I now have “The Day it felt over” picture.
I am currently in shock or maybe denial, at this point.
It was sad yesterday, but this,
I don’t know this is real?
I guess... your attitude seems to have changed.
But you say I’ve changed too,
I guess you didn’t like the better me.
Well, I like the better you.
Go do what you need to do,
I’m supporting you from afar.
If you need me, I’m here.
I miss you already.
Thank you for everything.
I love you, I always will.
I wish I could just give this to you. But I’m tired and I just want to cry every time I talk.
when the sun and the moon met
they created darkness
I guess you were the sun
happy or depressed
life is a balancing act
so easy to slip...
moods that fall can rise again
wait for tomorrow's new day
6/22/2018 - Poetry form: Tanka - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
all around me
they're n o t h i n g
NOTHING you say
echoes in my brain
and they're n o w h e r e
NOWHERE you say
echoes in my brain
So w h y
WHY I ask
why are they everything and everywhere?
You were the first and only to say “I love you.” And I remember telling u not to rush the 3 big words bc I didn’t believe it was true. And I didn’t believe that I loved you either.
I am but an injured soul, living in a dim lit broken home;
A cracked shell of gilded gold, a modern Ancient Rome.
What fight left have I, against the torrential tepid tide?
An ocean of fake sympathy, and false inflated pride?
Sweet nothings beckon me, with a void of rest and respite;
Whilst ****** fecund fingers fumble, heart clenched tight.
And when the cold rain pours itself a glass,
I'll count the hours as they pass;
Upon yet another lingering lonely night.
Sometimes I think I am the flaming star,
scorching any Icarus that flies too close;
I’ve wished I were dead on many occasions,
so that I may finally feel their hands on mine.
Quench my flames that bring me life,
drown me in my weighted sorrow;
So that you may kiss my cratered surface,
and freeze with me ‘til the ends of time.
When some days
are not so bad as others
but you’re still drinking
the inching hatred
of who you are
but not what you’ve done-
Sometimes I think I’m
not capable of feeling
the thing you call love
I was born to beautiful swans.
Yet I see no resemblance.
I remain an **** duckling.