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Dustin Dean Sep 2018
As she took my hand
We split down the stream
As choruses of angels had sung
Above our heads, we hung
Looking down at the dream
For our dalliance was marked
Each second shorter than the last

For every sunrise, another had set
And with the birth of a child
A man had passed
Each second shorter than the last

And just like that
Our future had become the past
Truly Lustful Jul 2018
The gentle summer breeze
Taking you back to the days
The days of ignorance
When nothing mattered
But everything was thrilling


Breathing Slower. . .


But zooming by
Ignorance fading
The pain of repetition setting in
When excitement fades into antiquity
And you know your days are numbered


Breathing Faster. . .


As terror sets in
The demons clawing at your mentality
Epiphany after epiphany
Trailing into darkness
Caring ceases


Breathing. . .


The cold hospital air
Yet your deathbed has never been warmer
Eyesight has left
But what's ahead is still clear
Nothing.


Breathing Stops.
Tommy Randell Jun 2018
You know my hand and the will behind it
You know your destiny is to be my loverlife
Though of my many thoughts of such
You are but one flash of silver in the moonlight

Believe it if you like it makes no difference
The coming tide is one side of our future
Afterward on the barren strand there will be bones
Evidence my fish is but one lover fewer
L Jun 2018
He lay on the side of the road; lifeless grey eyes staring forever into the clear bright sky.
"I wonder who lost a rooster."
My eyes lingering as my speediness transforms to a crawl--
"I'm going to be late to work."

...

Pick up the pace, why dont you
Written directly after thinking it while still walking to work.
Alice Lovey May 2018
The wicks have disappeared under the wax.
The strings only groan untuned noise.
The color has drained to desaturated blacks.
What is a flower with rotted petals if not a ****?
Nothing grows here, not a single seed.
Leave the wasted garden, place the candles in the drawer.
The piano's more desirable when it's not touched anymore.
The deepest pits of despair.
its bitter Mar 2018
Walk The In-between where
it rains, lukewarm,
from overcast heavens –
omnipresent silver gaze desaturating,
nullifying,
mattifying,
smooth like velvet.

How those endless skies weep endlessly for you,
lost traveller,
fine mist descending upon you
sense of absolution, fog of forgetfulness
and you can’t feel the rain puddling
in the ditches of your collarbones
for how faintly it caresses your body
Finally – let it wash away those jagged clusters
of salt crystals from your lashes

Follow your feet
you know where they lead you:
away from glaring light and midnight sky, to somewhere softer:
The In-between.

Amble towards it and believe your own fiction:
You yourself chose this – willingly.
You weren’t drawn by the same ripcurrent,
having towed you here countless times,
each journey into the fog
more lingering than last.
You will be here just a minute-
not an instant more.

But truthfully, you are following your own footsteps,
tracing lines already worn thin.
You’ve dwelt here before
You fear you’ll not escape this time:
The In-between,
Purgatory is not novelty
to you, traveller.

You follow:
your conscience,
your habits,
this well-traveled path
to tender oblivion
Your return
– inevitable –
to The In-between.

And on your pilgrimage
you conveniently forget,
perhaps on purpose,
how the dim lights seep –
like seawater does
into fibrous hulls of sunken ships –
inevitably, steadily, invisibly –
into your own eyes, how they too grow dim
cataracts of algae
you feel ancient as the seafloor, silty
cold, untouched, untouchable, stagnant;
half-hope to stagnate here awhile

See, you frequent this hell because
when you finally break free,
you remember only the comfort
of nothingness,
dismissing how desperately you crave
the absolutes and colours and emotions
black white blue and red
The state of existence – how you miss it
when all is suddenly grey

Yet here you are, again
meandering, lost, again
you are exhausted, again
rest your weary eyes, dear
But – by God, child – do not fall asleep here
Sometimes, difficult realities felt deeply can become overwhelming, the most comforting solution being sinking into a fog of numbness. Existing, but not really. A greyed-out version of life, not sad but certainly not happy either. And this state of being can become addicting, a sort of self-comfort, but it is not reality; it is depriving oneself of real joy. Accepting the disastrous consequences of existing this way can be difficult, but escape is even more taxing – once liberated from this nothingness, colours and lights seem harsh. After too little, it is too much all at once: joy, sadness, sunbeams, love, hate, inspiration…  Here is where the cycle of feeling and numbness begins: feel too much and crave peace, feel too little and crave something real. To cope with the relatively magnified realities, each dangerous journey to the “In-between” lasts a little longer than the one before. Perspective becomes skewed when dancing between these extremes, a balanced middle-ground becoming nearly impossible to inhabit. And this is why the nothingness becomes so enticing; it is a reprieve from its only exhausting alternative. This is why I continue returning to it knowing well I may not be able to leave.
nicoarty Dec 2017
The end is waiting not a,
Huge crash- collision
Like onslaught,
-Earth bending, breaking
Shattering like glass,
At the bottom of a
Pool, is not a tidal wave
Goodbye, to friends and family,
Tilting, listing, moment
Of truth ringing like a
Gunshot in your ears
No, hearing nothing,
Silence, is screaming and
Bleeding - it’s not, all at
once like a,
Thundercloud
It is, creeping,
Numbness of tears-
Stains, like it will,
Never fade,
Forgotten- never until,
Life again; starts, stops, stalled
car in traffic the
End is waiting-
Not sudden.
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