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H AE MZ Nov 2024
To feel you, to have you, is what I have risked everything.

To love is so easy, to be loved, so hard.

But that mantle, so swiftly gone, now leaves me standing, alone, in a reverberating void, where your voice lingers.

Love's fleeting cloak, a transient shroud— once my shield, now an empty field, where the specters of your voice haunt the silence, and shadows stretch, reminders of what was.

When love departs, it leaves jagged marks, an aching void, where joy once stood.

Your warmth, a memory's ghost, haunts my nights, a presence I miss most.

The trust once held, now shattered and expelled, love's remnants sting on the skin, like the chill of an endless winter, where frostbite gnaws, and daylight never peaks.
Oh, the fleeting nature of love! In writing this poem, I aimed to capture the profound emptiness that follows its absence. The imagery and metaphors are meant to evoke the haunting presence of lost love and the lingering memories that persist in my mind. This piece encapsulates the essence of my emotional journey, from the initial risk of giving everything for love to the enduring pain of its absence. Through this poem, I hope to share the raw emotions and the lingering shadows that remain after a broken heart.
Dom Nov 2024
i no longer cry
about the dirt under my nails
the smell of work on my underarms
the nicks on my knuckles.
my body now sings
the hours spent laboring.
apricot Sep 2024
In the depths of my soul lies a hollow
A void that echoes with endless sorrow
A deep ache that no one can follow
A pain so raw, it's hard to swallow

I try to fill it with fleeting pleasures
But they only serve as temporary measures
The emptiness remains, a constant tether
Dragging me down, no end in sight, forever

I search for meaning, for some reprieve
But all I find is grief upon grief
I long for solace, a moment of peace
To bring an end to this endless disease

So I wander alone in this empty space
Hoping to find a way to embrace
The hollow that haunts me
louella Aug 2024
my father hasn’t been himself,
i’m piling clothes on each shelf
while the cold is attaching its lifeless embrace around my thighs that are too big
and a stomach too normally abnormal.
i write about living,
i try to live for writing;
always end up living for nothing.
maybe the ache seems like a home,
or a house
i just passed on the open road.
constantly familiar since a younger version of me
opened the vault
and it slipped out.
my eyes haven’t watered the flowers underneath my bed
since the summer came and went.
love came knocking at the front door;
the latch wouldn’t open up.
now every car makes it look as if it’s him behind every wheel.
i pass that house with a sore throat—
a lump in the back;
something’s unraveling inside of me.
i am neither tall nor strong,
every sadness almost takes the breath out of me
and i haven’t been like myself,
but when have i ever?
thoughts.

8/10/24
Angharad Jul 2024
And why can’t I spit poison!

I swallow enough of it!

If I don’t drain the wound the swelling will persist,
my heart will ache

The taste,
sweet and sick going down with such ease

Why can’t I take a match and watch my life burn

Incinerating the monotony that I stand in,
eager to see the ashes at my feet
louella Jun 2024
hands are black.
eyes are red from disappointment.
one young naive heart
pursed against a window frame,
breathing misty white circles
on the glassy pane.
waiting for the rusty red car to pull up
in the drive
and she would tug on his satin shirt and plead with her satin eyes.
he would brush his sleeve over soon-expired tears
and hold her clumsy hand
by the rocking chair.
her pupils dilating, flesh smiling.
the years slip by with quick waving hands
forcing me to question my circumstance.
believing still, yet whispers are unsure.  
the blood is young, the doubt fresh,
the driveway empty, the crabapples dead.
he saunters with a limp
and can’t lift me up as far as before.
shoulders weighed heavy from guilt,
cold floors, socks with holes.
his hands are yellow, his chair all creaky.
i read the books, they inform me of wars
and i shut their dark pages with a forcefulness.
i haven’t read the letters from friends; they wouldn’t understand.
they pick blossomed fruits from singing trees
and insert their souls into eternity.
the dirt roads are quiet, the music dull and haunting,
my prized smile is a fraud, the new winter frost a sworn enemy.
by the time the day retires, the aching has only set one foot inside the house,
leaving a bare-bones home
and a shiver hovering around every corner.
i notice no deer, no sparrows, no foxes.
no signs of hope, no signs of rebirth.
i see you beside me with limbs as cold as ice
and the love we had to bury will not suffice.
there are no flowers at our graves,
only frozen branches
lingering
in a place they had not decided themselves
to lay.
inspired by folklore and evermore.
this is a metaphor for my friendships.
i make a mess of everything.
6/5/24
Amanda Kay Burke May 2024
I'd rather feel icy touch
Than absence of your fingers
Despair
Disappointment clutched
Fear
Traces linger
Fatigue
Constant stress
And everything else we despised
I'd rather feel these than nothing I guess
Pain better than desolation disguised
You dragged me down darkened road
Threat of danger was a low-pitched hum
Senses burning seared and slowed
Rather feel the fire than be numb
Perceiving nerves stretch with agony
All I do is survive
Prefer ache over dull monotony
It proves that I'm still alive
Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
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