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J Harris Jun 2015
The world is unfolding inside of me
because your departure took
the east, the west, the north, the south,
the fall, the spring, the trees from me.
aj Jun 2015
lies wet on my lips
eyes set to the sky
ears keen to the sound
of your reluctant goodbye

the gods hold my silence,
as aphrodite sews my lips shut,
all the while your fading silhouette
becomes just a bit too much

for years i'll long for your touch,
but i'll forever wear this hue
of a red so strong
it brings back visions of you
i'll really miss you allie
Naaliah Green Jun 2015
monday @ 2.30 a.m*
my eyes are bloodshot and my words are slurred.

tuesday @ 4.50 p.m
do you remember how our bodies used to fit whenever we slept?

wednesday @ 8.00 p.m
I was so close to calling you, but the thought of actually having to tell you how I feel terrifies the **** outta me.

thursday @ 12.37 a.m
you just texted me back and I don't know the words to say to make you stay.

friday @ 11.05 p.m
i could've seen you tonight but instead im sitting in bed crying over the stupid things you once said.

saturday @ 1:25 p.m
i think it's time i forgot you...

sunday @ 6:37 a.m
i can't forget you...no matter what i do. i can't my mind off of you. it's sad, but true
Sibyl Jun 2015
( )
I.
At
the peak of
the season,
just when the
sun has
decided
to give
his utmost
gleam,
A single file
of
steps,
humble
steps,
marching
steps,
nonchalantly
moves.
Nonchalantly.
A left over
a right - a right
over a left -
clockwork-esque.
amidst the sun's
scorching gaze
with heads
facing down,
amidst the sun's
scorching gaze.

II.
Each holds
a box of wilted
petunias, heavy,
shriveled, wilted
petunias, for every
one to keep, for
every step
they took.
some
would only
possess
a handful
on their little,
wooden
boxes.
Others,
none at all.
not a single one.
none
at all.

III.
The day
finally sets,
and so do I
                      
A black mastiff leisurely
        takes his nap

- and gradually, I fall.
                     
  Cold drops of water
  rhythmically descends
  from the kitchen faucet

- and gradually, I fall.
                     
   A hopscotch game,
    a child then jumps

- and gradually, I fall.
                   
      The city streets,
busy with people going
           to and fro

- and gradually, I fall.
                
          A ship sails
  into the vast blue sea

- and gradually, I fall.
                
    Stars glimmering,
            dancing,
    in the cold dark sky

- and gradually, I fall.
               
                    
- and gradually, I fall.
-Grief devours the bereaved, and then numbness comes.
Maddy Van Buren May 2015
you say I like change
But insomnia leads to insistency
And all I've spent time doing is retracing my steps, questioning my own lucidity
Drove down the avenues I used to think we're cool
hung around my old friends who used to think it was cool
to pop the advils I kept on windowsills
in case I needed a reminder of
why I don't like pills
and I still don't like pills
Because they burn throats and make me forget the anecdotes I said in doubt
But visions of the future make me forget, regret instead leave these hazed clouds
And this monster clawing at my door,
Praying of an unholy meeting between us
now I can say that I'm sure
That the change is the enemy
But it doesn't want me,
I watch everyone around me go nameless, faceless, bleed
Disjointed, contorted see this reality fade black
All I've ever known changes, but I'll try
and I'll try
to keep a faith intact
Dr Zik May 2015
I can't change
departure into arrival
or vice versa
I find myself
to do one thing
I can feel affection
ZIK POETRY
svdgrl May 2015
I thought the train was going backwards,
but it was only us.
Pierre Lien May 2015
I threw a leaf off.
It waltzed itself in the air
without fear or despair.
The little green dancer dropped

dead slowly,
taking his time in the wind,
taking his pleasure with plastic bags and supermarket catalogues
admist this harsh and frosty gale.

My brave leaf seemed to ascend at times,
but mostly plummeting.
It might have reached near-mach 1 in a second,
but I could not be sure. (and I think it didn't know)

As I waved
(either to say "goodbye" or "come back")
I looked up and saw
on the balcony above me was a ***

of plant with other leaves, waiting.
When I said you could think of me as your therapist,
I meant, could you leave the room and I’ll make notes?
Allow me to turn
Watching you leave
Into a profession.
Mind you, I’m pretty good at this job.
There’s the creaking of the floor panels
Under your converse,
The jingle jangle of car keys
In your back pocket,
And the death-like glow of light bulbs
Seeping through the door hinges
Of when you exit.
But you didn’t notice any of this.
You hardly broke a sweat.
Meanwhile,
On the other side of the room,
My tears are stars
And the sound of your departure
Has me painting
Galaxies
On my cheeks,
Turning my chest into steel
Until you’ve convinced yourself
That God locked this heart in a cage.
Don’t worry (I know you don’t),
I am built for this,
For your soapy self
Slipping in and out of my life.
And it will happen again.
See?
I have my notepad with lists of
Heartbreaking theories and
Scientifically correct ways
Of sending you off.
And when I will,
Know that it’s just
What every good therapist does.
The first sentence is a line from the book ‘No Object’ by Natalie Shapero.
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