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I imagine you calm,
A sentient being.
The world to which you bow to unfolding before your eyes, a kind of rapturing. Finally unwinding to reveal the truth it has always held: you are tired and the rain seems to never stop long enough to let you empty,
It pours,
Endlessly. Leaving streams into which you drown.
It perches atop your shoulders, this tiredness, chirping songs not of succor, not of hope but a call to your final moments. A ministration.
To a resting place you do not know.

Please do not answer.
There's a deep deep ache somewhere in my chest, a dull throb I've learnt to associate with sadness. The kind that gives me pause, I stop and listen to it,
to you,
to your voice amidst the chatter but sometimes I'm afraid I can not hear you. I am failing you and I am sorry, I am.
A few days ago you told me you were tired, you had been saying it for a while, I guess I wasn't hearing you clearly.
I don't know what to do or say to you anymore, I can't hold you, I can't offer you words or greasy food bc you're so far away from me now //

One of my friends tried to commit suicide a couple of days ago. He sent me texts, saying I should be okay bc I'm his friend and I've been his friend so I know. I'm unsure if it was a moment of weakness or strength, I don't know how to be t/here for him. I listen to him speak of his emptiness and it breaks me, I don't know how to hold him, how to make things easier for him. I'm lost and afraid. //

Haven't posted in a while haha *sobs* I miss this place.
I'm all by myself, once again.
I pour my heart out
with this beloved pen.

Reminiscing all the words
you ever said.
Replaying them over and over,
inside my head.

I know how it feels to love,
But, I'll never love again.

As out of experience I've learnt,
Head over feels > Head over heels
I was never lost.
I had you.
I was never lost.
I had you.

Or maybe I never had you.
I was lost.
Or maybe I never had you.
I was lost.

You tell me.
What was going on?
Was I lost?
Or was I never
Because I had you.
I have no idea.

But I know
That I now have truly
Lost you.
Still here missing you.
The events of last night
tattooed on my mind

The look in your eyes
Glassy and drunken
Searching for mine

And when they met
And your lips found
Mine so feverish and
Those few moments alone
Your tongue tinged with *****
To match my own
A kiss betwixt night
and dawn
Your arms found my waist

No words could be uttered
For fear of memories found when
we wake
Experimental but I like this so I figured I'd post it
 May 2014 Maegen Sheehan
Why is black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.
^^^let us live through our poetry
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