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Ackerrman Oct 11
Faded as that 90’s graffiti on the train station walls,
Old locomotives, their engines cease to spin and sputter.
Little mice, too famished in their task, caress cogs and messages,
From places, too dark to read, the notes pile up.
Some, I think, may be blank.
Some, I could not read, as I scribbled those promises too fast.
A great mound of empty words made from a tree now dead.
The cogs move no more, I doubt they were ever connected before…


In line for a one-way ticket out of this grave land,
My baggage gripped tight with both hands- makes it difficult to keep in check,
I try to hide it with a smile, no one offers to help.
Surprisingly sullen, my every movement seems to echo from bold, cold walls,
The insignia behind the ticket master’s house is sprayed in red and it reads:
‘This was always a one-way trip’
I bite my lip, try to understand how to turn menace into sand,
This station is run by ghosts. I can feel them watching from holes in the wall.


I was asked by a stranger, “why did you come here”,
My staggered recoil from justice and reason must have been enough,
When I looked back, my persecutor was lost to an empty hall,
And the bones of this room can be seen when it breathes,
So clear, not seen the sun shine in a long time,
Startled like a bird falling into a pool, I wonder why I came here at all.


I talk to the ticket officer, this hat worn low, talking from a dark place,
I want to know, “the time of the next train please”,
But the man only holds my gaze, from beneath his low cap
Motionless, the spindly man holds all the cards, then blows away into the wind.
Left his own station in search of tracks. Somewhere remote
The sun is shining, and life is dead upon this new day.


Perhaps it is too early, I sit and wait for someone to talk to,
“You know that bag must be awfully heavy, please let me carry it for you”,
I shake my head and grip what is mine a little tighter,
“Don’t be afraid to let me in, I only want to help you free your light”,
But I don’t care for skin or bones, I set down my bag and watch,
The man of bones, with dreams larger than his stake,
Perhaps, if you were not so far away, you would have the strength to exist,
I look up to see the man who tried so frugally,
Met by dead air, perfectly comfortable- without a friend in the world.


I take a stroll down the decrepit tracks, cold air grasps at skin and sense,
Just to see the colour of the rust, and what the reaction was,
The trains and tracks are turning bitter-brown and discoloured purple,
Holes are manifesting themselves into the carriage, much less comfortable than I ever knew.
I step on the dead cartridge, much less comfortable than I ever-
Reliving a time when the carriage was bright, and laughter echoed the halls,
Far down the musky, dark-grey scope, I can hear the faint sobs of a child,
Inevitably, I find the kid, small and frail, sobbing into his hands from under his hat.


“Dear Michael, this carcass is the last place that I expected to find you”,
I kneel down beside the boy and tell him what comes from inside”
“You didn’t spend much time here when we were alive, I am leaving you Michael, your world is cold and dead”.
The boy trembles before sobbing turns to cold laughter,
He lifts his head and I peer into two dark and empty sockets,
Pristine, white bones contrast the encroaching darkness,
Michael tells me: “There is no leaving this place”.


The skeleton child’s words are empty.


A little while down the track, darkness pours from every crack,
Each train looks as dead as the one that was mine,
I follow a trail of disfunction to the end of the line,
Where I find a train, most unlike the rest, its silky black skin has been kept intact,
Monstrous, foreboding and intimidating, the conductor keeps the fire stoked,
Red mist puffs from the window, horror stagnant beauty feels and flows.


The walls of the carriage are meticulously decorated,
Framed pictures resting on crimson silk, a life frozen in time,
I am not welcome here,
Presently, a feral scream from far away- the engine room,
A mad man armed with fire eyed fury,
Jackal Rushes through moment and memory in fear and panic,
The first thing in this nightmare clad in skin,
The man stands still, full height, coloured in… I look into his eyes:


