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Pockets Aug 2020
I'm back to not sleeping again
I'm back to doing drugs without my friends
I'm back to nothing
An empty room
An empty bottle
A full head and ashtray
I wish I could close my eyes and go to bed
But I just can't
Chris Saitta Aug 2020
Snow brings to earth the ash footsteps of Titans,
Winter in its giant vacancy of bygone strides,
The overthrown birth of frost mother and sky,
~The snow proselytizes all our warm tomorrows~
But the totality of loss lies like a starved lion,
Paws crossed, staring at the cold changeling-world,
As a young white-tailed Springbok ages into distance.
A Springbok is a white-tailed antelope found in Africa.
Dylan McFadden Aug 2020
Better a small spark of flame
From hot coals and ash
Than a great bolt of light
That goes out with a flash

.
Simon Aug 2020
Trading life for death isn't the countermeasure for strife! As it is very "politely" too say that life mocks the complete scenario of death itself. However, if you actually started to take a little closer look at ourselves in general... You'd come to say that our very lives, aren't so different when death essentially claims them. Only when it is time for our lives to become entirely subjected upon deaths desire to appoint life to crumble at deaths very feet. Life in deaths very comparison for an opposite comparison, is seeing that it's nothing but "dust at one's very toes". But when life is about to crumble and seemingly turn into a crumbling dustless ash... It see's itself (for the very first time ever) plead too death in such a way as if it's begging at it's very, well...feet! Revealing it's form of crumbling dustless ash, even before it's become aware of that very state. As all life ever wanted (after coming to the final point in it's very supposed fluid ride of existence) was to hope for a nice ending! Until finding out that death wasn't so merciful!
Life. Death. All are so distinct from another. But also so...frail! Could one or the other truly outdo the other...? If so, then... How would a countermeasure for strife ever determine the outcome, when everything's too "disembodied"!
Alex Jul 2020
Smoke rises from his lit cigarette,
The air heavy with ash ridden breath.
A lighter flash from across the bar
Left as soon as it came

He leaves a lonely figure
And greets the cold hugging his coat.
Under his feet the snow of past
Has turned to water once again

He hails a passing cab
As his feet mourns the snow
Noemi May 2020
My laurels means nothing
They're tenderly held together by
cheap glue and crumble to ash
a little bit more every time I touch them
yours are made of gold and sapphire
they're sturdy and I bet if they fell
they'd hold together nicely
but they've never fallen
gravity doesn't seem to affect you the way
it does me
Druzzayne Rika May 2020
The world is on fire,
Where is the water?
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