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chitragupta May 29
Heart:
I have a book of songs,
a collection of antique emotions,
carefully crafted for someone
Like how seedlings germinate
inside the womb of the good green Earth
feeling the warmth of a watchful Sun

Yet I pick up another,
a chronicle sans embellishments,
A tale every bit pure, every bit unspun
A familiar fear grips me -
clouds me, maims me, ****** me
as I open it with glum expectations

But I feel myself break,
to know of my absence from this tome,
with each page I anxiously turn
Did I not deserve
a chapter, a line, atleast a word?
Maybe I will find a footnote - none!

Mind:
Oh my dear heart,
Do not expect in return something better
because you've surrendered to her memories
Equivalence is just, but justice is not a quality

How do you plan to **** the one
whom you've already granted immortality?
At the price of a pun, get a paradox free.
Dee Nov 2018
I believe in utilitarianism
And stay living in a state of disguising glum for glee
I see it as my way of giving back
Because as long as they're happy
I can keep up the show
to be determined Aug 2018
how does one write
M-E-L-A-N-C-H-O-L-Y
without stopping to wash their hands?
mel·an·chol·y
noun

a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.
Donna Jan 2018
The big sky is grey
Tis a burst of dim light ray
O what a glum day
Looking forward to spring x
Nylee Oct 2017

Another star faded away
unseen in the skies
as did my cry
now the glum darkness
is there to replace
to give me empty solace.




Gariel Aug 2017
always crude to everyone
even a discomfort to herself
certain times is willing to help out
but cannot even fix herself

admits that everything is well
to not be a disturbance
certain times is willing to open up
but still feel glum

it doesn't feel right and normal
to prefer to be disregarded
mostly wishing to end everything
but stays for the people she love

it is ultimately true and real
that she ruins what she touches
mostly wishing to find a remedy
but strangely fine with her state

{k. l.}
hello im alive
Nylee Jun 2017
My pain writes many poems
some depressing, some solemn
some sarcastic , some genuine
some rhyming , some extreme
some weak, some contemplative
some glum , some reflective
some helpful , some heartless
some heartfelt ,some frivolous
some aloof , some imploring
some moody , some accepting
some flowed with endless tears
some marred with many fears
And I feel envy ,
my pain writes better poems than I
Joshua Dougan Dec 2016
Speak from the heart. The tip of the tongue.
Fly off the cuff, The hip of your gun.
Set scenes apart, a trip to the sun.
Getting High on the huff, the gifting of love.

Speak from the heart, easier said then done.
Treat it like art, Feeding the dread with glum.
Speak from the heart, easier said then done.
Freezing at start, leading the dead with guns.
Haylee Dicker Jul 2016
Translucent and cold,
My body doesn't even shiver,
Lips faded to a dull grey,
This isn't old age.
Inside is empty,
As lonely as my shell.
Earth is my personal hell.
They push on my chest,
To rescusitate me.
The blood pumps and for a while,
I'm alive again.
My previous corpse blown away.
But it doesn't take long,
I soon become fragile,
And my insides shatter like glass.
A 100 cuts just in my mind.
Walking down the street you wouldn't tell.
For I delicately place my mask on every day.
To hide my pain and Shame.
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
I've got that feeling once again,
After staying up til 3 A.M,
When insecurities start to creep,
And I curse myself for lack of sleep.

It seems I have no way of knowing,
Which way my thought process is going,
One day I'm happy, the next I'm glum,
And console myself with smoke and ***.

I try to find a compromise-
Get blasted drunk, and close my eyes,
But the world keeps spinning round and round,
Bottle's empty- no peace found.

Like the Irish airman in the sky,
I seem to watch as other lives flash by,
Then I pass out, hoping I'll never know,
The places those tormented souls must go.
A Sassoon inspired poem (the last two lines are almost completely stolen from "Suicide in the Trenches"), with a nod to W.B.Yeats with the Irish airman reference. Two of my favourite poets.

Written whilst feeling a bit guilty that I'm just a small, insignificant person with not much power to change anything, and being quite drunk. Never a good combination.
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