Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ashw Feb 17
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-
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...

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

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
over childhood
You do it by gassing
the goldfish, flushing love
down the toilet;
clogging the sewers with
your hatred and

You watch the green
grass die and the ants
drown, while you
smile over your
newspaper, and plot
your next hostile
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
You have to have a
bit of gamble in you.
You don't.
You're as useless
as an eel in
a quiche.
yāsha Jul 2023
i have tiny jars that are shelved
perfectly inside my brain
from category a to z,
sorted by themes,
and from one to a hundred
—a scale of how painful
life is in my repetitive experience.

i keep all my memories sealed
like a handful of fireflies shoved in a jar
that only live for three days;
i may forget every scenario with ease
but never the dying flicker—the feeling
that grow dim in each canister.

god, how fragile am i that it only takes
a trigger for each glass to combust tragically,
good thing i'm the only one
who knows how to pull it.
     i wonder which repressed emotions
     are going to choke me violently tonight.
Savio Fonseca Sep 2022
Like Flowers My Life got wilted,
despite the pouring Rain.
The One whom I most needed,
left Me in Agony and Pain.
Trust when broken, is Poison.
It seeps right thru your Head.
Creeping into your whole System.
Leaving U good as Dead.
I thought She would trust Me.
I thought She would Care.
I thought She truly Loved Me
and would always be There.
I longer feel so Open.
I don't wish to show My Face.
I find Life, is so very Cruel.
After My love lost it's Race.
Robert Ronnow May 2022
Late April and only
coltsfoot—Tussilago farfara—breaking leaf litter.
Our daffodils, peonies and crocuses
are also making signs.

April is the cruelest month, I forget why.
A sweet slow Spring
no sudden changes
each leg and leaf unfolds deliberately. You can't miss it.

New York City's spring rushes like a yellow cab
into summer. One day leaves are wet,
next they’re leather. I prefer this slow dance,
birds mating on the sky, peepers evolving into frogs.

Repairs take weeks or months. Septic,
garage door, cracked windshield, clean windows,
build bridge, buy land, rake leaves off erosion control,
cut wood, prune lilac, paint lawn chairs.

More carefully inspect, identify, the insect
of the week, a fly with an ant’s body
that skirts the grass and falls in drinks.
Look more closely! It will be gone in a few days!

Then it will be the time of moths or fireflies,
mosquitoes and wasps. Mud road,
red-winged blackbird. The slashing stream
topples old trees. My legs hurt.
Kassey Mar 2022
You are not the demon
But they are
They use you as a mirror
You distort every hour
I forgot who I am
Yet I got this far
She was like an angel
Still, life can be so cruel
Back to writing again! It's been so long.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but people always manage to hurt me
Next page