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1.2k · Jan 2020
Anatomy
Just Ivan Jan 2020
I have no soul to make use of my spirit.
I have no love to make use of my body.
I have no dreams to make use of my heart.  
I have no paths to make use of my legs.
I have no depth to make use of my arms.  
I have no words to make use of my breath.
I have no gardens to make use of my nose.
I have no kitchen to make use of my tongue.
I have no thunder to make use of my ears.
I have no imagination to make use of my eyes.
I have no needles to make use of my hands.

I have no me to make use of the world.
569 · Jan 2015
The Sounds of Solitude
Just Ivan Jan 2015
I feel the loneliest when all I hear are my own footsteps.

but if I stop walking, I can still hear myself breathe.
And if I stop breathing, I can still hear my thoughts.

Now, all I can think about is how to not hear myself
What will it take to deny my existence?

The outburst of air left me with only the sound of a rapid heartbeat.

I am now furious, " Why is it so easy for everyone else to deny me?"
"Everyone else does it without any effort at all!"

I find my anger futile, I continue on my walk to another lonely place.

As I chug the water down, I can't help but to hope I choke on it and perish then and there.

Don't forget to leave the TV on so I can hear something other than myself.

EVERY SUBTLE MOVEMENT IS LIKE BEING NEXT TO A CANNON

Even the sound of my hair sliding is enough to want to cut & burn it.
Luckily I will only hear myself for a few more brief seconds before I drift into slumber.

I dream of being unable to die, not because of some witches curse.
But because she gave me a reason to listen to my footsteps again.
If I don't live I can't be with her.  

Her face and name are unknown.
Her voice is empty without any real noise being made.
I can feel and hear her emotions.
I choose not to hold her hand, I know its just a dream.

Waking up in tears, I carry on with myself for at least one more day.
If I could just see her again like I did.

Just knowing she is there only for me, in only my world.
I wonder if she feels lonely to...
I think next time I will hold her hand.
I will accept my existence, only for her.
Even if she is just my imagination.

For me that is enough, to carry on with the *Sounds of Solitude.
Turned out to be more of a story, but I wrote it as if it were poetry and that's all that matters.
467 · Jul 2018
Waiting for Myelf
Just Ivan Jul 2018
Hello, queen bee. How nice of you to visit me.

I see you everyday, and everytime my words get lost on the way.

Im speechless and out of breath.
I am feeling like theres none left.

The time of I day I see you there
Is the time of I day I run out of air.

Next time I promise I'll tell you truths.
So please be patient and come back soon.

My apathetic mug leaves you the first impression.
So now I'm stuck with this depression.

Knowing I am nothing and going through hell.  
Engulfed with regret, I dwell and dwell.

If only you could see what I can truly do, maybe I could be your only truth.

So wait for me please, I'm begging you.

Keep killing me with your smile, I don't mind.

Queen bee, until next time.

Yours truly, Ivan.
268 · Jan 2019
For What Reason?
Just Ivan Jan 2019
My purpose is also my suffering.

For I am meant for myself.

Vast vexatious vapidity.

Seldom does the rock choose to jump.

I am the tree that burns the coldest.

A maniac for purpose.
260 · Jul 2018
My Worth
Just Ivan Jul 2018
May the glass formed by the sand of my bones
protect your life from but a moment of death.
In hopes that my life has meaning after the inevitable end to my story. That even if I fail to live a fulfilled life my existence wasn't entirely meaningless.
248 · Dec 2018
One Life Left
Just Ivan Dec 2018
Lately, I wonder.. whats really important?
I wonder if its love and or elopement?

I know the things I want but assume I'm undeserving.
So I keep my mouth shut.
Trying to keep my words vague and reassuring.
Pretending i'm not stuck in this rut.

I crave purpose, I want to take risks.
Intimidated by my shadow.
I slap my wrists.
can't help but feel hollow.

I'll continue to trudge on through.
Because I've been told, that's the right thing to do.
248 · Jul 2018
My Garden You Grow
Just Ivan Jul 2018
The ash piles left from burnt seeds of my regret
Its soil for seeds I have sown with hope you beget.

— The End —