his hallway to check under the door.
Upon opening the door, his house leads to another one of his houses.
It is the same house though, it's just his other one.
Walking to the refrigerator, he finds it filled with ingredients for fresh pesto and Texas toast.
Thinking maybe it would upset his stomach. He throws the fridge down his garbage disposal.
On returning to his living room, he sees a man.
This man is talking to the man about life.
Talking about how long could one go on for in the same space.  
This man tells the man, maybe you should **** yourself.
Get out.
The man has never liked suicide.
But given the preposterous conditions of his life, he thinks about it.
This man says a hand full of advil or a few too many sleeping pills could do it.
The man says no.
"I can't leave, I'm not done yet.
Then, this man asks what the man has not finished yet.
"I don't remember..."
This man tells the man, that he is not Captain America and disappears.
The man disagrees.
"Photo evidence"

The man wakes up.

He finds the contents of the box sprawled all over his chest.
He had fallen asleep on the couch.
He hears her say goodnight.
He says I love you.
There is no one there.
He crawls to bed, and it is 2:34 am.
He cannot sleep.
This man returns to him.
This man asks the man if he had finished what he wanted to finish.
The man says no.
This man asks why once more.
"She's still gone, i'm not letting go"
This man says the man already has.
The man rolls over in his bed.
This man says you've been done here for awhile.
The man pretends to be asleep,
motionless, yet awake for hours.

The sun never came up, because he didn't want it too.
The fridge was always empty, because he didn't want to eat.
The box would appear, because he wanted it too.
She was gone, because he knew she was gone.
He stayed, and kept resealing and opening that box. Day in day out.
Surviving healthy off of nothing at all.

He never left.
Not poetry
Not poerty
Mar 2015 · 41.2k
$&@!? coffee
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
The coffee machine likes to tell my little cousins to curse at their parents.

         Then their parents always blame me.

         I swear it was the coffee machine.
        
         When was the last time I made coffee?
I had a tall mug of coffee this morning.
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
I spend all my time,
All my money,
And most of my remaining sanity
To stack together this perfect house.

Little pieces all fit together perfectly,
But there are thousands.
It feels like I could never, ever
Count that high.

I strain to hold it together.
I didn't think to get glue.
I'm about 1/4 of the way trough.

These matches break so easily.
I start to think I litarally brought the ******* matches available.
One wall falls.

I want to shout as loud as I can.
But I imagine what the finished product would be.
I'd probably have your name in books.
Multiple ******* books.

I rebuild the wall.
I push on, I don't stop until night fall.
I'm about half way through.

I take a cigarette break.
I look back on the hours.
I mainly remember the ****** parts.

A few cigarettes later I push on once more.
I build until late morning.
At this point I'm are about three quarters of the way there.

I again take a break,
Only this time to stay in what I have built, but not continue to build it.
I think back.

Why am I making this house of matches.

Why am I even here?

I remember your vision of the house.
I see you still have hours of work,
Easily stretching till dinner time.

The question is do I finish and stay at the house, or do I go home to make a nice meal for myself?

I went home.

When I came back the house was burnt away.
A frail, blackened frame remain.
No amount of good duct taping could fix it.
No amount of new matches could clean it up.

I still see the ash pile in my mind from time to time.

Next,
I tried a house made of fuses.
Do poems need to rhyme.

— The End —