Hey it's just your remembrance messing up so much with me

Bared in front of you,
I admitted that you had, after all, some power over me
And that is how I lost.

A potion
or a pill
which on consuming
may consume me.

I need to forget life
and fall in its flow
dissolve in its flow
to divide in its flow,
disappear in its flow.

I need a pill
to forget life
I need a pill
to forgive life.

I can't believe I wrote all of this. It was another phase. It came over me. I mostly tried to vent it out here.
This poetry on HP is a record file. And it is all true, but it's also so...different. I just read me differently today maybe that's why. But yeah, I was always under effect when I posted here.

You are so ****** for not seeing the trap
For not paying heed to the warnings your heart keeps giving
Don't worry -- it will stop. But so will you
And I only want you to not die a mess.

I am listening to a song and wish I could send it to you. It's so our type. Or what once was our type.

Don't forget me

I can't handle this insanity
I can't stop thinking of you either
I don't know where to go, what to do, and how
All I want is peace...
                 and you are my peace!

How do I ask you to come here?
How late is too late? I don't know
Or when is it time to move on?

Looks like no website, no magazine got a clue
If ya miss someone so much, what d'ya do?

I saw something that you would have loved,
and asked myself why
so many things have become a reminder
of you only.

Life can be pretty ****** at times and it's okay.
We will live it.

You thought you were acing it
but literally, you were only leaving it
or perhaps, it  was  leaving  you.
You stay empty-handed
your soul is bare and looks like a skin peeling off
from winter's cold sighs.
Scratch it, and you have his very name on it.

Far from the madding crowd,
Unperturbed, unmoved, even happy
Crossing her way over rocky hills and rivers
Kissing butterflies, singing symphonies
You'd see her and think she just got dropped from heavens
Or finally found her way out of a painting.
Unrelated:- this is an acrostic.

I miss writing proper poetry.

One that's not hung loose from a noose or edging on a cliff just so
I'm done with danger.

One that doesn't spell p o v e r t y in thoughts, in soul's actions,
nor one that respells anything at all, really. I'm done fearing.

I'm done fearing, I say, but maybe I really am not. It's been driving me and it will drive me
to the end of Who can say what.
A poetry that isn't about sadness, or sad pills, or dungeons you're left in to rot
Aren't you enough fed up of the foul smell?

I can't also fit rainbows in my lines
That is not what I hold in my pocket
And even if I did, once, I've forgotten how they look like.

But I miss writing proper poetry now
One that isn't about losses.
One that doesn't begin or end with your memory, doesn't trace lines on my skin with red.

I'm done writing, perhaps.
But I'm not done trying. Not yet.

8:27
You wanted to see him, don't you?
And now you think it's all coming down
Destruction is here.

You thought healing was a poem away.
Oh, how wrong you were..
8:28

You wanted to see him, don't you?
And now you feel as if someone has taken it all away
In a moment: your peace, your power, and all that you had built since last time.

8:30
You're still writing this because you think
You'll be able to face the world again
Put up your nice facade and say: it didn't matter, oh, what?
It didn't matter, of course.
You saw him, that's all.
And he's fine without you.

You won't come back
And I won't get over it.
Hard deal.

It's all jumbled up and sticky sorry-
but here is the thing-
I had fallen in feeling-
and now I really miss you.

Won't I tell you that I think of you still,
that your thought became a part of me before it was a memory
and I still, very much, live in that hollow space that is not a void
but isn't anything else either.

Divorced music
Forsook diaries
Colors you liked
She now detests.

I want to remind you
that I still haven't stopped thinking of you
and I have been unsuccessful
in plucking your memory out of my streams.

I miss you,
and sometimes I miss you more.

I can't not go back and trace those lines of your name, those dots
Their touch giving me what your absence cannot...
An awareness of what once was.

do you miss me ever like I do you?
does it haunt? bite? almost ****?

How much more poetry

until it's all OK?

Why do my hands start trembling as soon as you say your goodbye?
It was so meant to be, and I only have to repeat after you.
Goodbye
I say
And it feels like I am asking you to **** me.

Come back.

