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 Apr 2020 Madison
 Apr 2020 Madison
isn’t it funny
my dreams and thoughts of you
have given me more
than you ever could
when the world ended,
i fell to the floor,
tears rolling down,
the future tore.

heart in my throat,
my jaw felt weak,
you held me tight,
you kissed my cheek.

when the world ended,
your hand on mine,
softly caress,
fingers entwined.

no whispered words,
you let me be,
your quiet strength,
meant the world to me.

And on that day, when the world ended,
you held my hand,
you stayed with me,
you made me see,
my world could be...
 Apr 2020 Madison
Harley Hucof
The pen of the past write the future in the present
People pretend and never learn their lessons.

And they fight their ego, but it always prevails
God's existence doesn't make sense,
Life's not fair
I guess Nietzsche was right ,
God is dead.

The pen of the past write the future in the present
What i am trying to say is that your choices will haunt you forever
And make you lose control and forget that you are blessed
Aliens are the new religion and GOD is dead.

As i declare it
I write it and turn to sleep
If GOD is dead, he is living in my head
I say my prayer and fade away
In the dreamworld where the ego always prevails .

Words Of Harfouchism.
 Apr 2020 Madison
sad like her cheeks when she forces a smile
dry like her lips when she kisses my cheeks
lost like her expressions when she stares into the darkness
Quivering like her voice when she lies that she's okay
Deaf like her ears when she slips  back into her void
tired as her eyes when she hasn't slept all night
Yellow as the pills she places on her tongue
And red as the wine she gulps them down with

If you ever wonder what depression looks like
It looks like my mother's face
 Apr 2020 Madison
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence

— The End —