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Letters from Lia Nov 2018
Like a wilting plant he became a limp
But he fought
He fought the heavy burdens
Like a traveler
He lost his way to the heart
of the woman he love
He was blinded
He was crippled
But again he fought
Things were too complex to be solved
Things are too hard to understand
But the love will last
And the moments will embed in his heart
Letters from Lia Oct 2018
She was broken, by herself
Not knowing the cost of what she did
Its hunting her, just like  her shadow
It is consuming her soul
Despite of all the run and escape, she will always be caught
She wished her death once, but the demons won't let it
She is suffering by her own, gripping on no one
She is standing on her feet by her own but she is now crippled by herself
—i was her
Jack Jenkins Jul 2017
I am part of the way dead
heaving breath with collapsed lungs
just trying to make it another day
all whilst hoping I don't see the night
Life is a tragedy.
tc Nov 2016
you could start fires with the charcoal under my eyes
and i am so tired of telling people i’m tired
i’m exhausted
i barely get 3 hours of sleep
my mind is tangled with cobwebs that only seem to need dusting at night

i lay awake listening to the creaks of old aged furniture
and i sympathise
i know how that feels, buddy
my joints creak and they’re crisp as autumn leaves
i am surprised i haven’t broken any

alarm sounds at either 8 or 9
day starts an hour later
day continues
day persists until evening lets it rest
evening continues until their shift is over and
night falls
i’m so tired that my body has grown accustomed to it
i watch the time change and the clock tick;
i am so accustomed to it my heart has started following the same rhythm

night fell
a boulder on sunken shoulders
it is still falling and i am trying to carry such heavy weight
i think this is why our backs begin to curve as we grow older
we are crushed and crippled

does the sun still rise even if i don’t see it?
because all i ever seem to see is the darkness of night fall;
i wonder
who can love a clockwork heart?
tick, tock.
who can love a cobwebbed mind?

time to go and dust again.
Wide Eyes Jun 2016
At first she loved me with wondrous pride,
Night after night, a happy constant by her side.
Hand-written stories narrated solely to me,
For only I appreciated her special 'vocabulary'.

In a couple of years, she gouged out my right eye.
As she pulled out my left arm, I masked a sigh.
A laborious poker face; by her, I was smitten.
And unlike the others, at least I wasn't forgotten.

At the age of three, she made loneliness my mistress.
Stowed me away; locked me alone with my distress.
The darkness of the room surpassed by my own.
Yet my unrequited adoration set firmly in stone.

Twenty five years later, she found her old teddy bear.
'He was always my favourite. Treat him with care.'
'But mommy, he has no eyes or hands...' she said, sans guile.
In the blink of an eye, she spied a sad, crippled smile.
Gabrielle Isa Feb 2015
I am a man with a broken leg;
Its hard to walk
I can never run again.

He is a man with a broken heart;
His soul is gone,
His life is torn apart.

So who is truly crippled?
The  man with the broken leg,
Or the man with a broken heart?
Love is a dangerous thing. The person who seems perfect could be dying inside, we never really know who is truly broken.
Kyle Kulseth Aug 2014
With passing days queued up
          for the forecast foreseeable
Tuck into the routines' reserves
          deplete when permissible

Shot through the feet
          with what we can't forget
run on through the limp
          past the end of the sentence
                                             and sit
                         In the glow
                  remain undeveloped
                  stay unreconstructed
                  drop the curtain
                 on scenes interrupted

Dot your i's
          with up-slanted slash marks
sparks fill my eyes when
                            I read through your retorts
Blank page.
                                                        Blank page.
A waltz through a minefield
reeling jigs over headstones
          when digging through
           plain white lines
Just to know I can't get a girl,
stabs my heart like a sword.
Girls are like climbing a mountain,
when you get to the top you get love.
Sometimes it takes a while
but other times its an easy climb.
I must have been heading up but got hit with a rock avalanche.
Now I am at the base of the mountain.
Kudos to my friend, who wrote this poem. All i did was make one tweak and post it on Hello Poetry. Thanks!

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