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Zywa Mar 5
I look at the moon

for comfort, but it moves on –


moons comfort that way.
Collection "Moons"
Johnny walker Jan 26
Last night I fell to a dream Helen was standing by bed
she was smiling and spoke so soft of
angels
who had freed her from pain and helped her walk again she said that where she is a place she's so very happy
and would I'd mind If she stayed a little longer I said no stay as long feel you feel you need to she smiled again blew a kiss and turned and walked
away
and as I watched she slowly faded away till no more of her could I see thats the moment my dream I dreamed came to end
Thoughts of this dream poem whilst thinking of what to write part dream part fantasy
came to me whilst daydreaming wonderful moments
poemsformysake Dec 2018
I will be alone forever
I will eat alone
And go to the abyss alone

They say every *** has its lid
And every book its cover
Everybody has someone in their life
that's what they say

Even villains have someone
Dummies and weirdos
******* and ****** bags
All around me everyone has someone

And I feel that I don’t
That my someone has passed me by
Without a second glance
Without mercy
My cover is gone and will never be back

But this is how i feel
And feeling has no logic in it
No math or statistics to explain  
How I feel is of no concern to the real world

Because if you think logically there are billions of women on earth
**** there half of humanity
Take out all the to old or to young
And all those who are *** or a
And those who already know they don't want me
And vise versa
And you are left with a couple of hundreds
If not thousand
Of someone's who theoretically I could fall for
And they could fall for me  

And by god
That might be the most comforting thought I can have
At 3 in the morning
kivel Nov 2018
Through the closed window i stare

for hours and hours
things change and fly by
but i sit here in my room
watching through the window

at first when i was young
i saw sunshine
i saw the rain
i felt the disasters
and then i learned to be emotionless

watching through this window in my old rotting room
i learned to keep to myself
saying hi to a few people that knock on the glass
some people decide to visit inside
some enter through my window
while some through the back door
they appreciate me as i have many stories
and i appreciate them for they have some too
but soon they take notice of my room
and decide to leave

in the absence of people
and humanity in general
i learn skills of desire
and master each of them
jack of all trades
and soon after i attract
with this new fragrance ive obtained
more people start coming

friends

~

now seventeen
i am still watching through my window
but i leave it a bit open
letting my music reach the ears of souls outside
occasionally going out through the window myself to see them
and to enjoy the outside world like everyone else

more people knock on my glass now
more people come in
and more people enjoy me

my room gets brighter with all the candles they light for me
and many people are staying
and light me up
and keep the flames burning

the world still brings upon the weathers
and i try to accept them
for emotions bring out the real me
but i live in california
so sunshine is what i receive most of the time

now that im almost an adult
ill have to learn to leave this room
and live like the rest.
17 is a complicated age.
Ella Oct 2018
Yeah, maybe
Maybe I know that people do love me
But does it
Does it frighten anyone else that
That one day no one will know your name.

(I'm frightened)
Of?
Well, isn't everyone frightened of fear?
When I'm gone, all of me is gone and
When I'm here?
I guess not even I know me
I don't know what synapse in my brain is firing you see
Do you?
Know your own brain?
Because I like to think that I'm important, but
Really I'm another human, just like
The rest
And so are you and you'll die
And so will I
Which is comforting
And not
Once all I've done will be forgotten
And my memories will be sodden
With
Nothing?
Or everything
Of that I'm not sure
I guess that's why no one ever knew before
It's comforting
And not
That no one else knows what on Earth we are doing
On Earth
But, I digress
When I'm all gone and not even a dress
Will be left of me or you
And that means there is forever mystery in what we do
Which is yet again
Comforting
And not?
I've confused my brain now
Let this be forgot.
Blade Maiden Aug 2018
I have a strength in me
I fall in and out of love with thee
Brew a cup of unsweetened tea
for my strength and me

I sit them down and we talk for hours
On my table a vase of flowers
they brought me from outside where it showers
rain against the window, the trees look like towers

My strength calmly saying
our worries we should be laying
down upon the roots, no need for praying
stop the constant weighing

Of your worth and mine
you don't own these trees or the rain but this life is thine
now we will have tea, soon enough we'll be drinking wine
Over a hot cup my strength promises: we'll be just fine
empty seas Mar 2018
we search and we search
pulling and pulling this magical thing
from every living and inanimate thing
stuffed animals
your best friends
blasting music through your ears
and everything in between

we grab and grab
holding onto anything and everything
that makes us feel good
our crutches
our comfort
we give something the power
to make us feel okay

but how easily
this comfort can slip away
or turn into something
addicting and unsavory
so take your comfort
and hold it tight
but realize
you don't need comfort all the time
I tend to get addicted to my comforts, especially now, going from being really sad to really stressed.
Emily Miller Jan 2018
Outside,
a haze of mist pins the cold to the ground.
Moving through it gathers the moisture on my brow
and it drips,
so slowly that it gathers the heat and salt from my skin
and it feels familiar,
as familiar as my own tears.
So familiar is it
that it's almost a comfort
and I do not wipe them from my cheeks.
The heavy air muffles sounds,
transporting me back to my childhood
when broken ears muddled every note,
and I am lulled,
my walk sways,
my coat warms,
and the slow shuffle through grass
in my worn, leather boots,
becomes as comforting as the gentle undulation
of a rocking chair
or a mother's ****.
A healthy musk wafts upwards when my boots cut through the hay on the floor of the coop,
and the content clucking of the hens encourages me,
my hands rooting through the wood shavings,
and there they are,
smooth and shaped to perfection,
the rich brown that makes my stomach grumble in anticipation.
I place my treasures in the folds of my skirts,
and turn to leave,
sighing as I acquiesce to a return to a harsher realm,
far beyond my dear, grey faery world,
with lichen-covered tree bark,
and wordless creatures for company.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
I go through my playlist,
looking for all the songs
that like-crazed people
have written for me and
for lonely nights as these.
This voice of stranger that sings my pain
takes me back to this same bed
and same sorrow
somewhere in the past that I want to loose.
Someone sits beside me yet again.
And this weight
is as frightening
as comforting.
To know that the spirits of the nights
that I have killed
are again here,
to take away a friend of theirs.

On nights like these,
I prefer the company
of sad cries that people call songs,
of walking memories that people call ghost.
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