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m Sep 23
the better part of last-minute
and i spend it staring at your lips;
the poems spill out of your mouth
and stain my hand-me-down rug;
as if our brokenness is compatible,
my masochism needs company
and you are eager to disappoint.
the tongues and whispers of secrets
in a cyclical nature; i have been here before.
the familiarity the fear the focus:
the fallacy of finding love in an empty heart.
Gabs Aug 6
What is it about you that I like so much?
Truthfully, I’ve forgotten.
Like why WW1 started in the first place
Or what the chemical symbol for iron is on the periodic table.

What does that say about our relationship?
The answer is beyond me.

But much like the chemical symbol for iron and the reasoning behind the first World World,
I can easily find the answer in my brain’s built-in memory box.

Thank you, hippocampus.

One is only able to retrieve a memory or fact that has been taught or revealed to them in the past.  

That being said,
If I truly don’t know why I fell for you
Maybe I never did in the first place.

Now that would make sense.
Iléana Amara May 26
when youths fall in love,
some venture a lifetime worth
of a love story to tell,
from youth to centenarians,
love never seems to die
love never seems to imbalance,
'til death do they part, with a happy sigh.

but some youths fall in love,
and venture young tragedy
losing themselves for temporary happiness
but who are we to take these away
if love is such a beautiful thing
that makes living life more worthy.

-elixir- May 25
The shards of fallacies
of the past souls
await, the robust

The shards impale them,
as their boiling
young blood,
stands witness,

To the reminiscence
of the fallacies.
I love it,
How you let me sink,
Into wonderland,
My thoughts falling,
All into place,
Pinch me,
I can't be dreaming,
Oh, I am living a dream
Liked to Walter Mitty, reality is what we perceive or make it.
Jade Mar 2019
I swallowed
the sound of your name
like it was a star--
five points,  
the type they
teach you to draw
in kindergarten.

It hurt
on its way down,
stalagmites of constellation
catching on my uvula,
hanging on with
astronomical strength.

But this is no cliffhanger.

Do you know what happens next?

I stopped breathing.

You've never deserved
your name,
you know.
"Light giving,"
it means.

and how I gave into
the sublime
of it.

all you ever did was steal
the moons from my irises.

You treated me like
I was the dirt beneath
your fingernails
(you forsake
the dust on your windowsill--
but don't you know
all dust comes from
the wondrous galaxy that
dwells before us?)

I reached out to you
only to get
c u t
          o f f
at the hands

I couldn't let you
didn't know how to.
Even when my flame
was reduced
to these weeping cinders,
even when the idealization
I held between my palms
found itself exiled
to this mausoleum
of severed trust,
hatred blossoming
in rosettes against
crumbling tombstones.

The epitaph reads,
"At a loss for words."

Tell me this:
what sort of
"light giver"
doesn't believe in
in the possibility of magic--
in the pinnacle of light itself?

You always thought me
a foolish girl
for dreaming--
naive girl,
silly girl,
wrists blooming
in paper cuts,
always one fairytale
away from insanity.

one day,
I stopped believing

And all it took
was a single glance
from those eyes--
glacial sapphires,
your grandest seduction.

Hell itself would have
hardened itself to tundra
at the sight of them.

You always had a way
of contaminating
the things I loved
with a frostbite so lethal,
I would have
gladly dismembered
every hypothermic part
of myself
(every fragment of soul
you ever touched).

Like a shooting star,
I fell for you--


And then the heavens went
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience.)
K Balachandran Nov 2018
From beyond the clouds and stars,
For a voiceless clear call, I perk my ears.
The foam, froth and the very crux
An orchestra of a trillion pieces the universe,
You, me and the spirit binding it all,
Resonate to the pulses of an unflinching light.
Everything that is seen or invisible,
With all that are known or not at all,
Are tightly woven together as one!
Any awareness otherwise, a mere fallacy,
Let go, come be one with the pure essence!
Mae Oct 2018

Yes, it’s not all about love, or pain but surely it’s a metaphor for the depths of the halls we walk by ourselves amongst ourselves in order to confuse anyone that tries to wander too close to our hearts. Oh come on! Poetry is so pretentious.

To hide through rhythmic syllables, to share a sonnet with thee. To dedicate an entire repertoire of acoustic melodies in order to talk about her body?

Do not get me wrong, I love my fair share of dramatic soliloquies but it seems, to me that honesty has lost its value. Especially with writers. There’s no more truth anymore…no. It always has to develop into a complicated string of ideas. There was a time when writers were able to talk about a woman or lover or whatever, without invoking all the gods.

Learn how to love for what simply is
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
I am not Julius
Don't stab me with fallacy
And then walk away
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