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Raven Feels Apr 2
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, don't hide it---we miss them:|

me being a runaway flying in the black hinges

  soaring in the twinkling skies

I crave you as a hungry wolf that knows no boarders of freedom

in there in the shady street

as I dive into my vulnerability you sense my need

you sense my desperation

its like you read my locked lines

among the flowers of the highs

in the publicity of tamed crimes

you have me

running on rage

screaming on blades

the cake comes and you appear none

lying down

hating the crowds

the bargaining weight of these suicidal sounds

where are you???

nowhere to be found

leave me in yells when the time ends and dwells

this is a first in a hell

do you intend to choke me to death again???

it is me who you pressed undamned on your wided chest

and carried it all away in a mild stance

when no one dares

to a slightest bare of your cans or cares

don't forget me still not lying

still breathe for your touch

and your essence on that spot

just tell me where

and my heart will voluntarily beware

to be awaiting a hold of torments in the bliss of fair

when you mindlessly gear

affording to disappear

a night changes its shades into a million gleams

you seem to draw on my warm sheers

Sat before a cake, I ponder
What life has stored me yet:
Trains delayed;
A mortgage repaid;
Perhaps a holiday, or two.

Entrapped by colourful balloons,
But certainly not grounded,
I look forward,
Though seldom back.

I look forward,
In pleasure;
In fear;
Nonetheless in hope.

Hope that we all emerge
From behind closed doors,
Safe as the houses in which we have stayed;

Hope that there's a role for me
In a company,
In my society,
In our world;

Hope that love embraces me
And shows the way
To a better love,
A better life;

That this cake actually
Tastes rather nice.

I should probably start on the cake.
It looks scrummy.
Wait... I'm 21 now? ****.
Simon Mar 27
They once said that "a piece of cake, is a slice at the beginning your life"...
But is that even the very most end of the spectrum, from which your heart beckons too the very mind that surpluses the very objects (from which is can't find itself in the mess of truthful results), that begin to truly shame the result of even trying to piece things together, time after time...?
Which are exactly why things don't need to be remembered from right off the bat.
That's because a piece of cake is the truthfully defining reach from which we can't solve the very most bottom remedy from straight out from under our very heartstrings. Heartstrings in the very form of how our very life began. When you were too busy fighting objections too win over your very mind's eye (at the very center of opportunity itself)!
Basically, the very end results, begin with a single fraction of those very "to-do" list heartstrings...that don't truly account for the most interesting of logical finds. Simply put, it literally calls forth (the very claim of one's own arrival) at the very hands of remembering what it was truly like too live again!
Except, when you tasted the very cake that belonged deep in your own heart.
And a heart that is truly beginning anew, again. But with a twist, you see....
Nothing is really the same, after from which you taste this newly found piece of cake, that slices off one end of its own self...and disregards the rest, after the final aftertaste had reclaimed it's own glory.
This is mostly because you think you feel what the mind's eye REJECTS the claim like a chronic storm of results for the such displeasurable spectrum.
Now you know when you slice a piece of cake at the very end of one's own life, and take that slice at the very beginning newly found account...for it is a truly newer start at the very beginning of something entirely new.
A such tasty treat for a definite psychological and philosophical and emotional hunting trip full of joy!
She told me over dinner one evening
that I should switch to white wine—
less tannins and calories, she claimed.

I smiled and shook my head,
a vintage cabernet stubbornly clinging
to my bleached white teeth.

The next day I found a couple bottles
of chardonnay chilled in the fridge,
a note tethered to one’s neck:
Drink Me!

I did not.
Four months later,
we signed divorce papers;
she packed her things and left.

I drank the chardonnay that last night,
dizzied by the herringbone pattern
of the old parquet floor, and wondered
what would happen if I ate our frozen cake top.
Every time I answer I give away a little more of myself
The list of things I need to be grows every day
Another gap to plug with lines.

It’s hard to take sometimes.

I have begun to suspect that the old adage
“It's not you, it's me,” is not really about broken love but about ******* job applications.
You breathe a say of relief, I can hear it, “thank god not another lonely-hearts column”
Only a poem, insipid and sighing.

But I’m fresh onto the stage treading the boards for the very first time.
Swollen by years of septic success
Swimming in a pool on the Strand I was a happy middleweight
In this ocean, I am a particle of micro-plastic, unwanted but bobbing along nonetheless.

Another email, better than no email at all, regretting, informing and wishing me the best.
I draw myself together pulling at the loose strings at my seams, greeting, informing and thanking them for consideration, again.
This time though, the holes seem stretched, the string frayed
I’m a little worried that it will give, tired of straining it will collapse under the weight of my doused desire.

But there’s not much to be done.
So, I fill myself up with some watered-down ire, three coffees, a nibble of cake and a croc of horseshit with which to sell my fire.
Johnson Oyeniran Nov 2020
Birthdays are a cause for
To be merry and content with
People deemed dear,
Who likewise, reverence
The day of ones arriving.

No longer than a day,
Do we adorn birthday stars
On elegant pedestals.

Yet i find myself alone
Before my cake,
Rerunning ancient
I wish could manifest their gleeful essence
Into my empty seats to
Brighten the day i turned 25
Just one more time,
For the eerie silence
Is enough to bring tears
To mine eyes.
Mikaela L Oct 2020
You made me,
I am you,
More than you are yourself,
I want you,
To see me,
I'm breaking,
No, I don't want cake,
I want cold cake,
I want ice in my mouth,
Cool down,
I'm falling,
Can't smile,
It's all ice here.
Beulin S S Sep 2020
Fighting for the biggest piece of cake...

Yet, the cake is on the plate;

From the morning to evening...

Cause, we are still arguing;

With measurements - I think

I should abduct the cake...

Or else my cake may dry;

But our siblings fight never ends...
siblings argument
Chris Saitta Aug 2020
The horse breathes in the city, the world of unrelenting pistons
And steam from the jingling harness, and the jangling windows
That reflect the bolting sparrows like fire arrows in the coming night,
Viennese darkness is like the smell of the chocolatier mixed with snow,
Sealed in a sachertorte with the alley-crack of the riding whip on coach,
Viennese sunshine is like the baker’s soul, rising on flashing coppers and tins.
Sachertorte is the famed dark chocolate Viennese cake.
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