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Time starts clocking by,
Like an infinite life promised,
Slowly loosing grip on its reality.

I've counted down the days,
Some go faster then others.
I'll live for expectance,
To expect fate, or my destiny.

As it wipes away my tears,
Nothing will remain.
Is this all still natural,
Or have I gone insane?
Time is a virtue, life comes and goes by, you never know when your time might just come
Kurt LaVacque Sep 2014
Underneath all the pain struck so deep 
I can still hear her screaming, 
Just a forgotten heart beat
For it was more than the damage 
That distorted the surge of blood 
Out of her wrists into the rug
Don't lie to me and say its just a phase, 
The blood on your floor will never be replaced
Faced with the fear of pain,
Suffering expecting her to be tame
Blame, isn’t understanding, loving, 
Demanding suits it, alone with a knife until she used it
Your Clueless, 
I wish you could see the love
That you’re going to miss
Not just the bliss of love, 
Come on
She’s just a little girl inside, still wanting her fathers love, 
Never knowing if its enough, 
Always searching 
Never stopping
Divided by the time we waste with the lies that we try to trace
Back to when it started
For Life will never be the same
If you don’t look beyond her frame
chris m Aug 2014
how come my projection is ignored
your eyes, like high beams, flash over my existence
scattering my photons/my waves                                                            ­         
in exchange for your bright/white                                                            ­                                             clean/canvas                                                           ­                                             
you wander through these halls flitting from picture to picture to picture
fitting yourself to each
scene and visual style
discarding the ones irrelevant/inconsequential                                                  ­
like me, tossed aside
connections- but how deep
what soil does your friendship take root in?
in experiences/morals/ideologies/pasts                                                            ­  
or is it simply a necessity
a validation
that you exist
but why don’t i fit into your
equation/picture/life?                                                            ­                              
You want to laugh and I want to hear you
i don’t get it
i wish i did
you look at me and you look at you and you look at the boy standing there
and somehow you laugh at his smile
you talk with his persona
you walk with his saunter
and here i am passing the other way, looking/writing down                          
your validation
in these words i will capture your
reality/aura/matter/existence                                                        ­                      
so that you won’t be forgotten
like his smile/persona/saunter                                                          ­                  

and my projection/                                                                 ­                           
photons/                                                                 ­                           
waves/                                                                 ­                           
equation/                                                                 ­                           
picture/                                                                 ­                           
life?/                                                                 ­                           
reailty/                                                                 ­                           
aura/                                                                 ­                           
matter/                                                                 ­                           
existence/                                                                 ­                           

is anybody out there writing
for me?
y i k e s Aug 2014
toes buried in the sand

smiles painted on faces

frame this memory

because you'll never see it again.
mark john junor Jul 2014
as crickets renew their song
she came to me dreamlike
a lone candle held back the night
its thin light strong in her heart
as she brushed her flowing hair
and looked with distant eyes to unseen horizon
to unseen memories taste on the soul
the cost to any but the mad is too much
but she endured
she has seen the promised land
and the greener pastures she longs for
are a distant lands postcard stuck to
the torn up wall above her bed
not a single word pierces that painted smile

in the nights stillness
i retrace my steps
to stand exactly where she stood
as if the magic of her presence might still linger
i stand breathing gently
somehow believing that i can feel her in the air
not wishing even this empty moment to end

even if only half perceived
her delicate features were hauntingly beautiful
her long thick auburn hair wet
with the night's rain
she had come to ask
i came to answer
she silently leaned against me
i silently held her

