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 Apr 2019 Joseph Silverstone
tobi
thank god i can’t write good poetry
the best poetry comes from pain and hurt if you ask me
so although i can’t write like i used to
at least it means i’m doing alright
hurting is healing
Love 
                                               for              you
                                            ­is                      rinse
                                   ­         and                 repeat,
                            ­                  just                  the
                     ­                             way              I
                 ­                                       like  it
Sorry to bother you
but I just have to say,
you bear a striking resemblance
to someone I knew once...

Were you there?

Were you there?
Probably not, but I confess

that it's refreshing to see
such familiar eyes on a strange face.
I'd drink it all in
if it wasn't probably laced.

Give it time.

I'll build up an immunity,
maybe even an affinity.
I'll drink your poison,
convince myself it's medicine,

If I could only get a proper dose.
A spontaneous poem I threw together off the top of my head.

Trying to work on not thinking so much about what I write and just tapping into the stream of consciousness.
 Mar 2019 Joseph Silverstone
Bee
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Forward: from the victims perspective.
Backward: from the murderers perspective.

This TOOK ME FOREVER TO WRITE

— The End —