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~A grimy, grimace of a grungy summer day~

Good Morning!


let the un-fun sting,
as the ardor never begins,
forecast a grimy grimace of a lousy
day ahead, at best, a clouded mess,
just to differentiate between bereaved
periods of rain, that train you in windows~
avoidance, for a grunge gloomy invades
all six senses (including the brain)
where all are concatenated),
and you can actually feel
the pallor descending
from brow to the bow
of your container,
feet swelling,

and you
in addition
to avoiding windows,
put some towels out over
all the mirrors, lest your pallor,
ah,

too late,
the grim grimace of grunted day
arrived even before the poem
was conceived, I deceived,
once more, the bore drill
drives a tubular of
despondency into
my spinal seam

Whether Weather Wither Whine Wailing
*****-Nilly  Wade  Why Why Writer

Why, Writer?
yeah, good morning…
Terra Levez Nov 2020
Does anyone see?
The grimace on my face
The showing of my teeth
In attempt to replicate the look
On everyone else's face

So wait
Is my replication faulty...
....or is it the way everyone else is too?
so is everyone faking happy?
can we just stop, it hurts my cheeks
Oliver O'Connor Apr 2019
staring at the clouds
one of them looks just like you
grimace and unloved
Stark Dec 2018
Pained expression on your face
Grimacing as you return your gaze to meet mine
It physically hurts for you to talk to me
A stark reminder
Of what you’ve lost

Everything is open
Like a gaping wound
All the cards have been revealed
And you let the grief engulf you


Falling backwards into the crushing sea
Waves cascading
Salty--for the tears that you have shed
falling into the sea of grief
Àŧùl Jun 2017
Every step of mine
Is in your pursuit.
Wherever you may be
You are in my vision

When the bond is of pain,
Then how bad is separation.
As only they get separated,
That were always wanted.

You are hidden within,
In my heart my friend.
If not inside my smiles,
Then surely in my grimaces.

Every step of mine
Is in your pursuit.
Wherever happiness is
There lies my success.
My HP Poem #1608
©Atul Kaushal
simran Jul 2015
She sat there grimacing,
with paintings on her arms.
a plaster sitting on her face
words unsaid.
And a story written on the walls
filled with pain and disgrace.

The night changes and confides.
the world ignores,
turning away every eye.
Loneliness screams and
echoes within .
This feels like a punishment
for an undone sin.

— The End —