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i think about you all the time
you always manage to cross my mind
in the dark
at school
with my mom
with bee
i see you everywhere
i am always reminded
you did not love me
you didnt really get to know me
and i know you will never see this
i know you wouldnt care
you thinking of me every now and then
is not reward
but entirely painful.
about multiple people
Remember you
I was Simon, an architect trying to find precious artifacts.
I found the crown,
The cause of all my frost,
The thing I thought would save me,
But it changed me.

Just as I was giving up hope, I found you,
The most precious artifact of them all.
My Marceline.
A little vampire girl,
Lost in her own ways,
In a world too unforgiving to let you in.

You were the only thing that made the days bearable.
I held onto you when everything else fell apart.
You were the reason I kept going.

But now I’m the Ice King, lost and scarred.
I try not to lose myself because I need to save you.
But who’s going to save me?

I found you in the wreckage of a war,
Just a scared little girl, lost and alone.
I was just a guy,
Scared and searching for my home.

Remember you.
We faked our laughter to ward off the fear.
Just the two of us, plus dear old Hambo who was always there,
Always together, a patchwork family of
Not one,
Not two,
But three.
Inseparable and together, side by side,
With broken smiles and hearts we tried to hide.

Like two pieces of a puzzle, we fought together
To stay alive.
But before I knew it, I had to leave.
You were gone from my life.

I see you as my daughter,
My sweet girl who saved me
More than I ever saved her.

The father you should’ve had, I couldn’t find.
We lived this ruin of a world together,
Until I could no longer ward off the evil that came with the cold.
Now the ice has frozen everything,
And I forget the man I was, the love I once brought.

Remember you.
Even through all the things I’ve forgotten,
For every moment that fades away,
Know that until I come back again,
My life will always be cold and sad.
I just wish it wasn’t like this.

I miss you, my Marcy girl.
Please forgive me
For whatever I do
When I don’t remember you.
This is a poem about simon and marcy from adventure time. specifically from simons persective.

adventure time has been my favouite show my whole life, it makes up a big part of why im like this and comletes my soul. the marcy and simon backstory never fails to make me cry, so i thought id add more.

in my head, marcy find sthis writted down as a note thats inside of hambo while stitching him up one day.

xoxo
Dan R May 6
You feel the saddest
at the far edge of the room,
where dim, weakening light fails to reach—

the corner where forgotten toys
from early childhood
live best in shadows.

In the cabinet, you find not skeletons,
but sleeves thick with dust,
worn only once to grieve.

Beneath them, a single shoelace—
from a past that never happened,
belonging to no one but you.

As you stand,
the floorboards sigh beneath your feet,
forgetting you too.

A picture of your mother,
stained and half-burned by the sun,
leans crooked on the wall.

She wears the same black scarf
from the last Christmas
you still remember.

You wear it too,
in hopes of returning some alacrity
that once bled this home.
Jonah May 5
They carve my name in marble,
But never spoke it in light.
They trace my letters, like a whisper,
As if they knew me by night.
The hands that reach for my stone,
Never offered any warmth before.
Their silence forged my coffin first,
Long before they grieved.
A king of dust, a throne of rot.
Now they kneel, now they pray.
But where were they when breath was still burned.
When i has still more to give.
Mean mearly shadow in their prime,
Unseen, unheard, only a passing weight.
Only once 6 feet down,
Do they feel to call fate.
To those who call
Maria Apr 3
I beg you teach me how to laugh alive.
It seems as if I've tightly forgotten.
But, please, only no sadness for the past.
All that I had before, is left out and rotten.

I beg you teach me to believe in miracles.
It seems as if I've wholly got stale.
But, please, only no fairy-tales and quodlibets.
You make them up so poorly and fail.

I beg you teach me not to cry by no means.
My tantrums are being not much help at all.
Yes, I'm a girl, and we're not forbidden.
But it's in vain. I've checked it all in whole.

