how can you do that ?
confessing that you aren't
so good lately,
that you couldn't feel anything,
and then later on you just
gave up on everything,
thinking of doing something.

how can you do that ?
after that you were so jolly,
it's like you haven't said such
things to me,
you were so okay,
but it was so unreal,
super disarray.

how can you do that ?
the duality
lying to yourself, im afraid not,
the facade of being fine when
you're actually not
h o w ?
Rowan S 2d
I fear you
Hyde hiding in plain sight
Jekyll murdered by his creation
His ambition
Gone the way of the monster
Victor's supposed victory
The Jekyll and Hyde/monster archetype shows up a decent amount in some earlier poems of mine, but I don't agree with it anymore. I think it is easier to believe in some kind of hidden, dualistic, "evil" that forces my hand in situations. I simply don't feel like this anymore.
There are people who are for no one,
For whom there is no one.
They are two sides of a circle.

The first is clad in shadow-black,
Who sails down a river of blood,
Deeper still, never glancing back.

The second, alabaster white,
Who watches over life and love,
A justice bitter as winter's bite.
Why are they not "for" one another?
Although both share a love for something greater than themselves, each stands in the way of the other's dream.
Sonya Nov 2018
She stands in a field of dark flowers
Wearing summer’s crown
Her words are a symbol of power
But her face is sealed in a frown

Her dearest reflected in snowfall
A lady of winter’s despair
Her voice mumbles on in a drawl
Behind curtains of sepia hair

The ladies, two sides of a coin
Heaven and **** turned to one
Love that only fate will rejoin
The eclipse of the moon and the sun
Leon Murphy Nov 2018
I sing in darkness surrounded by light
A lullaby of forbidden words.
Yet bother neither beautiful nor sad
Making tears flow and smiles laugh.

Keeping Precious and harmful things away
You can sleep right away
waking up with no worries or strain
singing at night to ease the pain going to bed in a peaceful way.

Dreaming along with your brain saying hello to darkness in your gloomy way
So saying goodbye to your guardian light
abandoning the love of your life
Crying day by day you regret your way
and sang a lullaby of forbidden words to ease the pain.
InsertPenName Oct 2018
What is sadness for the mind of madness
It might be odd to bear witness, but the mighty warrior who welds words like weapons
With shield of indifference, will no yield under falling havens
What hurts is that small tinker of needle
Plucked from the rose we touched in haste
What is sadness for the mind of madness
It's saying take care instead of I love you
It's saying goodnight instead of I miss you
It's saying bye instead of stay
But no, we'll not say… will not plead
For the painkiller needs to be kept on the shelf
Not be taken as a meal
A toxic relief, Not something that they need to keep, note to self stitched in skin : keep away
What's happiness to the mind of madness
It's fear nothing else
The Dybbuk Oct 2018
Sometimes, I fly.
I am lifted carefully upwards into the bright embrace of *** herself, and there is a warmth in my heart I forgot existed.
Sometimes, I fall.
A pit far older than you or I is born beneath my feet and I plummet into the cold grip of illusion.
Sometimes, I laugh.
I feel happiness burst from my lungs into the open air, like a common cold.
Sometimes, I cry.
And it's not a dainty or pretty ordeal; it is heaving and whimpering with tears streaming down your face in the parking lot of your therapist's office. It's a psilocybin-induced sprint through the rain, except it's sunny outside and people are watching. It's the moment in the pond where you think, "I should drown myself," and the only reason you don't is because nobody will ever find your body here.
Sometimes, I forgive.
I know that I am good inside, that I am redeemable. I see the light inside of me and I feel her hands reaching out to pull me from emptiness.
Sometimes, I can't.
And the hands are pulled from mine by the mirror, and when I look into it I swing my hammer to break the bottle in the air.
If you will please crowd around a campfire of words
and milk it for all it is worth.
There is always a little anger under the flames.
Don't be afraid to ask it what you got that the others ain't.

There are two very different fires burning inside of you.
The authentic flame looking more like a lighthouse all isolated, and the other called the shadow of lies you show the world.
Each flame sounds a lot like music as it tells you the difference between you and the rest of this planet.
Did you listen?
The world of duality is inside of you.
elle Sep 2018
theres no grief like another day
with each foot
sunken into the sand-hills of contradictory continents

straddling this divide of time and language
the ocean has been colored red
from our aching hearts
since they hammered these border walls up

i’m crying at my computer waiting for my best friend to answer
i’m crying while i write this letter to my dying grandmother,
under her covers
an ocean away

i’m hoping for a call to me
a distinct answer to which
side of the shore i belong

each time i look at my reflection half of me is gone


strewn across unforgiving terrain
the stretch of an abyss
only as far as the stitches on my left hand

the six hour time divide, waiting for my sister's awakening
to tell her a dream of us holding hands,
which i won’t recall by
her morning

what is the divide anyway?
except an inherent part of my heart

i carry the world within me-
spilling rivers
crushing waves,
but it still feels so far apart
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