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- Jul 2018
We lose our words,
they get twisted and tangled
and it hurts, but what do we say?

I have not been awake for so long,
my eyes turned blue,
my skin turned pale,
and I don't look like me.

In fact, I don't know what me is anymore.
I burned bridges and there are fumes...everywhere and no
don't tell me this isn't poetry, this is my poem about losing and gaining and being stuck in between.
I have a lot on my mind and I haven't felt this passionate about writing in so long.
AD Snail Mar 2018
My dear when I tell you,
"I'm a late bloomer."
I need you to know, that I meant to say is,
"I have lost my petals and my stem is bare."

Own ****** hands, The only criminal is I,
I have taken shears and torn ungracefully.

There the petals lay underneath.

A gentle breeze then came by and swept them away,
Never to reach my clutches again.

My dear I made myself bloom far to early,
Letting the petals of myself vanish.
Leaving me astray within my own vessel.
A line of vases
the wind blows against
knocking them over,
but only a few left broken

Some picked back up,
others left with just a scratch
but i'm part of the batch
that shattered.

Built back up,
glued together,
you can't erase the damage done by this weather,
leaving me unwanted forever

Left there all alone
to be knocked over
or thrown
until i've shattered once more
so you just leave me on the floor

because i'm
too far gone,
yes, you made me
too far gone
and now no one will piece me back together.
Midnight Rain Feb 2017
some days i do not
know where you are
or where i am,

if you are even
here at all or if i even
exist in the place of
                                                your sight

i do not know anymore,
where       you          start
orwhereiend

you make me feel
lo    s          t             in a home my heart has
always known
Peter Watkins Mar 2016
The carpet is soft against my bare feet,
red-black and yellow in its gentle heat.
Chandeliers sway above, portraits adorn the walls
and long drawn-out corridors make me feel small.
Windows remain closed, indestructible,
framing nothing but black, so I grow feeble.

I'm the only one in this glamorous prison...
The only soul wandering this lonesome place.
My hands tighten into fists; sharp nails,
biting into my flesh just to awaken my feelings.
Am I awake, or am I simply dreaming?
The pain won't wake me, even if I'm sleeping...

Doorway after doorway, wary of this place,
and still hunting for a way to escape.
It feels like someone is here, I can hear something.
Faintly, it's carried in the cool air, and I wonder if I'm dying.
As I grow closer, I realise it's music
and straining to hear, I feel no urgency or panic.

I have no idea where I am, no sense of what was.
Yet I feel no fear, no breathlessness, as though lifeless.
For some reason... I'm not scared, just simply lost.
In this house of grandeur I seek one thing the most.
Moving towards the music, searching slowly,
I hope to quell my mind's turmoil, and find my purpose...

I reach some double doors, punctuating the corridor
and now the music's so loud, it's hard to ignore.
Niggling at the back of my mind, burrowing in gently;
a warm resonance fills me as I open the doors readily.
Stepping inside the cavernous room, each inch carpeted,
I see no furniture, no people, just instruments absent of their masters.

The air is cold, the emptiness so strange it's wrong.
Slowly, I move to the instruments... Who'd played the song?
I have the compulsion to play something...
Knowing someone had been here, singing.
Guitar, drums, microphone... An old dusty piano.
The thick dust feels so cold, like snow...

My fingers, skim the keys as I move to the seat.
They draw dust like boots do Winter sleet.
And as I push them to full depth, in an elegant flourish,
dust rises, dances in the air, moving as though in a trance.
The sound is loud but gentle as it resonates so easily,
combining with my humming harmony...

I've broken the silence once more,
"what am I to do in this hall?"
And my darting fingers, moving tongue
"How do I escape from this purgatory so long?"
Are my only plea for help...
"Must I help myself?"

Momentarily, I lose myself in the melody.
Caught up in my mind, I forget my body.
I feel sadly about something, but I can't say what.
As though I'd suffered tragedy and can't recall it.
Again I'm lost, though more than before
and the notes my fingers spew work me like claws.

And as quickly as my harmony began, it ends...
I listen closely to the silence; gentle beeps bend reality.
Is that a heart beat monitor?
Someone explores their mind whilst they remain unconscious in a coma. This poem is about being lost in ones mind and feeling isolated as a result. With no memory, and no understanding of what's going on, it seems like a rather interesting but distressing experience. I wanted to capture what it would be like in this poem. I don't think it's quite perfect though...
Feeling numb saying words from the tip of my tongue.
A succinct expression deriving from a passionate exclamation.
Lunar Oct 2014
i might have become
         h o l l o w
         as the bottles i drank
                       numb
             as my cold fingers
      e m p t y
        as the inbox on my phone
         disoriented
  as how this poem is typewritten

how much more naiveté
do i have to go through
in order to realize
because i know im hurting
yet i dont know how to explain the pain
i Sep 2014
broken fingers,
broken hearts
and lost loves
who will stay
forever hidden
in manhattan.
K Balachandran May 2014
she was correcting
one  
     by
         one
all the mistakes of her past,
with an eraser and a pencil
in a bleak room painted clinical white.
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