love has no need of words
Rebecca Gismondi Jul 2014
I am reflected.
every day, I sit framed
or stand,
or walk past
a frame
reflected,
me
at times I pass this frame and see all of me
other times, I am missing
other times even, I recede
to a former self
I see me at fifteen:
brown haired, blue eyed
starving for love behind the pane of a computer screen
I used to watch myself framed
and dissect every feature
too many hairs out of place,
metal upon metal inside a mouth that either spoke too much or hardly enough
no mind of my own
sometimes I see her,
fifteen,
through the reflection of the subway doors
as a couple tenderly caress each other behind me
fifteen whispers softly through those doors:
“love me too”
as the train pulls into the station
and other times, I see ten reflected
ten,
rabbit teeth and soft hands
a burst of fireworks
disappearing between pages
once I saw her by the harbour
floating on the surface of a body of water holding three islands
the sun was gone
she saw me crying and said:
“don’t leave me”
ten,
and rain fell on her cheeks
I couldn’t tell if they were my tears or the sky’s
and other times,
rarely,
I see five
blunt bangs,
shining smile,
brave spirit,
she was the beginning of my strength
hearing very little but feeling it all,
seeing,
I saw her in a jewelry box,
five,
bold and brass
strands of pearl and gold and emerald might have clouded her otherwise
but she s h o n e
she said, as she always did,
“tell me a story”
I used to tell of a mermaid lost at sea,
or a doll brought to life,
but all I could think of this:
a woman is trapped in a mirror
twenty-two
fixated on this face she has witnessed evolve
she sees the specks of blue laced with green of her eyes
documents the crackled skin on her lips
breathes in the musty and city smell of her hair
she sees the lines and cracks on her hands
and the way she hunches and fidgets
but she cannot move from this mirror,
this frame,
because she is afraid to move forward without looking back
in this mirror lives
twenty-two
fifteen
ten
and
five
and she loses herself in them
trying to lock in all their features
once, before becoming trapped,
this woman walked by the window of a vintage store
and when she turned to catch herself, she saw nothing
she wants to see everything
always
catch glimpses of
twenty-two
fifteen
ten
and
five
everywhere, always
but she wants to be reminded
and not haunted
“show me your teeth”
she wishes,
“let me see you smile”
and now I am – the woman – is coming to realize
that maybe she will never be free from the trap of the mirror
maybe she will always see herself reflected
but that, in itself,
is a gift:
to see oneself reflected
to know where you have come from,
and where you are going.
Cunning Linguist Jun 2013
Not even the shame of our eradicated bliss
is enough to replace the image of your face
imprinted on the inside of my eyelids

My memories return me to a time,
when being able to call you mine
was more than enough reason
for me to want to shine

a reason to try,
a reason to fly,

and just when life was too perfect to be right,
suddenly you erased all my stars
and I was cast deep into the night

Why does this still frame remain
when I could not refrain
from letting you walk away?

Why was I so easy for you to discard?
We were so much alike
it ripped us apart

Now you look upon me with such blatant disregard
I stare up at the stars
look wide and far,
I can't find them;
I see only caverns of scars carved across the sky

It took until now
to figure out
life will proceed,
even if I never know how

to so reclaim this piece of me you took when you left
I'm incomplete
and this hallowed heart slows its beat in my chest

Since I'm a victim to my narcissistic thinking;
and you're overflowing with persistence,
unblinkingly let our flowering love blossom into this,
non-existence

You had been worth so much,
you tore me down such,
I never realized
you weren't ever worth a drop of my blood
our love had been such a burden in a blessing,
falling apart was effortless

This story fails to have a happy end
I'm sure the future will cross our paths to some extent
until then, I can pretend to let this image fade away
until it returns, then disappears once again
Aeipathy (Archaic) Noun. A continued passion; an unyielding disease
A little picture frame fell
Full of innocence, youth, ignorance, bliss
It’s me in the millennium
I wasn’t
Too Tall
Yet
While in my clatter it crashed from the mantle
Why is it even here?
Wasn’t that yesterday?

The past will never go away
The past will never go away

But only a dream, a conscious façade
A memory is only a faulty tape
And we find we recall love not time
The things that child left behind
Were mended by grace
And cast the lines from his face
The future grieves, what is mine?
What's time but a coffin of sin
Yet I heave the shining frame to the mantle again,
Hoping to gain a childlike grin
It’s not about the past or future
It’s not about misplaced winnings
It’s the chance a man has for a new beginning
wrote this one in rehab too. To a name unknown.
www.eugene-moon.weebly.com

— The End —