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if you are too tired to speak
sit next to me
i am fluent in the language of silence


© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
03.08.2019
Silence is bliss....
I sit in my car for hours lately, I don’t want to go inside
The house I go home to daily isn’t home
It’s drywall, siding, and a couch that me and my home use to cuddle on together
I’ve been home less because I’m homeless right now
With my cardboard box, and Help Me Please Sign
I try to make unorthodox thoughts to re design
my homelessness issue
"It's just not possible at this point in time, to realign
my mind to see loneliness as an opportunity"
I say talking to my therapist next to me
You can tell me the stages of grief, and what I will feel
I just simply cant deal with it.
Dehydrated by the tears, and constricted by the fears.
Thinking of the years that disappeared out of your eyes and your ears. In almost an instant.  
              
The vows,
    
       The commitment,

Shattered like glass on stone, watching you linger your eyes to another
While I’m home alone trying to not smother you
                
                 The hope,

I have left Is a single strand, even after the pictures of you and him make my legs unable to stand
With furrowed eyebrows, I browse to find the heart you took from me.
My options are few
I honestly only have two
Wait for you......
Or don’t
The equality in pain strains my soul out of my body
Floating above myself saying “somebody help that guy”
My own soul doesn’t recognize me anymore
I’ve become a frail pale corpse of just existing
Negative purpose deeper then the surface of the hurt on my face
I positively have no place to race at the pace I use to run at.
My body is worn down to much
The chest I kept joy in before has been stolen
The X marked the spot, you hit the jackpot
Stealing away yourself, the only treasure I had
The hole that was dug created a cavity
Not one that a dentist could fill
But one that made me empty without you, my sweet Emily.
No pill or drug can take my pain away
As my soul still apart from me thinks maybe life is better this way?
A soulless existence with no feelings to have destroyed
Like a robot or just “some body” null and void
 Jan 2018 sycokitten
Lior Gavra
It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.
 Jan 2018 sycokitten
Lior Gavra
Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.
This is one of the sample stories in my new book, "BitterSweet," which has become a #1 New Release on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/BitterSweet-Lior-Gavra/dp/0999497103/
 Jun 2017 sycokitten
Xyns
Blow
 Jun 2017 sycokitten
Xyns
4 lines down
Half a gram to go
Sorrows drowned
Becoming hooked on *blow
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