I fall back through twisted carriages.
Light.
Butterflies protecting fire from rain.
I sleep safe knowing that no one thinks of me.
I am writing a book. One day a character wanted to say something...
So my brain thought of another stupid thing;  "You don't deserve to hurt this way. You don't deserve to hurt at all. So please, let me in. I will help protect you from yourself. You've been there so many times, I don't want you to fall." And it's true. I don't know if I will be able to fix you with poetry and stupid nursery rhymes, but I will try. I don't think I'll be able to fix you at all. Maybe I am, who knows? I'll always try. Will you just let me in? Not only in your mind, not only in your words, but in your heart? I want to help you with every bit that I can. And, I get that's not enough. My words will never be enough. But, I will try. So please give me the chance to? That would be enough. Whatever horrible things it are that you're feeling, I will try to understand them. To understand them, and to help you get them away. Because you don't deserve to feel bad. You don't and you never did. And I get that my words will never be good enough to live up to your expectations, but please, please. Will you give me a chance? I love you, I really do. So let me help you, let me in. It doesn't have to be soon, it doesn't have to go fast. But remember that whenever you need me, I'll be there waiting. Waiting with all my words. To make you feelbetter, even in the slightest way.
I don't know what this is but I just typed it and here we go
Hey. Here's another letter kinda thing. Been writing these a lot lately. In my mind, never on paper. I don't really know how to explain what I feel anymore. It's like, I have this sense of feeling? Like I know that they're here, but I just can't seem to find them? Like I can see someone else in front of me, while knowing that they are a person with feelings and thoughs, but not being able to recognise them. Not being able to see the person standing there. Like I can see all of it, but not knowing that it's there. It kinda scares me, in a way. Like I see myself, but not me. Like I see something I was, that people still see as me. I don't know anymore. I've been trying to get my feelings out, and I still am, I just don't succeed often. This is seemingly the only way to get out whatever I'm thinking or feeling. Which is a lot, but also nothing at the same time. I feel lost, so incredibly lost. The world's passing me by and I'm behind a ******* window trying to reach it, but I can't. I never did. I just taught people how to communicate with me through that stupid barrier. It never went away. But if people don't come close to you they won't notice that, so it's fine I guess. And then you came in and smashed the entire thing with a ******* hammer. I wasn't used to opening up to people, especially not people who understand. But, I'm glad I did, and glad that you are here to listen. I don't open up to people much. Been botteling these emotions since 2006, so it's hard to open the bottle now. But I'm trying, and I can't thank you enough for being there with me. Thank you, so much. I love you, bye.
Idk how to tag these anymore, enjoy
I am sincerely sorry for being an absentee in my own life. You probably don't know me or even care about my existence, nor do you find relevance in my apologetic attempt to reconcile my fruitlessness. But I feel strongly compelled to apologize for my stagnation:

I come from a pond across the way from you. A stowed away break in the trees where the sun only shines for a brief time at noon and disappears for the rest of the day. The birds don't sing their song of sixpense, nor do the fish splash or the frogs belch their symphony. Even the crickets scream as loud as the mimes at the circus. For nothing enters and nothing leaves, so why do you even bother?

I only write to you for what could have been, and pray for forgiveness for what hasn't been. I understand that the act of "what if"s is a waterfall of tears cascading into an abyss, but I find that this journey is a necessary evil.

So what if I made a splash today in my pond, the ocean of things that I can actually control. Sent ripples across the pond and stirred the fish into commotion. The frogs join in the chaos with their symphony  and maybe the crickets, after hearing the low bass of croaking, decide to join in with their rhythm that awakens the birds from their deep slumber. In response, the birds spring up with their joyous melody and the ensemble of nature creates an exuberant noise in a previously dull and dim place. Such a thought that one tiny splash can dictate a tremendous ensemble, such that if you took your thoughts off of your own life for a split second you could possibly be splendidly surprised by burst of nature from an insignificant source. Such small fractions of life can create mesmerizing sound waves that make you a little happier today.

It seems so simple to create, just a whispering splash. Yet I have failed to create a single note that is audible to the outside world.

There are two plausible reasons for my plight: Either the noise I attempt to create is so insignificant to the outside world that more significant amplifications exceed my own capacity to make sound or the world is just simply not listening anymore.

No matter how many times you cry out, jump up and down in the pond and scream your head off at the world; the ripples aren't forming. The waves don't crash on the shore and one is left standing invisible in the center of a drowning amount of commotion.

