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Asonna Apr 6
he loves me
he loves me not

He loves me not

Never in a million years did i imagine this,
sensation of lonely haunts me.

                                         *consumes me


becomes the true identity of what it means to be me.
                  Alone.
                           Forever more.
No love to give,
No love to share,
No Love, that's it.
                           Nevermore

she loves me
she loves me not

She loves me not

you just haven't met the one,
oh you're young,
there's plenty of time,
                              stop stressin ***.

but that's not the point.

Used so much my soul screams for protection,
had people walk out,
judge me for my choices,
                               Like they were my choice

She loves me
He loves me not

*They love me not

sinking ship.
iceberg ahead.
I'm going under.
Ready to give up instead.

My walls are up,
Don't need to take cover.
Put the gun away.
Spare me of this final blow.
Arisa May 2019
is there anybody out there
anybody
any body.
who experiences the pain i feel right
here.
please talk to me
No person ever says, “hello.”

I search for actions

To better my existence

Fake Promises and Infractions

Of crimes plagued upon me

That others voices echoes inside of my head

“laughter “ at this joke

Why? Because he is broke? Or just “Ill?”

Is this a dream? Or a Nightmare?

Am I dead, in this quiet, before the next

Vulture who swoops down on this “seeming dead”

Soul - can’t people see that this is a “human”

in there?

Never taken seriously.

Laughing, aloud, at myself.

I look in the mirror

Like the movie “Pink Floyd the wall”

As steam and shaving foam hit the mirror.

A busted smile remains delirious.

Until my “trial”

Will people ever come any nearer?
MKB Nov 2018
It’s been awhile
Dead light
And
I

Have you been watching
Little me?—
In all my corruption;
Has your sentient ablution—
So tried—
Decided to set me aside
In my hiding?

I grovel here;
Blind.
While You glisten—
You listen—and weave
Serene discomfort
Into a little-soul
Like mine.    

Supine and slight—
I trace Your patterns in the
Night and try to name them
As others have
Before me:
Dipper. Orion. Northern-light:
Compass bright.

Are they suppose to
Mean Something?
I cling to their instruction
And move nowhere.  
Your pictures do not wear the weight
That answers
Do.

Can I sough purpose
In their Recitation?
—For I have wanted for comfort.
I repeat the names—
Cardinal ghosts in dotted-frame—
But their direction
Alludes me.

Oh, You Pin-******—
You Old-Flames—
You Astute Celestial Hosts.  
Have You hung silent
—In all Your knowing
Just waiting
For me to let go?

Do You know the cold of war waged
Alone?——
Blueprints of rage have rewrote the
Geography of my limbs:
I am not my arms my legs I am not
My breaking
Heart.

My hands aren’t mine, anymore.
I have never been so
Stolen.

Hey, Heaven’s map of decussation:
Do You see me down here
at all?
Praying for Your mum
Eureka call——
To pull me past
My boxing halls?

You are all l have left—
to follow.
Tired of feeling lost.
Tired of letting go.

But it could be awhile
      Dead light.
Hopelessness is a heavy might:
But I thought—just maybe,  
you might—
Wait
For me.

