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co'brien May 17
striving, searching

meaning everywhere to behold
in a world hardly days old

diving, lurching

in a drowning sea of possibility
each drip a different plea

defending, upending

small bottles of water
preparing for the great slaughter

sending, contending

“mine is best!” i cry
and why?
Rachel Glen May 1
when do we lose our imagination,
our curiosity and lust for life.

is it during the first heartbreak,
where our souls are left scattered in the remains of something beautifully haunting.

is it during the death of our loved ones,
holding hands, burning eyes, tight throats,
whispering our last hello and goodbye.

is it during the realization that our age comes finality,
generations before us falling to their knees,
back into the earth that bore our footsteps.

is it during the times that test our strength,
foreign words of sickness, a prognosis,
cancer burning in her chest, chased with poison to eradicate.

when do we lose everything,
our hearts built around familiarity, family,
the loving smiles and tears that brought us into this world.

i find it hard to sleep at night, as i toss and turn,
thoughts haunting the corridors of my mind -  
wondering where i lost my imagination,
my curiosity and lust for life.
having the last word
is rarely as sweet as they say
what is seen as triumph
goes out with a wheeze
no ends are tied
no resolutions reached
not even a goodbye
unfathomable that it will be
the last you hear from me
a limp excuse
of a parting gift
many poems written
in honor of you
meaning nothing now
unable to speak again
separation so quick
painless and agonizing
nary a farewell
a question
an answer
“alright, thank you”
cool back from the dead after like almost a year and its abreak up poem. its about the same person who all those love poems are about haha....its not so easy to look at those now but i dont plan to deprive people of them
Saint Audrey Feb 19
Reveling in
Simple things
Loved before they're gone

Playing down
Entropy
For the moment
We should let it go

Aware of
All the things
Thing's I can't control

In finding
Evidence
Of another
Brighter type of dawn

Out here
Past the point
Never quite alone

Resonate
In bitter sweet
Little moments
In the undertow

Aware of
All the things
Thing's I can't control

In finding
Evidence
Of another
Brighter type of dawn
Saint Audrey Jan 10
Vanity, a flippant curse of heart and mind
Conjoined as one, feeble as the end produced
The whole mass aches and shivers
What I tell myself, and what I know as truth
Are two separate things entirely

Humility, an apparition of soul and spirit
Unity at the cost of knowledge and it's pursuit
My thoughts elapse, and it all slips further
What I told myself before, in this exchange is forgotten
And I'm something else entirely

Morality, in arbitration, I ground myself clear
Wrought against the will of better self
Tooth and nail ground against my gaunt spine
All the words said before, robbed of meaning
In the context I find them, am I something else?

Are you a part of me?
Why can't I hear you
Deep inside these walls
Aimless, seizing
Are you through with me?
I cannot hear you
Can't feel your echo
Only creeping residue
YH Sep 2018
I realize I am too compassionate;
I feel everything at a 100% rate,
and I loathe it so much.
Why do they come on so strong all the time;
it mentally drains me.

I am destined to die early;
I can't see myself living past my mid-thirties.
I learn how to accept death as it is,
and I am slowly learning how to let go.

I want to cry, I want to scream;
I want to voice out this indecipherable torment inside of me.
But no one will understand,
and no one will know;
this mask of mine can't be taken off.

It is what I desire,
yet I want to scream the truth out to the world;
my alternating flow of thoughts,
my constant battle;
it goes down with me to the grave.

This happiness is an illusion;
There's a second mind that takes over,
and blocks away all of the hopelessness.
It brings forth a temporary elation,
a nonchalance,
a pretentious ease.

Is this better?
Does it make me better?
Or does this delude me to the point
where I become more destructive
and cause more harm than cure?

Why does my mind run so much?
Why does this version of me exist?

Because I am born empathetic.
Because I am human.
Because I hold a great understanding of myself,
and a greater awareness of how I am.

But not behind in the how it came to be.

No one holds the answer, and I am forever left with questioning all these endless why's and how's.

Everything else is left unanswered

perhaps until the day I die.

— Y.H.

the end of the tunnel,
gentle fervor.
my mind drifts sometimes
as though it's sinking deep into the abyss of water
sometimes i'm afraid it sinks so far
that it never comes back up to the surface again
that i would never see the light another time

but maybe there never was a light
and i've been sinking all this while
further, and further
and the sight of light was only once in a dream

(c) Y.H.
Thomas EG Aug 2018
Believing in love...
Believing that it will last forever
Is what broke me before

Believing that I was loved
And that that wouldn't change
Made it all so much harder

When it blew up in my face

Believing the words "I love you,"
And "I won't stop loving you,"
Led to my dislocated heart

So how could you blame me
For inevitable insecurities
Surrounding those words now?

Because I love you...

I cannot get enough of you
But every time I ask for a kiss
Or declare that I love you first

Internally, I am petrified
That you could reject me
As damage is more than done

On my self-esteem, on my heart

And I love you so so much
I just wish that didn't scare me
As I'm sick of feeling vulnerable

For the sake of being happy
And you make me so so happy
But that scares me every day

Because I will love you forever
Way to not live in the moment lol
Jacob Haines Jun 2018
Finally rid of you.
You've clung to me for two whole years
like a parasite; fetid, vestigial.

This mild Friday was the surgeon's scalpel,
carving away the rotting flesh
till I could breathe again.

First came giddiness.
Light enough to float with the burden off my shoulders,
ready to sink into the depths of the dog days.

My bag practically emptied itself.
The papers and books interred in a box so I could
finally remember what my tabletop looked like.

Languor overcame me then, and I set about
drowning German recitals in episodes of QI,
burying Hamlet quotes with a controller as my shovel.

A thought crossed my mind as I
gutted the last of my sorting algorithms and Python code,
that I had been destroying part of myself.

Like the ***** that earned his fortune by
pleading for coins and pity from others. I had
forgotten what I was before.

I'm not worried, though.
Now I can write my Name, Centre Number and
Candidate Number on the next paper of my life.

Just remember block capitals. Write within the boxes.
Don't communicate with others. Keep your phone off.
As you can probably tell, I just finished my A-Levels. The relief is real, and I'm in that transitive stage between mid- and post-exam stress where I'm able to write stuff like this. Enjoy.
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