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I was on a high
for a moment of frailty
that my heart caused
as I beheld his eyes of augury.
©shadeofalonelygirl
Julian Delia Jan 28
Held back, with a knack for spectacle,
A need to be, specifically, to be beheld.
A paradoxical existence –
An oxymoronic persistence,
An urge to merge unsuppressed emotion with the notion of defensive insistence.

There ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone, indeed;
I paint these scenes with fine lines in my mind’s eye’s canvas,
The thought of you floats through like the haze of cannabis,
You are the source of that which I seek, thou art the seed.

I attempt to gaze deeply, as I love to do,
Yet I cannot do so unfazed, it is a price I pay steeply,
For sadness overwhelms me, leaving me blue.
Instead, I cast myself in a lifetime of debauchery,
Each and every night hoping it’ll be the one that does one in,
That one night it’ll be too much, too out of the ordinary.

Forgive me for making promises I can’t keep –
I guess I am a grown man when I can no longer weep,
When tears have dried out a long time ago,
When pain sears memories that died like an ember’s last glow.

I want to be able to just be inactive emotionally,
To respect boundaries reflective of love that is felt platonically.
I am capable of doing that just about as much as a bull is able to tip-toe around a china shop.
Self-explanatory ****, I don't know what else to say or do at this point
Johnson Jan 20
**** is such a pain when held in the mind
A home to some solemn a morning
The outer rim of sight distorted
Never to see for I am blind

How arduous a task it must be filling this void within
Though you try to no avail still this longing persists
Never is it quite the same this flushed face hangs in singularity
Never is it quite the same the caress of her hand around your cheek

This warmth could never fully replace but yet seeks to comfort
On to my own left again am I to this bitter taste
As dark dreams are held fighting to resurface

What is it this wistful yearning to that which I despise
Casting aside vanity's vision as somehow I am left to my own demise
However monotonous the day to day may seem as my mind tapers on
To be trapped between her sheets I find ecstasy replaced with solitude's forlorn

For like moon that sits alone hung in the luminescence of a winters sky
So dull is the ache within my chest
As the darkened walls do double as they revolve around
Only to ruin what bliss I have taken upon myself

For tomorrow is to resurface
And so again I will chase the blame
For all the inevitable I attempted to thwart
Yet it all remains the same
Luna Jay Dec 2018
...
Dreamsicle Mournings:
I mourn your
Warnings.
Early Mornings:
A thorn in my
Rosary-
I’m stuck on the
Same prayer.
I’ve torn my
White wings-
Forever falling.
Forlorn for
Rosemary.
God, get me
There.
Acina Joy Nov 2018
The bane of my existence, to love you, I shall die.
You **** me slowly, each and everyday you come through the door.
But alas, the less that I love you, the more this pain hurts as well, and I can only ask a question to you, always dreading the answer.

Whether which one will **** me, loving you, or never even doing so?
it's been a long time since i have last posted. hope you guys enjoy this one.
Briar Ren Oct 2018
After the heartache,
you will learn that love is both
a blessing and a curse.
Jonathan Surname Oct 2018
I got a phone call from your mother today.
Her lips were pursed and candied, I'd say.
I couldn't see her between the borders of states,
but she told me I should let go of the blame.

She called me up to build me higher than I've felt for the longest day.
We spoke a while and dreamt on a nostalgic plane.
She told me sweetly that her memories of her daughter
involve me, too, in some way.
She lingered with each breath as if to sigh,
before she told me she used to lie awake.
Rue in her wrinkles for having turned me away.
From your funeral that long-gone but not forgotten day.

Her sighs turned to shudders and her facade of being a mother
shattered like chalky, kiln pressured Ohio Valley clay.
She sobbed through hysterics and left me feeling desperate
of feeling a similar love for the ghost I'll leave behind
with a note lengthened in a shakily scrawled essay.

It was pure and powerful to hear the shake.
In her voice as it pronounced my three syllable name.
Hoping she got my number right,
not knowing there's a reason I've not cared to change.
Today I got the answer to a question I never thought to say.
Speaking is important to lighten how the emotions weigh.
She told me I should let go of the blame.

But you knew me best, better than they.
I can't quit the blame.
But I can lie to her for her own sake.
So she can move on and feel less of the dismay.
No parent should ever outlive their own flesh given.
The sound of her voice like a subdued painful frisson.
I told her a lie to keep her spirits intact.
To keep alive a promise whose corners are bent, but without *****.
I know you'd let me out of any dotted line I signed if I wanted
free of your Faustian contract,
But I digress,
I'm a mess.
Full of shame for how I handled you and your name.
I've written and talked about you like you were an old flame.
I tried moving on,
but all the old noises I hear them new, and all the same.
Your ghost has followed me because I asked, and you came.

I love you,
I miss you.
I'll come play with you in space.
a bad week turned worse and the Summer curse extends into the fallen bottom of a solemn Autumn

ever wonder why you bother? yeah, me too.
PS Sep 2018
Coffee in hand, she sits on a train
She smells a little like cinnamon and sage.
She hears a voice, her heart in her mouth
It isn’t him, as she fears. Absolutely no doubt.
Amongst the loud hum, she can spy at herself
So sad, so defeated, she’s like no one else.
Tears spring to her eyes as she looks at her screen
She’d been too busy living a Hemingway dream.
She won’t call him again, as he doesn’t care
She won’t let him in when he’s not really there.
She won’t be his last and she wasn’t the first
She isn’t the only girl to get hurt.
So coffee in hand, she’s no longer forlorn
For **** hath no fury like a good woman scorned.
Does it need an explanation?
the wallflower Sep 2018
If my soul was a stream on Spotify
It would never get any play
Mainly because I display what most
SEEM to portray
But when the doors are closed
And you are all alone
Feelings create downpour
And you cry tears you wish...
you had shown
I relapsed again last night and it seems like nothing is changing yet everything is moving so quickly
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Are you ready?
Are you sure?

Then lean right in
and make him yours.

You're not ready?
You're not sure?

then tenderise your gentle touch
just a little bit more.

and perfect your kiss
that makes you his.

Until he wants you
no more.

Poetry by Kaydee.
. . . . . and yet so far
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