Why can't I leave you like you have left me? Why has it got to hurt like this - this? (How do I hold it in my hands and show you how much?)
It's so much when it comes. Like a large wave it washes over me.
Drenches me thoroughly. I shiver, cry, tremble.
I think it seeps through me. Becomes part of me for days to come. Until it subsides for a moment - to re-happen and become me, again.*

Your memories. Your lies. Our love.

She was tryna save you
But she gave up
'Cause you broke her

We can't afford to be sad again this hour, darling
It's too late and you're already so tired
Already so half.

Why, you say you miss him and your bones begin like they're cracking
Your eyes, I mean those holes! They are already empty vessels, sweety.
As empty as any other star that has had its day
Are you becoming a black hole?
Or are you just another history album, showing photos after photos of the same old wreckage

I can't bear to see that, sweety, I can't tell you how it spikes into me. This grey gleam. This scarred self of yours.

We can't afford to be sad at this hour, darling, or I would've certainly showed you something. Might've sung a song, maybe.
But right now it reminds me of your voice that held heavens up in rapture.
Right now I can only think of your laughter that I cannot listen to, anymore.
Your silence. It's already biting into you but you won't know!

So we can't be sad again, you see.

my heart hurts, that's all.
this is not a poem.
just a helpless cry maybe

curled up in a fetal position,
wrapped in wool that doesn't warm
because cold are tears that trickle down
and it's still not the end.

I miss you a little more each day
and a lot more every night
I think it has seeped into blood like a habit—
this love that only meant doom,
this dark gutter of glitter—and habits die hard.

I still look back at you but it doesn't mean that I love you.
It doesn't mean that I care about you
Heck, if you were drowning I would wish you drown more quickly
Do not let him get out of this, God
Except for that last moment of helpless suffering - elongate it into years that were of my own pain
Let him die in thick clouds of airless water,
And dense regret.

suffering is dull yellow in color.
it hurts your eyes and ails your heart.

heartache must be black - heavy and all-dissolving

but black is actually really prominent and this hell of a burden is invisible
to everyone but myself so maybe
it's the color of my skin, my blood
sitting on my chest. clawing up and down
drawing invisible letters of your name

my heartache, i think, is the color of your eyes
and a jagged collection of all your beautiful lies.

If God takes away all your pain,
how will you write your poems?

The **** with missing people at all the wrong times

Heck, it's always wrong time

Do I even like you still
or am I just obsessed with the fact that you left me?

'Hey, how are you?'
That is the only question you have to resist asking
Until it gets easier to keep on living, without him.

This could be the last time
I am looking up at the stars
in hope of finding you-
My eyes search for you still
but this is going to be my
One Last Time.

I feel like a little bird caught in a strong, grey storm.

I listen to the songs you liked listening to and miss you this way.
Read your letters one by one, everyday.
This is how I know we had something. *The pain reminds me.

I miss you every day.
I look back at our past - one I've devotedly saved but shouldn't have had -
And trace back our steps:
I am desperate to know what went wrong, why we couldn't stop it
From changing us.
It brought me harm and I'm still hurting and
I'm not sure about you

every feeling
that comes with your thought
breaks me
i don't know what to do
we cry
we sigh
we wait and it's fine
until it's not.

Your memory is a blistering, red coal;
I step on it everyday.

Here, take these from me
Lilies - always your favorite
Come smell these, hold them!
I have brought flowers for you.

What a pleasant smell, and how fresh!
How bright; these yellow creatures
Take them to your room, decorate it
I have brought flowers for you.

I have brought flowers for you,
And tied them with my own ribbon
Purple, my favorite color. 'tis, my best ribbon!
Sprinkled only with a bit of Arsenic.

It doesn't matter, sweety
whether he thought of you or thought of you not
You did,
so take that out in this poem.

You make me sad. It's a carbon black kind of sadness.
I hide it behind my chest
There it darkens most.

I still find myself treading sometimes
The roads that once led to you.
Humming to the absolute dark
What once were *our poems.

I am just... highly highly obsessed with you.
And it's not even cool or nice or pleasant
because you are so far and so distant and still a stranger
and that, you will always be.