Mortal earth is a shadow
nothing lasts here evermore.
The inside is a complete hollow.
Everyone takes a turn sway not
360-degree it’s a flute!
I laugh,
I smile,
I play,
I don't feel it,
Any of it,
I am afraid I'm dying,
Slowly,
I am fading away,
Slowly,
I am numb to any joy,
I scream,
I cry,
I fall apart,
Slowly,
But you are numb when I do,
You don't see it,
You don't hear it,
I am dying,
Slowly,
And you won't remember me.
No matter how much I cry or scream, the only thing you will remember is my shell. You are blind and deaf to me. I'm dying
Nylee Jun 28
I don't feel that happy anymore
even when I should.
Does that mean, I'm actually not that sad
or these symptoms are really that bad.

I don't understand that much
in situation as good as such,
I smile to make it look I'm fine
and slowly I pine
to feel carefree.

Is it that I'm aware
this is happiness in just looks,
inside it is all hollow
nothing in mouth to swallow.

The way it use to be
nervous to lonely
the open door
only takes me to hell.

I'm familiar to this feeling
slowly growing on my skin
I keep chewing to the bitterness
which is coming to throw me off guard
because in the end it is how it will end.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 27
Your every breath is a gift from God,
so live. Keep in mind that tomorrow
is not promised to anyone.
You're here now and just like that, you or your loved one can be gone tomorrow.
Life is fickle like that, so make it count.
Be back soon.
Lyn xxx
kk Jun 23
Skin-deep,
I can tolerate you.
Flesh-deep,
You make me gag
but I’ll try not to vomit.
Open up your heart and soul and everything else,
All that leaks out is musty air.

Like a plastic ornament,
You dangle unsteadily
On the bristles of a Christmas tree
It is my tremor
From our exchanges
That will loosen your desperate cling
From my limp arms.
Dedicated to someone I wasted way too much time with.
nihiliti Jun 17
I can call upon myself
but it's just a shell

bones break surface
offering quilltips
for forging poems
with
graduated cylinder-strained
diluted-air grade
not from concentrate

ink

the mechanism's safe
as sealed secret tombs
are safe
an echo of disdain
for which I apologize

aquiver with paste-
like listenings
replicating histories
foreign and estranged
to taciturn gaze;
functional, but
glazed

shells function as people
but not as well
words wish but don't tell
what awaits ingrained
in bones broken
for blessing

pop! but distressing
echoing, echoing
pain empathetically parsed
but cannot relate
it's too late

I'm walking
but not talking
I'm listening
but not communicating
I'm dead
but not yet down

entombed in my head;
all that might have been
still can, but
a refusal to bend
is found
in my own pen

I've built a prison for myself
The writing's on the skin.
rob kistner Jun 13
_


if I could but glide
to the top of these stairs
like a bird in flight

I would soar skyward
in sweeping circles
lifted on mighty thermals

I would not be earthbound
not a prisoner of these steps
not captive by gravity

and... I would not return to work

this afternoon would be soaring
and swooping
and giving thanks
for feathers and hollow bones

_


rob kistner © 2009
(revised 2018)
This is a contemplation on my oft entertained fantasy of flying.swooping
Amanda Jun 10
Didn't I make you happy?
Wasn't I there for you?
Am I not right here waiting,
After the pain you put me through?

I tried hard to be like you,
I wanted so badly to make you proud,
It looks like it was all in vain,
My knees are weak, head is bowed.

Who am I going to confide in now?
Who will be there to clutch my hand?
I have never taken you for granted,
Do you get why I can't understand?

Why do bad things happen
To people who deserve good things most?
I gave you the world hidden within me,
You left me with your empty ghost.

I am sure you're doing fine by yourself
While I'm hollow, yearning for your kiss,
I may not be the perfect girl,
I know I deserve more than this.
Written 1/4/13
Heim Jun 9
Maybe I’ll beat up my sister today to deal with reflexive reprieve.

I think it’s because people are  disappointments.

Maybe it’s because I’m afflicted with poverty. This is not real poverty, just the poverty I live with, the type I’ll see today and tomorrow.

Maybe is because we have the opposite of wealth and will never have enough to facilitate a dream. Fathers a salesman what can I do?

It’s because I’m disappointed with how shallow my life has been.
The Dybbuk Jun 3
I wake up in the morning,
with a pit where you should be,
And the air I breathe isn't filtered like it was.
I walk through the day with two broken legs,
And my feet drag along the broken glass.
You say that you're empty, but I'm hollowed out,
And I hate what's left.
I'm innocent, and that's the worst thing I've ever done to myself.
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