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Christy 7d
I stumbled upon Descanso gardens last December. Felt neck hairs stand at intention. Wishes of the past linger unfulfilled like paralyzed dreams never to be awakened into life.  Fear of replacing the one impossibly interchangeable part of the story I wish be left forgotten.

We met for early dinner. He’s holding out for better and I’m so turned on. We walk the street for ice cream, only to decide I shouldn’t.

I keep my left hand in my pocket. Distantly, I think of getting pizza by the slice with you and suddenly I’m not hungry. He doesn’t like pepperoni.

I love his paintings. He’s an artist, too. I can’t, I won’t take him to the Getty. I want to feel all of him but I don’t want to hold his hand.
Damp blankets call him home to dry. Turning away as the sun sets, I stare at the dirt in front of me, so I know where I stand, present.

You aren’t there. I glance up at the night sky and look away. No more wishing on scars. A shrouded memory of a daydream I once had haunts today I wanted to have just before I woke to the life you never were.

I’m going to the Getty in the morning. Maybe I’ll bring flowers just in case. Or maybe a camera to take photos I will never want to see. Maybe I should just stay in bed and dream a life you’re still there.

Yellow tulips and Rembrandt long your cold piercing stare. We have a date tomorrow at the Getty, it will be lovely so long not to bestir. Bring your favorite pen, as to draw the best of intentions quietly running the palate of my cheek splattered about a cold white marble floor of permeating bitterness. Peering through windows unto the imagination of immortals, bright white fades to nothing

****** be the light of dawn
Now, in step…
Symphonic daydreams tread a measure
Twisted ankles, we graciously fall.
The last poem my brother sent before he took his life. His wish to be forgotten isn’t possible.
Zywa 7d
His brotherly love

carries a knife, in my life --


nothing may go wrong.
Autobiography "In den vreemde - Kronieken" ("In foreign parts - Chronicles", 2024, Frida Vogels), chapter 'Kees en ik' ('Neil and I' - March 11th, 1983, Bologna (about her relationship with Kees and the breakup on February 15th, 1983 in Amsterdam)

'Amore di fratello, amore col coltello'

Collection "Trench Walking"
Kaiden Jun 20
I watched the light leave your eyes,
As you cancelled your plans once more,
A child that desperately tries,
Yet can't seem to just let go.

The same pattern i know all too well,
I see you turn into something i hated for years,
Because the look, that look can tell
The million words that no one hears.
again, i havent written in a long time but it doesnt matter anymore. my brother is turning into a **** copy of me, which is bad. he's literally a **** mess right now, and i wont be able to see him for **** knows how long because as soon as summer break starts i might be put in a mental hospital because of things i won't say on here. i have no idea how to help him, he lives too far away and if nothing changes, the next time i'll see him will be in august, on my birthday (if my mother lets him). i highly doubt i'll be alive by then. i might forget him, but tf am i supposed to do then? like okay, i'll kms, whatever, but what about him? i honestly feel like it's better if i just die instead of letting him watch my mental health get worse, cuz he knows it'll happen to him eventually. he's not stupid. im trying to help him but i really can't, he doesnt let anyone help him. i dont even know if he's alive now, but i hope he is. i know im rambling about random **** now but if you have any ideas, please dm me or something, i'd take any advice atp
eliana Jun 17
Growing up i looked up
to you.
You showed me what it was like to be brave.
But that one day, you chose to mess it all up.
"Come to my room, lets watch a movie."
Little did I know , I was about to be violated in my own home.
"Give me a hug"
But oh this was no hug, i wish I would'e known.
How could i have been so DUMB.
"Oh its not my fault" I say, I was too young.
The feeling of your touch down there.
"This doesn't feel right.."
" i don't care"
Nena walked in, "What the hell are yall doing??"
"He said to give him a hug" I said
That night, we got a stern talking to.
"Don't ever do that again"
Was that it? All you had to say?
I had felt like my innocence had been taken away.
Years later, there's not a day that goes by
where i don't think of that traumatizing, long-lasting memory of mine.
Maybe I'm just overreacting.
Or maybe, you should've taken action.
I'll never feel the same again.
i don't see him the same. i even still love him. is that wrong?
Sometimes I’m asked if I have siblings.
And I don’t mention you at all.
Inadvertently, I always tell a lie.
I don’t mention you with those still living,
because the hole you’ve left feels sore,
And I know I’m erasing you from life.

