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lately, it seems when you call you speak you mind,
motion to hang up before i can even consider mine.
do i exist simply as a gateway for you to speak?

my lover leaves me lonely,
my best friend soon to be alone on a plane
back home to me; tape him up in bubblewrap
beg him never to leave

so much time is spent in this room
isolated enough to warrant yellow paper
still, the textured white walls seem sentimental
they do not feel as big as the bed

it is so lonely without you, darling
but even when you are here,
it remains so empty
i reach for you in the night.

try as i may, even when you linger
you are so far, my darling,
too far to reach; too far to hold.

and i find you only see me once i turn away.
is it my eyes that alarm you, so full of emotion?
or do you want me just close enough for warmth,
but not close enough to listen to?

the broken furniture holds your motion,
still are the shadows that hold your shape,
and i cling to the pillow that isn't quite your length
but it will let me hold it; it will let me love

i picture you in the shower,
borrowing shampoo, speaking of coconut cream
and my dreams are only tinted memories
are you leaving me in the chill of the air conditioning?

perhaps i'll never know until you finally close the door;
the season has only just begun, my darling
there are so many half hours still to yearn for you;
i'll be quiet and laugh at your commentary until the credits roll

i'll quietly await the sudden goodbye.
distance is a feeling; not a measurement.
Tony Tweedy Apr 27
Again before an emptiness of soul, where all is fears.
Awake but mind devoid of light or any new ideas.
Crushing feeling of loneliness permeates the very air.
Every action taken or ignored devoid of simple care.

How did I become this decayed and empty thing?
Thinking daily upon miseries, so often days before did bring.
Distant, faded memory of the moments that made a smile.
So fleetingly they went to allow despair room all this while.

Worth? A sense of purpose long deserted, gone and fled.
Only a loathing and a pointlessness is left to fill my head.
Long days before today and for others still yet to come,
Without reason to be, certain only eventually I will succumb.

Like coats of paint upon a wall each day another layer smears.
No smiles, no joy, no hope just a face soddened by my tears.
Ever present darkness, shrouds of dark veils upon me, drape.
Calling increasing loudly that there is only one true escape.
Dark days seemingly endless
OnceWasAskim Apr 22
I see you’re gone. Turned your back again. Left me just that little bit more. It frees me. Frees me to write again. You see, I’d stopped. I didn’t want to affect you any more. I didn’t want you to feel compelled to come here and wallow in my pain. So I’d resisted the urge to write. But now you’ve severed that cord.  Were you set free? Do you feel this? I’d be surprised if you feel anything anymore. Ghosting me is your super power.

This place is mine again. For me to write. Alone.
Psychorange Apr 20
If you don't admit, you never did.

You can think and shout, to solidify yourself and enforce who you are and what to do. Or else you invite the liquidity of your progress.

I have an attention problem. And a reluctance to deal with things that hurt me.

I have an internet addition, an avoidance of confrontations, a lack of will to follow through. Am I air? Evade the senses that bother you. Coast and coast.

I write to hold myself in one spot. To put my focus and attention into the repeating letters I know in patterns that form the words I know. My function is to imitate and apply here to the best of my abilities. Machines can perfectly imitate and apply but it is the eyes of a person to perceive and feel.

I am the owner of the actions. I could possibly not own this paper or this pen, but I have paid my attention and actions into this. The fingers, wrist, eyes, tendons. I am the puppet master of this stringed body I inhabit. Without me, this body is a shell. Your life, moments and sense of self are precious.

I am cold, lonely and bored. My confidence in self hasn't been awarded so I don't try. Where are my rewards? Where are my victories? What do I want? Can I stop retreating to my slumber and solitude? Quietly and slowly existing.

I beg for freedom. To venture out. To see and touch the dark side of the sun. May that convey.
It was supposed to be for handwriting. But I guess typed it. I wrote and I posted this. 2 actions right there I can own. Bravo me.
Mark Wanless Apr 6
empty is we suffering
cause creates conscious
world moving forward just is
Keen Apr 2
I miss you,
but I need to use
this space
to create
for myself.
Ronney Mar 16
the Words do not thrive
Spoken with derision  
its the lack of ambition
no will, no way, no drive

Hope to inspire. I try.
All ideas have shriveled up, fallen away and died.
Washed up, gone away with the tide.
Wasting away, waiting here, biding my time.
Pray the words come back, A treasure I seek to find.
Been craving for the words to come to me.
Every thought and idea has been so elusive
Alicia Moore Mar 16
I do not yearn for love.
Not romance, nor friendship.
I struggle in this passive isolation
yet I do not seem to yearn.

I am empty in that context.
Never feeling full, nor have I ever before.
I claw and cut and scream for simple peace
yet I seem to be punished with restlessness.

Maybe the peace is found within
regaining a sense of yearning.
Maybe the peace is only found within
the final ‘death’ do us part.
Elizabeth Mar 12
How do I explain this feeling of emptiness
Which is as thick as a blanket around me
How do I explain this strong urge to cry
To weep and wail like the world has ended
And curl up like a ball behind my sofa
And silently wish for death to come claim me
There are times when I feel empty and can't find the reason yet I can't explain how I feel. Today is one of such days
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