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''I'm sitting here, waiting,
For answers to fill this paper with...
Answers that  are still a void in my head.

Did that ever happen to you?
I mean, who am I asking?
A stranger who just passed through?
A stranger who can't stay with you?
A stranger who is you.

Your thoughts are not your own anymore.
Endless questions haunt you like a shadow, and I don't want more.
More heartbreak,
More nightmares,
And questions I shall never know the answers to.

Am I good? Am I bad?
Am I happy? Am I sad?

I'm sitting here, wondering
About all the questions I could've lost my mind over.
All that...
All that because of the stranger who doesn't feel like home anymore.''
''Between silence and thought, a stranger slowly lingers.''
Bristles, glide delicately...
over cold refuse.

Random bits,
of detritus:
and your broom devours them,
indiscriminate
a placidly lurking monster,
with an unchoosy palette.  

It's almost a mindless,
shuffling dance,
with failure, for a willing partner,
while regret, lingers sulkily,
in a dark corner of the room,
and watches the two of you
locked,
in a very forced
minuet.

The world feels like it's over,
and every brush stroke, feels
like its own humdrum ending.

Then,
all at once,
when you least expect it, to


your agitated trash ,
lifts its papery little wings,
takes flight,
and flutters gently away,
in a storm of linen,
beige, and white.

The faintest flicker of hope,
rises, from the discard pile:

a wildcard moth
seeking its own, besotted flare,
of quavering torchlight.
This literally came about, because I was sweeping the floor, thinking about this old drawing of a woman who accidentally sweeps away part of her own shadow, and, while daydreaming, my "trash" kept escaping the broom bristles. What I assumed was persistent, papery garbage were really just very aggravated moths.
The pain is absolutely unbearable
Never enough to smoke, the bowl will never be filled
I drink a lot more now
Hoping to wash myself
out of the bottom of the lowest canyon of my life
Afraid
Angry
So Angry
But at who?
Bear my soul in a futile yet desperate attempt to reach her humanity
I was unwise
She made me eat my own heart while she
and the man she loves took joy in toying with me
Pulling out the last strings of faith and self worth
I'm ashamed to admit that I can't stop crying
during the smallest hours of the night
She did this bereft of any anger or hate towards me
You have to be human to be able to feel those emotions
Bury me...
Bury me down, deeper.
I feel so.

I feel so hopeless.

Fingers resting, where the rope lifts.
I keep on testing, where the choke, is...

bury me...cold, as crocus, is...
or ferry me, sleeping,
into the ether.
carry me under stream, where

I can take, a breather...
an open-throated...

under-water creature, in this feature film...and I'm choking
front-stroking, and seizure-struck
a lotus floating...
upside-down, Ophelian...

...can you, still...love, me...
if my flesh, and tongue,
goes really numb?
Current mental state, that's it, and that's all. Have to write it out, to ride it out. No, it's not about self-deletion, nor does it promote it. It's fully metaphorical.
ChrisV Jul 3
Where the olive groves wane, flesh rinds rain down at dawn,
Winds carry stories of loss and longing – another salaam is withdrawn.

Stunted bones wrapped in leather, bodies in tethers,
Crowd idling trucks in the vineyard - another Shalom is withdrawn.

The figs and the poppies have burned with the bodies.
Shabah and ramad fade, make way as their homes are withdrawn.

Seraphim bring hellfire, glass the grounds of
The prophets, smoke welcomes new settlers at dawn.
Vazago d Vile Jun 30
The suit was ready,
pressed, waiting.
I had rolled a plan —
calm,
a father.
Just a little ****.
No speed.
No ******* way, not that day.

But then —
woooof!
The blanket ripped off,
a scream in the dark,
instinct took over,
a punch
a crash —
a body flew across the room.

Four cops.
“It’s the police!”

The one I hit just said,
“****… you hit hard.”

I sat up in bed,
calm like the eye of a storm,
watched them search,
they didn’t find the kilo under the bed.
I smiled.

“What’s the suit for?”
“My daughter’s confirmation.
Please… let me keep that joint on the table.”

I signed a confession
to avoid the station.
They left.
But they took the joint.
And the control.

And right there —
my mind exploded.
ADHD on fire.
No brakes.
No logic.
Just drive.

I put on the suit,
walked ten kilometers,
found a friend
with what I needed in his pocket.

There I sat.
Needle in hand.
Pulled some blood,
pushed it back with the dose.
Tears flowing like a river.

And the thought:
What about your girl now?

That was rock bottom.
But it was also the line.
The turning point.
Because this —
could never happen again.
FoxCarcass Jun 28
Am I my own desires?
Bound to jump on my instincts
My body stripped
My eyes devoid of light
The same motions we used to make
With a stranger I just met
My consciousness altered
Reality has become a dream
But when I sleep I have none
What choice do I have
When it’s between the devil and my grave?
blackbiird Jun 23
is but a void filled with never ending nightmares
and ghosts of people who cease to exist.
where does it end?
where does it begin?

humanity has failed us
time and time again
the void closes in
until eventually we are all lost
to the darkness.

and we cease to exist.
Shiva Chauhan Jun 20
In the echoes of love untold,
The very heart I kept her hold,
Burned and ripped apart, my soul,
I shall sit and request my tears to fold.

She's not coming back, I know, I do,
I choose waiting, that's surely true,
The love I once had, so divine,
Oh, I'm dying to call her, "MINE".
Still waiting… even when I know she won’t return.
ash Jun 11
pleading,
crying,
begging—
wanting to be heard.

watching, writhing,
burning in agony.
dreaming a nightmare,
hugging solemn innocence.
aching—
in despair, in desire.

once an angel of life—
now a demon of death in disguise.
her wings were torn, brutally,
and she couldn’t even scream one last time
before they threw her
off the landing.

nowhere to step, nowhere to stand—
barely able to sit,
and yet she ran.

kept running, far and farther still,
only to be pulled back
every time she thought she'd made it out.

they were always there.
watching.
waiting.
hoping.
to catch her,
to tear her—
hands on every part of her.

disgust piled with the blood in her mouth.
she scratched her skin,
tore herself apart—
knowing it’d hurt less
than being caught
by the counterparts.

and yet—
oh, look.
isn’t the moon pretty?

found it in my notes, added to it a bit
got somewhere, i guess?
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