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Sofia 2d
Who can truly understand love?
They say love is a choice to make,
But my heart I’d rather forsake,
For loving unreturned is the worst woe thereof.

My soul cannot endure the ache,
Awaiting the day to see him appear,
My heart breaks as he leaves me here,
Longing for his warmth, a cruel mistake.

Let me guide you with this advice,
Don’t drive a nail out with another one,
For you may stay pierced, paying the price.

I know, for I have left love undone,
Time must heal the wounds it denies,
Yet love still paints life with color bright as the sun
Oliver Feb 1
I never knew you wore a mask,
Not one stitched of velvet and lace,
But something deeper, carved in silence,
A role you played without a stage.

They called you charming, bold, and bright,
A leading star in life's cruel play,
But now I sift through tattered pages—
Scripts you wrote, then cast away.

Each line rehearsed, each smile strained,
A careful act, a practiced art.
But somewhere in the endless stage,
You lost the echoes of your heart.

Did you ever dream of slipping out,
Of shedding costumes, painted grins?
Or did the role become so seamless
You forgot where it begins?

Your laughter filled the hollow halls,
Your voice rang sweet, devoid of doubt.
Yet I can see it now—between the lines,
A silent plea you dared not shout.

And when the curtain slowly fell,
Did you expect a standing cheer?
Or did you hope, in some cruel mercy,
That no one saw you disappear?

I found the notes you never spoke,
The truths you buried in your chest.
The world’s applause still lingers hollow,
Yet you have finally found your rest.

So take your bow, oh phantom friend,
Beneath the lights that burn so bright.
I only wish I'd seen you sooner,
Before you faded into night.
I like making story's and the story behind this poem is the speaker learns their late friend didn't really know who they were and felt like they were pretending to be someone they weren't. when the friend realized this it was already too late they didn't know what was really them and what was a forced act. the reason for the late friends death is up to you, it could be self inflicted or sickness, or any other reason.

When I was proof reading and finalizing this one it made me cry.

I came up with a few ideas for the title here they are
The Mask You Wore
Applause for a Ghost
Lines Unspoken
A Role Too Well Played
A Role Well Played
The Tragedy of You
Obviously I chose Applause for a Ghost but I like them all so I wanted to share what the potential titles could have been.
Jeremy Betts Jan 23
I sit here,
Like a beetle on it's back
In a crack of it's own design
Crafted it's own demise
Frantically flailing
Panicking mainly
Legs going every witch way,
Becoming to heavy
To reach out for help
No voice to call out for help
Though it tries
Not knowing it's already dead
Hope is the first thing that dies
Moments from the cruel hand dealt
By life itself
Exposing itself
As deaths right hand man
Still we fall for the bluff
And the universe doesn't listen to
"Enough is enough"
If you don't like it
Tough

©2025
Roxy Dec 2024
I was impressed by your coldness,
and your sick little jokes.
I told devil about you.
he went out for a smoke.
I hope your life's a hell, ***
Odd Odyssey Poet Nov 2024
Emerald jealous eyes, over the dominion of the clock;
Unshackled by the chains of authority, for who can
Predict the beginning of time or the path it shall traverse?
Time, the ultimate liberator of existence, flows like water,
Shapeless yet potent, wielding an influence that touches
Every soul.

Time, the most cunning of thieves, robs any idea
Of having more time. It slips through fingers
Like sand, giving short nights; relentless demands
Of an overbearing master, giving us longer days.
maria Sep 2024
you were cruel
the intoxicating type of cruel
the type that'll lure me to you

to everyone you'd be a monster,
to me
you're one cruel son of a gun..
the type I'll be keeping
forever.

now what's really cruel is how much you ignore me,
how much you make me jealous
it makes me insane, love...

just please be more gentle with my heart?
don't use it like a punching bag...
I beg of you..
Man Aug 2024
Spitting up blood;
Living, dying,
What's its worth?
I feel as the Emerald Ash Borer,
Hated by those around me
And stamped upon
Until I am eradicated
Whilst those same people
Attempt to find some use from me
Before I am killed.
These are not loving societies,
Reflected in our treatment of others;
It was very nice to have known all of you.
ashw Feb 2024
I can never do the one thing I want the most to do,
I can only - suddenly: fear,
Encroaching shadows.
Blindsided, I wish I could say. But no.
Not quite.
Doubt shrouds my intentions,
Like a cloud blocking out - no, an eclipse,
Predetermined intervals of near complete darkness,
A pattern of uncertainty, a seeming dichotomy-
But reliable nonetheless...
All the same.
Ordered chaos; predictable, unwelcome, regrettable.
Torturous, truly.
Light again, passing by, gone again-
Always.
Never.
I can never do the one thing I want the most to do.
I can only do the one thing I am wont the most to do.
And I am helpless to it all.
Lost to it all.
It is a cruel discrepancy.
Jeremy Betts Jan 2021
They say everybody's bound to play the fool but I'm always the biggest in the room, a typecasted tool
A hopeless romantic who'll ignore the red flags and shrug 'em off, just act cool
Just to avoid numerous rejections like in the cesspool that was high school
But the pain of a lie is far more cruel, every one adds fuel and makes me feel minuscule, I'm weak, that's your que

Here's your chance to tie the knot and kick the chair, I'll pretend there's no one there
No one will see, you'll be free from me, freed of the need to care
So look at that there, all laid out, replace the smile with a pout and mess your hair
Give it one or two weeks after sorrow peeks then you can drop the act live on air

My soul will forever dangle here from the beam of my despair, a carcass chandelier
I want to cry out but the rope...well let's just say my throat is beyond repair
Seems that even in death I'm a forgotten chapter or just briefly skimmed over
Come to think of it, my body they have yet to discover, both in life and death I'm shown I don't really matter

I knew this life wasn't going to turn out well for me. How you ask? I listen carefully and obsessively study my history
You want a piece of me? I won't put up a fight, you can take it all, go ahead and feast on me
Just have the decency to finish me off completely and stack my remains neatly so I become part of the scenery
And be a reminder of your victory, you defeated me, who knew a broken heart could actually **** somebody...
****

©2021
Thomas W Case Nov 2023
You do it a
little at a time.
You start a holocaust at
5:30 am, over your
sausage and instant
coffee.

You do it with
your small hatred
and your snide
comments--your prideful
looks at the ***** man
with no shoes.

You do it in
one moment, by not
calling your dying
brother
over childhood
trivialities.
You do it by gassing
the goldfish, flushing love
down the toilet;
clogging the sewers with
your hatred and
malevolence.

You watch the green
grass die and the ants
drown, while you
smile over your
newspaper, and plot
your next hostile
takeover.
You did it when
you punched the
dog, and pinched
the child.
You do it when
you smile.

You're a mean
one Mr. Finch,
Mrs. Jones,
Mr. Smith.
But guess what?
You are dying alone.
Every day, every second,
and the moon and the
sun and the stars
celebrate your demise
and so do I.
You've never lost
any thing.
To loose, you must be
found.
You have to have a
bit of gamble in you.
You don't.
You're as useless
as an eel in
a quiche.
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