And if you are reading this, you are the anomaly that has slipped through the sound barrier to hear this silent song.
Hey. Our philosophy teacher gave us an assignment about something with luck and hapiness, so I'm writing to you again. (Not that there's a difference) I love you. You make me one of the happiest people in the world. And, I'm really glad that you are in my life. I really hope you feel the same thing. You make my heart skip a few beats whenever I see one of your texts popping up on my screen. You manage to make me smile at any hour of the day. You light up the world when it's too dark for me to see. You make me so happy. In a  that no one else does. You make me smile in such a manner that people sometimes ask what the cause is of this 'happening.' You're just, everything? You're beautiful, by the way. I'm gonna tell you until you believe me. Because you really are beautiful. People always say that you look better when you laugh, but you don't even need to smile. Not that I don't want you to smile- You smiling is one of the best things in the world to me. I don't really know how to explain.
I'm wondering why I keep writing everything down. We don't live in the 17th century anymore. Ah well, not that it matters.
Sometimes I'm also wondering if you think about me a lot. If you ever do to be honest. But mostly, what you think in those cases. It's not really a bother, but it pops up in my mind at times. When I say this, I think that you must also know that I think about you a lot. Whenever I see a poem (Which I do, a lot) that reminds me of you or something, I get a little distracted from whatever I was doing. But, in a good way. I think. Can it ever be bad to think about someone a lot? It probably just shows how much you care, which I also do, a lot. I do really care about you. You're an amazing human being and I love you. It always surprises me how fast I can fill a page whenever I write something for, or about you. Well, it's not really 'surprising' me. More like 'reminder of how much I'm in love with you.' Welp. It's a good thing though, probably. I mean, I'm just writing stuff. It's not like I'm bothering anyone. (I hope?) And it just keeps getting better. You make my life a little better every day. So, thank you. Really. I'm so happy you're here. (You're adorable by the way) And hopefully, it will stay like this for a little while.
Sincerely, Me
Wow, u can rlly dancE :0
I wrote you another letter, but I wasn't able to give it to you today. I'll give it to you on paper if you want. It's exactly what I just typed here.
Bede Sep 25
Vaulted poems
Separated with the
Special intentions
Of the heart
Hey. It's me, again. Probably not such a surprise, is it? I wrote you a whole lot of these letters. About all 9 of them ended up in the trash. Partly because they just 'weren't right,' but the biggest part was because I was too self-concious to give it to you. So, yeah, I'm in love with you. You may, or may not know. I really understand it if you chose to ignore that part. And, I like you, okay? Not only as in 'in-love,' but as a friend too. You were there when I needed someone, and I'm really glad that you were, cheesy as it sounds. It's kinda messed up to be honest. (I'm kinda messed up too) And, I feel like a creep again. What about this idea; You read this letter, You ignore it, I drown in sadness like I usually do (probably) and I never talk to you again. My feelings will hopefully dissapear and you can live a happy life with your friends and family without me. Sometimes I really wish I could do that. God knows I'm way to helpless for it. I'm sorry, this has really turned into one big mess. I tried to write it with my own mind, but that just keeps wandering off. I'm not sure what to say anymore. Sorry man.  Uh, there's a little "poem" on the back for you. I still have to write it, but, you can see.

Sincerely, Me
I already regret this, but it's fine, I'm fine. Sorry. I wrote you so many letters, this one is one of them. I tried so many times to write one that wasn't, idk. Not so 'bad' as this one. But, in the end, I found myself being able to write it down by heart, because I wrote the exact same thing over and over. So, here we are. I'm sorry you had to read that. And also, here's the poem:

~

Do you have certain songs,
That remind you of certain people?
You're the song stuck in my head,
And it's a **** sad song baby.
Hey. Guess you'll know it's me by now. I don't really know where to start. Again, I wrote you a ton of these kind of letters. They all ended up in the trash too.
You know, It kinda suprises me. You said that you read the line "I'm in love with you." from the last poem I sent you, thirty times. but, In the letter I wrote you, I said it too. I really thought you'd noticed. I really thought you already knew. Not that it matters a lot anymore now. In a good way though.
I really don't understand the stuff you do to me. remember the first day of school, when we hugged in the middle of the hallway? Lucky me, you walked away for a sec. I was shaking, it surprised me you didn't see. How? I don't know. Or when you told me; "I would date you." And my brain just, stopped. I literally couldn't think anymore. It really felt like a dream, and it still does. I dreamt about you last night, I vaguely remember. It was kind of a nightmare, but before it got scary I woke up. But seriously, when I think about you I just, I don't know man. ****'s confusing. But yeah, I really am head-over-heels in love with you. And, I don't know what's gonna happen next, but I know it'll be a good thing.
Sincerely, me.
Felt like writing something rlly stupid to you. Sorry.
Amelia Sep 16
I am way too close and almost done,
I thought I could start anew.
How did I not shun,
When I saw that too.
2017
Äŧül Sep 10
@Atul's Love
J*** and trance music,
Entertainment of all forms,
Not far away but near,
Naturally from within,
You inspire me too.

On the rocks, you are my beer,
Hug you tight, I am your bear.

Jest and fest moods,
Emanate from your name,
Not that I forgot your name,
Nickname you, I did, honey,
Yes, it's sweet and peppy to call you Jenny.

I love you as I love myself.

Miss, you are the one I miss,
I know we shall continue happily,
Soft love of yours landed here,
Softly on my faithful heart.

You reminded me to be carefree,
On the way to perfection, I need to be,
Untouched by real love I used to be.

Honestly, your love is the truest,
Of course, my parents love me,
Not demeaning them, I am,
Efforts of theirs to keep me alive,
You too will be thankful to them.
My HP Poem #1769
©Atul Kaushal
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