But you don’t exist.
I don’t speak your name,
who you are to me.
I don’t need their sorry, so pathetic.
What am I to say?
“I’m OK. You don’t need to worry.”

I don’t need their questions,
the “oh, no”s, “what happened?”
the regret that they had asked.
I don’t need a reminder of how different
it’s been since you’ve left
all so sudden, and so young.

You know you don’t belong here.
you’re a mismatched memory
amongst the living.
Like a puzzle piece
of an awkward family,
and now the piece is missing.

And now I speak ill of you.
And it makes me feel uneasy,
causing my head spin.
Because I do have siblings, I have a few.
And I don’t know them completely.
And you, Attila, I never will.
March 1, 2025
Zywa Jun 12
The house creaks, little

brother leans over me, says:


I'll never collapse!
Collection "Death on Cast"
alex May 21
I sit next to this girl
who plays the bass
like it owes her something,
head hung low
with chipped black fingernails
and untamed curls
that unfurl around her face.

I hear iron maiden playing
through her headphones
as she taps her fingers
to the beat.
She never seems to smile,
though she has the most beautiful
kohl rimmed brown eyes.

But back home,
she smiles at her little brother
and spins him around.
She takes song requests
on little sheets of paper
from sticky hands,
and she’ll play them all
just for him.

She writes him stories of
heroes and hope,
then tucks him in tight,
and disappears to her room
where she’ll write all night,
the things
she’ll never
say out loud.
Thanks for another day
Others curse their luck, stale breath
Eventually our enemy becomes our brother

Cancer checkup, another swinging **** who fears his death
To not necessarily sacrifice each and every day for another day
I’m going to go to my grave unsung like almost everyone

Numerous number systems beyond the real
Look one way, from another come the heart’s missed beats
One way out of the mind’s limitations is through another mind’s
      contemplations

Another autumn, another election, so aimless and sublime
The white egret ate fish after fish, one then another then another...
You get a limited number of long walks, so take your time

One gives up body and soul but that’s not what I came to talk about
Slug the world and the world slugs back
It was amusing in my youth that God’s finger could move me to another
      square

Another duality, a day in the woods, jet passing overhead
I am in favor of kindness and you prefer concentration camps
The slow death of one sometimes makes the sudden ****** of another

To survive only as many more years as there are petals on a randomly
      picked (ox-eye) daisy
Another winter passing its calling card in at the window
One day follows another until the last day and on that day there will be
      weather
Oh how the saying makes me sick
And excuses, there are not
Devicive taunting, hate's mimic
Word's we weaponized from thought.
So, a new turn of phrase,
a saying born within the dark;
Is whispered to myself, alone,
                                                    A Sky-cyphers
Scribbled, trailing mark.
For the first and only time,
Not of me but you
These writing's wordings weave a web,
of synthesized virtue.
To be spoken allowed to oneself,
read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused- their purposes forgot.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, written words are the knife.

all of the meaning and
every mora, tethers to our mortal coil
Life and it's significance-
A product of its transience.

The concept of fate & of destiny, too
Both insinuate journey, the movement through
How, now, can our destinations insue
We'll come Home, its depths, are dreams of blue.


*between the church hymn
And under haiku
It is,
Ravled in deep bules
Lizzy Hamato Apr 12
You’re not here,
Sitting on the bed with me,
Taking your hit and yapping.

But the air still hums,
Like you just left.
And i’m laughing again,
Complaining about something,
You made a joke.

And I have a reassurance in the back of my mind,
Saying,
“You're safe with this, its forever”
But it isn’t.
It feels like it will never change,

But it does,
Having to leave,
And no one told the air,
To forget about you.
For context, no this isn't about love.. the inspiration was the loss of a brother through divorce. my mom remarried and i gained an older brother (i refuse to call him a step sibling) but then they divorced and we had to cut contact.
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