Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shreya Srivastava  Mar 2017
Maybe one day when the days are fine,
Maybe some years after nine.
Maybe then we come across each other or maybe we won't.
Maybe we ignore or maybe we won't,
Maybe we smile or maybe we won't.
Maybe we crave for that one hug or maybe we won't.
Maybe then you notice the love in my eyes or maybe you won't,
Maybe you can hear the poem my eyes recite or maybe you won't.
Maybe you still pull my cheeks or maybe you won't.
Maybe you still laugh on my jokes or maybe you won't.
Maybe we exchange contacts or maybe we won't.
Maybe then you leave saying goodbye once again or maybe you won't.
Maybe you call me later or maybe you won't
Maybe i say hello and you reply or maybe you won't.
Maybe we start once again or maybe we won't.
Maybe we fall in love once again or maybe we won't.
Maybe you too wish the same to happen or maybe you won't.
Maybe you too miss me or maybe you won't.
Maybe you too write the same or maybe you won't.
Jimmy Bowman  Jul 2012
Jimmy Bowman Jul 2012
All my days are empty and the pages of my
diary are all silver foil,
With nought but an inky black snake,
Carving its way through the days,
They come at me quicker each year,
But yet I still reflect upon what I’ve achieved,
And ask myself where it has all gone?

I find myself sitting in this dark room,
With only padding as my witness,
The answer soon becomes clear,
As I sit in this chair that persists on clasping me in
Its jaws,
The lights seem to dim and it floods back.

Nothing could stand in my way previous to this,
The blue shrills followed me everywhere and cried,
Cried like I did that night,
They led me here seperated only by a cross and thread.

Forgive me father.
Umi May 2018
Only in the best season,
The forgotten gateway opens up a field of bell flowers in two colours,
White, the colour of light and love, as pure as it sounds like,
Golden, alike the majestic rising sun in the early morning,
They never cross the road, but are seperated by it, I wonder why...
Perhaps it is the harmony, created by the untouched nature,
Or is it the order they chose to grow in, while the warm weather can be felt through body and soul, through emotions and the mind,
Only the chirping of the locusts, hopping from bell to bellflower,
The road is frankly short, leading to a near forest, yet the sensation, brought to the optic nerve and to the nose through the sweet smell,
This is what makes it something which cannot be truly conveyed in words, because, the untouched nature is art in its very own way,
Until the greed of humanity destroys its gift with their toxity,
What remains are the memories of harmony and grace.

~ Umi
w y n n e  Jul 2016
w y n n e Jul 2016
I'm happy and you're sad
I'm smiling and you're faking smiles
I'm laughing and you're crying
I'm contented and you're lost
I'm complete and you're broken

I left and you let me
I was a fool to believe that you would chase me
But you didn't hold my hand tight as if our hands are not fit together
I was a fool to believe that you will hug me
But you just look at me with a blank emotions
I was a fool to believe that you will kiss me
But you didn't and just sigh
I was a fool to believe that you would say my name and get angry
But you said your last goodbye and walk away
I was a fool to believe that after our path seperated,
I thought I will be happy
and complete

But who the **** am I fooling?
I feel like a glass broke into pieces
I feel like a piece of paper slit into two
I feel like a wilted leaves
I feel like a snow falling on the ground
I feel like an empty jar

I'm tired
I'm tired of convincing myself I'm over
I'm tired of fooling myself
I miss you and It's killing me
I want that arms around my body again
I miss those hands touching my hips
That broad chest to lean my head on
That **** lips whispering on my ears
That manly voice saying my name
Yes, I want all of that
I want you back

Only you
No one else
Just me and you being together
But I was late
Too late to realize that I'm a fool for not keeping you
Too late to realize that I'm a fool for letting you go
Too late to realize that I'm a fool
i used to know what i want.

i wanted to stuff myself so full of pills
that even god himself
wouldn't be able to save me.

but the doctors beat me to it,
and now they're the ones
stuffing me with pills.
so many that even god almighty
lost count.

sleepy pills
and happy pills
and chill pills
and pretty pills
painted all the colors of the rainbow.

but instead of feeling
and happier
and more chill
and prettier
i feel
and disconnected
and seperated
like i am a guest in my own body
looking through someone else's eyes
going through another's motions.

i used to know what I want.
now i just feel numb.
ever so gently.
in this room,
Not mine
filled with
morning light..

Though not seperated
by many miles,
I am
far away from
my home.

I keep telling myself
I can live there..
and I want to...

connections are deep and have been my focus..
Almost half of my years

Unconditional commitment
My life partner,
Once complete.
My love.. my precious one.
My dearest friend, my finest lover.

Created just for me.
Able to play my body
To a comfort unknown.

My Heart to rest
at last.

I dreamt of us
Left one man
Then two

To follow his scent
and found him.
Knew I would bear his daughters,

Knew without question ...
this Definition of Soul Mate

That once belonged to us.

lifeonLSD  Nov 2018
lifeonLSD Nov 2018
the one that is fed
the food of thought
to the one taken home
will be there untill death
has collected its parts

seperated by birth
it’s reclaimed and renowned
perished, saturated
burried in the dirt
of fruitfull soil
freed from the hurdles
of a heart loss of hurt
Dawn Bunker  Aug 2018
Dawn Bunker Aug 2018
Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.

The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.

The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper.  He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.

An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.

Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.

Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.
Howard Dully's book was published in 2007, and it went on to become a New York Times bestseller. Howard coauthored the book with Charles Fleming, and it is titled My Lobotomy.
ChinHooi Ng  Mar 22
ChinHooi Ng Mar 22
A bird
on the windowsill
an unknown bird
i wake up
it perches
over there
it has the color
you'd like
a voice you like
early in the morning
seperated by
a piece
of glass
it seems
within reach
it's here
to teach
the meaning
of happy
and free.
Next page