no one does nothing

substantial

even after all this time .

watching all the crime.

the list is long  & unbelievable,

then longer and extra unbelievable.

each day.

yet no one seems to do anything.

i says this out loud to mine &  can do nothing

substantial.

only shaking.

It’s Sunday,
and I call my mother.
I spend an hour picking shards out of my teeth
From whatever broke her.
It’s an art I’ve practiced since childhood:
Smiling with gums bleeding.

You’d only hear the grimace in my voice
If you listened to me like I was a person.
Listened
As if I was not a reflection
Or an extension.

It’s Sunday,
and my mother answers
Without the slightest hint
That by the time I finished
dialing her number
The first aid kit had already been opened.

My fiancée’s fingers hover over an
“Are you alright?” text
Poised to hit send
When she hears the grimace -

Because she hears the grimace.

It’s Sunday,
And I do not call my mother.
My birthday visited yesterday
And echos greeted me
In her place -

Fractures that had been growing
unspoken,
We fell into headfirst.

My gums aren’t bleeding
But my teeth still ache.

You slipped
away from me,
like the robins and
cherry blossoms when
spring ends,
and the fractured nights
of winter come.
I will search the
midnight alleys, and the
mountains of Chile.
I will listen for
your sweet laughter.
I long to taste your
honeysuckle lips, and
hear your heartbeat.
If I never find you,
I will be a lost leaf
on the lonesome
vagabond wind.

I race upon the edge of life

Days once dull now
sliced so fast

The partitioning skin opens up

Draining life's essence
into a cup

So dice another second
off

dare I turn to mourn or scoff ?

Another hour or a day

Do my words matter anyway ?

Step off
teleportation's dock

Who keeps candles hidden in a near by box ?

Forget the matches
that can't catch spark

Steps the mystery  of the unknowingly dark

In shadows cast by twilight's sigh,  
where whispers of my past float by,  
a gentle weight, like autumn’s breath,  
wraps my heart in thoughts of death.

My world is adorned in muted hues,  
a canvas stained with wistful blues,
and memories that age into fading ghosts,  
leaving a tender heart that longs the most.  

Beneath the weight of my silent nights,  
is a hope that fades with morning light,  
and a fragile thread of joy may gleam,  
yet drifts away like a distant dream.  

The laughter is lost and my smiles deferred,  
in every happy word that is left unheard,  
this quiet storm over my tranquil sea
Melancholia, you are yet to comfort me.  

©️Lizzie Bevis

I'm frought against a merciless foe
Pitted with no sword or shield
All my life it seems  to me I'm
Alone against an angry world

All around me haters hate
In my life it won't abate
I am in a wounded state
A sad and lonely little girl

I look to the right I look to the left
At hellish faces pittiless
I ball up, of love bereft
It seems as though l can't unwind

I look before, I look behind
It seems as though I'm going blind
I need to heed the promises
Then some hope I'll surely find!

For angel armies night and day
Against my enemies arrayed
God receives what I have prayed
I now find Ch)rist!  I have His mind!

He presents the belt of truth
He gives me a strong breastplate
Righteousness against the hate!
Sandals of my peace with God
Hemet to protect my mind
Shield of faith... against the odds!

Then, at last, the mighty Sword!
All the armor is restored!

I will fight the evil one
Look out devil... HERE I COME!!!



SøułSurvivør aka
Write of Passage
Catherine jarvis