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colorfulSmoke Sep 15
Lone your stupor sits.
What reverie
you declare,
ambrosia never stang like this
since last the rain came stinging.

Ah but puddles my dear,
what fun!
I'll watch your splish splash
but let us not forget
the protection glass affords.

I fear large numbers.
I  confess,
it's true.
It's not the hands per se,
rather the eyelashes
and how they remind me of teeth.
They chew me up
with a glance.

Still, what good
could one decimal eyelash hope for
faced with Napoleon's specters.
I'd wager on scarce.

Even so, eyelashes chewed through
my thatcher.
I'll have to buy
a new one.
One that isn't so fond of how the Swiss
process milk.

Not that it's desired
but it's still nice to have a tally
in the loner's column,
now and again.
CR Franklin Aug 12
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a dark room
Holding a candle that'll burn out soon
Walking around carefully I meet others
Stuck in this room after burying brothers
I share my candles light and off they go
With a light so bright they find their door
Leaving me behind in this dark room
Holding my candle that'll burn out soon
Ashton Jun 29
when i'm letting someone go i picture guitar strings
        plastic
                fragile.
then comes the knife
        the sharpest butcher's knife one has ever seen
                glistening
                        fresh.
with one fatal swoop
        impact is made and
                the strings are cut like
                        butter.
but your strings are different
        electric
                metallic
                        strong and built to last.
and suddenly my knife
        is but a rock on a stick
                it holds no chance
                        bouncing off with every hit.
George Krokos Mar 19
The depth of space isn't really confined
but along with infinity it is defined.
____
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Johnny walker Nov 2018
Although my mother passed
some year ago I shed no tears
still, remember the understairs
cubby hole
She would lock me
in for hours at a time, there
were spiders In there she'd walk
away laughing Hysterical laugh
scares me even now so much
the anger I still
have
She would get right In my face screaming at me pulling me
across the floor by the arm
pinning down beating me with
the back of a wooden sweeping
brush
She left me fear of the
dark confined spaces spiders
and made me reclusive to point
I couldn't even form a
relationship
If It wasn't for Helen
giving a chance I would still be
a loner but sadly since sadly
Helen passed on I've reverted back
to the life of a loner
Lock In cubby hole dark with spiders
spend hours In there
alone afraid
I can’t move
my legs are pinned to my body
squeezing against my chest
my arms restrain to my sides
my hands pressing against my flesh
my eyes wide but i see nothing
the four walls of this confined prison
pinches my skin
and pushes my head into my knees
my breath is heavy
Panting i can’t breathe  
I choke on my own thoughts
my own breath
my heart pounds in my eardrums
I long to stretch my legs
and run far, far away
from this hell I have to call home
i have no room to run
ryn Aug 2018
With hidden hands,
the curtain clung to the wall
and cascaded like a waterfall
down to the floor.

Smothering the window
and draping an old side table,
rendering it derelict
- a lifeless silhouette.

Quarter way down from the ceiling,
the curtain parted just a sliver.
Allowing a lone ray to visit between
ambling clouds.

•••

One on the outside can’t fully see
the darkened workings
of a confined mind.

I, on the inside...
Can’t see past the cloth
fastened stubborn
over my weary eyes.
Mary Frances Jun 2018
It's guilt. Maybe, it's pity.
It's a shame when you love someone like that.
Out of courtesy though out of line,
as you think you owed it to them at one time.

You can't say the words.
You can't even whisper some.
In fear you might hurt
he, whose heart is in line.
You ended up keeping it all.
Ignoring that you're already lost  the heart you own.

You think you're saving yourself but you're really not.
You know you're digging deep for yourself to rot.
Asiah Mangham Jun 2018
Confined by the walls that protect me.
Confined by the walls of society.
I wish i could just fly.
Spread my wings and go wherever they can carry me.
A pretty bird only needs a push to leave.
But what if it's never pushed?
Always stuck with a burden of being the best and never feeling like it
Truly and Just Simply
Lived.
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