I beg you teach me how to get old steadily.
I realize that it's about my time.
I promise not to argue or resist noway.
My life was generous to me just anytime.

If this's the case, I will continue moving.
My feet will lisp along the ground bit by bit.
And when I have no force at all to trudge behind,
I'll simply sit under the pine and hug my knees.
Maybe this poem came about in response to autumn depression. But it's not autumn at all. Or maybe it is a kind of summing up and fatigue. Whatever it is, it is sincere.
Thank you for reading and for your time! 💖🙏
Sora Mar 30
The stars that once graced the nights,
Now seemed lifeless and forgotten;
For my hands stained with crimson,
Dripped with the imperceptible reverie
Of long gone, triumphant feelings.
Hands covered in stardust.
Emery Feine Mar 27
I am not accustomed to feelings of longing
As it is now not from a person

I stand on the creaking logs in the middle of a swamp's river
Balancing to remain afloat

I watch from a distance
Sitting on my rain cloud
As my acid raindrops on your safe haven homeland

I have hidden my heart under these planks
And the beating is like black and yellow sparks
Screaming in my ear
"Now,"
They shriek,
"Now."

I'm like an artist staring at a canvas
The rainbows swirl in my mind
But there is no shadow
There is no story.?

I watch the band from below
I shower them with photos
And they ask me to be there
Again and again

I watch from the wood
Longing to be in the rainbow rain
I describe the floorboards
Because that is all I know.
"And all I can sing about are the floorboards backstage." - SOFIA ISELLA
Lostling Mar 16
I remember
The days
I grew up
Beaming,
Laughter threading through the halls
Like echoes that knew my name.

And when I left
My only regret
Was never hearing them sing
The ode to me.

Still,
I knew
I mattered to them.
Their words I'll keep
In the folds of my heart
Or tucked away in lines of code

But this year
They're silent.
And I stand outside,
Face to the sky,
I pray for rain to fall
So I will not weep alone.
Taking care to remember everyone
Only to be forgotten in the end

God I was so happy last year...
Andrew Mar 8
The chair where you sat is still warm,
but the room has forgotten your voice.
The echoes have softened into dust,
settling in corners I cannot reach.

The morning does not knock the same way.
Its light does not ask for permission,
only spills itself across the floor,
searching for you.

Your name lingers in my throat,
a letter left unsent.
I fold it, once, twice—
but where could it go?

The streets carry on, unburdened.
Even the train you took does not look back.
Only I remain,
watching the last light fade,
pretending it might return.
Ashar Feb 28
A whisper starts, a doubt takes hold,
Are feelings gone, a story told?
Success and loss, a vibrant hue,
Yet senses fade, what once felt true.
The taste of joy, the sting of pain,
Recalled like sun, or falling rain.
But touch is lost, a phantom limb,
Where feeling danced, now shadows dim.
Not blankness born of empty days,
But absence deep, in hollow ways.
Joy, grief, and love, mere words they seem,
A barren plain, a broken dream.
The memory aches, a cruelest jest,
Of colors seen, now put to test.
A void expands, a chilling fear,
The vibrant soul, no longer near.
Yet hope remains, a fragile thread,
To reignite, what lies as dead.
Reflection's path, a winding way,
To find the spark, that slipped away.
A lonely fight, a hidden plea,
How to explain, what others see?
Empathy's ghost, a hollow sound,
In silent depths, where truth is bound.
A fleeting warmth, a sudden rage,
A glimpse of life, upon the stage.
Like desert rain, a moment brief,
Then thirst returns, beyond belief.
But whispers stay, a fragile sign,
That brokenness, is not divine.
No charted course, no guiding hand,
Just memory's compass, in this land.
Though limbo's fear, may ever loom,
A single ember, breaks the gloom.
A breath of hope, a whispered prayer,
To fan the flames, and find what's there.
The "phantom limb" metaphor: It's a perfect analogy for the way we can still feel the echoes of emotions that are no longer present.
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