I face you
In the night.
—Until I get there.
Me: the tiny nightmare.
At the edge of sleep’s reprieve
Before I face the mourning,
Bare.
Carry You-Ruelle, Flurrie
Thom Jamieson Nov 2018
I read an article in the news this week,
It was about profiling corporate bigwigs
And the shocking conclusion,
That the vast majority of these pigs at the trough of good fortune
Are psychopaths, a statistically significant majority,
Like eighty percent,
This tweaked my curiosity and so I did a bit of research,
And I learned that a psychopath is someone
who experiences life differently,
they experience all of the positive emotions,
Love, happiness, comradery, all of it.
But they’re wired differently,
When it comes to the sad, bad, mad times.
They don’t feel the way most humans do,
They feel detached from these things
They tend to deal with things of this nature
From a logical and removed perspective,
And this is where the road forks.
Ethical, moral, love-based pychopaths
Release the tension, resulting from the conflict
That arises from this, (aka wow I’m a freak)
through healthy
Or at least, socially-acceptable methods
Others, unfortunately dispose of it,
through darker, more nefarious means
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
Not the hack them, slash them maniac you see on film
The ones that just don’t feel like other people.
I was reading a book about self-realization,
About dropping preconceived inhibitions
Quieting the mind,
And finding “the silence within the silence” as they say,
I started to consider this,
I thought back to my transformation in August of seventeen
I moved from subject to passive observer,
I substituted love for fear, in every corner of my life,
And I found the silence, perhaps just a glimpse,
But it was so beautiful, it impressed upon me
An entirely new disposition,
As a passive observer, I’ve been able
To see myself much more clearly
When you look at yourself from a standpoint,
That leads you to recognize that in fact
There is no you at all, only your perception
And in fact, even perception
Consciousness, the core of experience
Is an illusion in and of itself.
An illusion nurtured by
The confines of society
Because at the level of atoms and molecules
We really all are
Intertwined and indistinguishable
And these tiny points of perception
That we think of as us
Are actually one
As though a block of energy
Was slammed through a cheese grater
And from this perspective,
and the Fear/love paradigm,
I find myself alone,
Alone, and happy,
Possibly,
For
The first-time
Ever.
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.
And though I’m not wishing for the way it was
I do wish
I had a friend,
a sounding-board so to speak
Who knows me as well
As the one that I have hurt, and who has hurt me
To really help me decide,
Is this an epiphany,
Or insanity
A middle-aged crazy man
Writing words no one will ever read
Either way, I suppose
You can look from one of two sides
From the loss, and the sadness
The love and respect for the past
Or from the perspective of freedom,
Growth,
And doing what you were put
In this crazy world to do
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
At one point this afternoon
I realized I hurt in my entirety
My body, head to toe
My heart, because I am alone
Self-chosen,
But still alone
And my soul because
I don’t feel the way other people do
I won’t hurt anyone else
At least not on purpose
But every inch of me hurts
Every,
Inch.
And yet, even the sadness I feel
In waves,
By no means all the time,
But when it hits,
It hits hard,
I realize this too is a bad habit at best,
And an illusion at worst
What growth can come,
From pining for the past
Or any attachment for that matter
Because those things
That we can’t stop ourselves from doing
That arise from mind
Such as regret, or loss
Or guilt
Are bad-habits,
illusions
That serve absolutely nothing
But to teach, and move on
To how you might
Make the reality that is now
The best it can be,
For everybody,
Even me!
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.
#****** #psychopath #love #awakening #enlightenment #truth #perception #illusion #avidya #attachment
lanico Jan 2018

i wish i could stop this feeling inside my chest,
i wish that these...
feelings of selfishness just fade away
but
how can i stop them if all i want is to have you?
how can i stop these feelings of greed growing inside my veins
if all i can think about is your face,
the way the corner of your lips go up whenever you smile
or laugh
or the way your eyes shine so bright in the dark
and
the merely thought of having you laying down in bed beside me
is storming inside my head?
i've been feeling this selfishness inside my chest
inside my heart,
my lungs,
because
i want you for my whole own self
i don't want anybody else,
anybody else but you
and i want you to
have me
to have me
and anybody else but
me
Nylee Nov 2017
It is alright
when I'm alone in my room
with all the dark thoughts
clouding my sight

They will give me company
when everyone leaves me.

I don't need anybody,
        truly.
    
I really do not care.
I'm still taking slow breaths
that is good enough, yeah.
Don't expect more.
Keyla Oct 2016
i think i'd like to be
anybody..

                     but me.
Can we?
Can we still hear?
Asking the Question,
Can Everybody Still Hear?
We can!

Do we?
Do we still care?
Knowing the Answer,
Does Anybody Still Care?
We do!

Will we?
Will we still go?
Daring the Odds,
Will Somebody Still Show?
We will!

Shall we?
Shall we still dance?
Taking the Chance,
Shall the Children Still Dance?
We shall!

Might we?
Might we still've time
Robbing the Hall Clock,
Might the Fiery Hell's Bells Still Chime?
We might!
Cinquain Poem. 5 Stanzas. Attempted Syllable Count: 2, 4, 6, 8, 2
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