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Void Nov 14
No one
Will understand
That when they complain to me
I don't tell them of my burdens so that I can
listen

No one
Will understand
That when I offer advice
to them
All I want is for them to listen to me, too
Laokos Oct 10
stars align in
a blanket of
        future snow
dusting time's
plateau with
        a smear of
red paint across
the fallen angel's
        face shedding
tears in the naked
light from the
        hollow of a
mirrored heart
playing shadows
        like a work
of art

it's an expansive
drama of forgotten
         leagues keeping
memories in silence
between the ravines
         of what has and
what has yet. digital
ridges serrate the
         landscape of quiet
burdens borne by the
beings of beastly
         countenance
counting seven in
perpetuity in honor
        of the bell that
tolled so long ago now.

there is a low roar
bellowing from the
         womb of novelty
coming to upset the
balance bristling with
         charged particles
of transmutation and
flashing in a dance of
         lightning from
the void. born from
eternity to create in
         time those wildest
dreams from the
darkness of God's mind.
tia Oct 1
I wanted to carry your burdens with me
and show you the joy of this world
that you no longer believed in.
how could I forget your sweet words?
and oh my heart ached
the silence filled with dread
"oh god, please don't be dead."
this poem hurts me a lot. I really did care for him and I was truly scared that he had died because he did attempt but now it hurts for a different reason
blazing soul Sep 9
Poetry.. The bed of repose.

He once thought.. He has forgotten the pathway to the bed of repose, where he deposites all weight of his troubles, uproar, burdens, aches and miseries, a bed of repose where he finds peace, a reflection from the divine stir. But literally not,  cause even a blind man will not forget the scent of his bed of repose, a place where he has no worries of crashing, stumbling or falling.. Despite all the constant tumultuous stir, the gigantic upheaval upon upheaval, Quasi-typhoon from the resulting uproar beneath, aches and miseries, he always creeps, crawls sometimes even rolls and feel his way to his bed of repose. There he lays all his burdens, cause at the end no room or heart is actually enormous enough to accommodate his burdens.
Not so blazing writes, poetry is home sweet home.
RosieDreams Sep 4
Give me your pain
Your deepest sorrows
And your loveliest gains.

Give me a part of your heart,
Give me some of your kindness,
Give me your hatred of everything.

Give me your burdens so that I might
Lighten them in hopes of
You finally sleeping peacefully through the starry night.

I am your friend,
And I can assure you I always be here,
Until the very end
My beautiful, beautiful Oreo.
Dvali Taytem Aug 30
A handful of pills stared me in the face
Looked me in my eyes and asked

“Do you have the *****?”

They tumbled across each other
As I turned them in my hand, thinking

“Do I have the *****?”

I chose one
And broke it in half
And put the rest of them back

I stared a handful of pills down
Looked them in their eyes and said

“I guess I don’t.“
8/21/2020, 2:26 AM
dexter Aug 23
Of course you don’t understand.
You don’t have to.
This doesn’t affect you.
Burdens inside me, rarely seen or heard.
Often alone.
Writing suicide manifestos every other night
Feeling bright when I forget the weight that I carry.
Destruction behind me wherever I go.
The weight of my family’s misfortune in tow.
Blame myself, hate myself.
Never really had the ability to show what is real for me.
Difficult to please, ducking and dodging reality.
Everything to nothing.
Memories I can’t bury. No hand to hold
Maybe my purpose is just this.
Can’t change the past, only learn from it
And let it grow old.
is this a healthy coping skill?
Naeem Jul 30
love me when I can't love myself
Unlock these self burdening chains
And replace my heart to yours
All of me for all of you
Some of you for all of me
I leave my unbroken heart with you
As I pick up the pieces
He left you in
I promised to always be there
How do broad shoulders
bare the weight of what
     we carry to the grave,
and how do we gauge
    the weight of
    what never was?

They say we simply
need to share
to speak,
but I know not one man
that can shine a torch
on his own demon,
let alone name It.

So They start to circle
as bones no longer
Creak but Crack
and broad shoulders start
learn the pain of growing older
and like demons
make for
fine friends.

If
the eyes are the window
through which we can look
into the soul,
Then let words serve
as a souls outstretched arms
and when we look in let us see
that in yours are a shield,
and mine a sword,

Then let you block and bash
as I swing and slash
that not one more man may fall
and broad shoulders need bare
nothing at all.
As we grow old and carry the weight of our lives, we find those with similar demons and gain a sort of peace in sharing.
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