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Where am I, you ask?

Lost in the clutter of my mind

Thoughts all jumbled up
Like a spool of tangled thread
And just as thin
So close to breaking

Fingers get caught
And slowly turn purple
Once released, permeanent damage remains

My conscience plays the fingers
My mind the thread

Pull to hard,
the thread snaps
Don’t pull enough,
and it’s forever knotted
Dominique Jan 28
Beyond the sunlit smoke and spellbound parks,
Beyond the tongue tied smiles and piercing dark;
Beyond burning wrists and icy stings
Beyond poems that made love to awful things;
The story is painfully simple.

You really loved someone;
Someone didn't love you.

How charming it is to love without profit.
Inspired by a poem called "Beyond the Clutter of Poetry"
Nayana Nair Apr 2018
The colors that have drained
from the dreams of people,
lie cluttered on the doorway
of their homes.
Everytime they try to leave
for something more practical
and more safe life, that they chose,
that awaits them everyday
and does not keep them worrying
about what all they can loose.
Everytime they step out,
even in hurry,
they sidestep that clutter.
Look at it from the corner of their eyes
and for a second their heart seems aware
of the frost that is killing it.
For a second the reasons for the
sleepless night and blank gazes is recalled.
But the limbs keep moving
to keep a distance from hopes
that never materialize.
On their way back home
they dread to see
the clutter of discarded dreams.
But they want to believe
that ignoring and forgetting it
becomes easier with time.
Although it never has.
Wyatt Jun 2017
When trying to calm
your cluttered mind,
they say to think back
to a time when you were
happy as a child.
Too bad that I
never had
that good
of a memory.
I don't think it ever existed.
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