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Syafie R Jan 30
He lay on the table,
his heart torn apart,
Fasted and hollow,
a soul from the start.
For eight long hours,
the surgeon would fight.
A scalpel in hand,
to restore what was right.

The Mayo scissors cut deep,
tearing through the skin.
Halsted forceps clenched,
pulling through sin.
A bypass to carry
what was broken inside,
but the heart, in silence,
began to collide.

Scream tore the air,
choking the breath,
crying for mercy,
for the end, for death.
With every stitch,
the room quaked and bled—
A love that could never
be healed or fed.

And when it was done,
the silence was worse.
The screaming had drowned
in an endless curse.
No suture could bind
what the heart couldn't bear.
A wound so deep,
not a soul could repair.
blank Jan 26
i lied about the exorcism--
that neon ghost
still haunts my phone
and though all of us are silent
you sing my tinnitus till the storms get back.

you don't know it's been raining all week
because i never told you;
i'm so scared of spirits and spiders
and weathering small-talk--
your sun and my curtain-clouded bedroom.

in a sunpatch on your floor,
i dreamt of leaping off the grid
and landing back in lake hylia a hero;

now i only dream of daytime drinks,
a summer solitude as dull as the ends of my hair
'cause i can't even throw back my dad's ninety proof
without the sun in my eyes

so the truth is
between zelda and zookeeping
i've been seancing on the dusty carpet
arranging myself around album booklets and ***** shirts

and maybe i couldn't help it

maybe i lit a couple candles by your name
not thinking you'd think of me
or think to shine solar snapshots onto my pillow--
a presence to make me breathless
enough that i can't
***** them out

and they keep me up at night
--written june 20, 2019--
blank Jan 26
got caught up talking
balked through the window and fell through the back door
umbrella still in bloom

left rings of condensation as footsteps
and also frostbite in 60 degree weather
and also footsteps for nobodies to follow
freaked out by stale nature
valley-cracked teeth
translucent petals poking through nag champa clouds

lost spider solitaire
twenty-one times in a row

lost all the gaba napping in classrooms
and spinning circles around itself
untuned cerebellum in atrophy against the spins

lost it
won an advil liqui-gel
and quickly quit:
jumped off the peak of its dose-response curve
into the pool of a hallucinogenic july

doesn’t matter:
komorebi’s turned apocalyptic;
sunset's turned subvision

now you make shadows on the mirror and wet-floor signs on the tile
get caught in spiderwebs not a foot outside your bedroom
blast faith through android speakers suffocating in her comforter
drown your plants in ***** water

never heard a silver lining
only eat up deserts
for the cacti that’ll propagate later in your throat:

a seventy-five cent zinnia’s last whiskey-driven photosynthesis
rootbound
--written sept. 24, 2019--
blank Jan 26
just like that the pretty girl in my dreams
disappeared freed my sheets to let them
suffocate as usual and i stayed there
facing the ceiling with cymbals’ collisions under my pillow

and for a haze i stayed
still and subsisting on spit and spider mites
like the sea wasn’t swallowing anything
till i was ninety percent salt and crystallized
breathing out dusty alphabet soup into the aether

like anyone with a disdain for capital letters
my circle sends its love along with mutual virtue parasitism
in distress beacons pinged through a dead battery and twitching fingers
and you know it’s for the best

no falling out of bed or breakfasts till the oasis is complete
under construction in the dusty pillowcase i call home
down the street from the abandoned asylum where i learned
mouth too dry and lungs too sharp

a shriveled cactus with paper spines
--written april 27, 2020 (and boy does it show)--
blank Jan 25
imagine a mattress abandoned
on the side of i-390 on the rock salt (somehow from the sea
leaning up against that sloping cliff’s edge of land

locked up in villages unvoiced)
a makadikadi daydream–
a back against the crust of earth
as young strangers whispered and daydrank
just inside
across the crackling barrier–

distant suns stretched icicles
on eaves of barely empty buildings–
houses with no owners watched,
nestled against sidewalks coated over in warning
of a return to rest

noise-cancelled
shoe-gazing

black coffee frozen in the doorway–
against a tapestry of laughter through AM radios and portable speakers

pretending to nap
1/25/25

title from "laramie" by cymbals eat guitars
raahii Jan 23
पूछ रहा हूँ लोगों से हाल, आजकल,
सबका अपना दुःख है,
बंद हो गया है चार दीवारी में,
तौलते हैं आज़ादी, दौलत के तराज़ू पर,
फिर कहते हैं, 'वक़्त नहीं है आजकल'.
The alienation and emptiness experienced in the modern world, where the pursuit of material wealth often takes precedence over emotional well-being and true freedom. It delves into the idea of how society's priorities have shifted towards financial success, leaving individuals disconnected from each other and themselves
aleks Jan 21
the people of loss
have nothing on us,
pillows of unravelling floss.

only the pillow knows,
a pedestal for weakness,
our shared bygones.
'avoir le cafard', or 'to have the cockroach' , is a french expression for feeling depressed, a sense of malady.
I solation is what kills me.
S o I scream for help—
O nly then, silence echoes louder.
L iving amongst false illusion alone,
A life in an empty home of a lonely heart.
T hroughout my time, I use this map.
I tried to find hope in the dark.
O f course—
N othing shows the path.
Read it backwards, and it will give you a different meaning!
Sara Barrett Jan 12
Freedom, they said, was for all,
But it became a privilege—
rationed, conditional.
Laws were written in the ink of fear,
Meant to bind us but never them.
Papers dictated our worth,
Time slots our movements.
For what felt like endless seasons,
My world shrank to walls and whispers.
A yard became my horizon,
A car my only escape.
Truth was silenced,
Questions outlawed.
They called it protection,
But it felt like exile.
The Constitution became fragile glass,
Shattering under the weight of hypocrisy.
Freedom was not free;
It was a cage lined with lies,
Its door held shut by fear.
I lost more than days—I lost trust.
The land of the free stood still,
Its anthem drowned in passive compliance.
This poem reflects the emotional landscape shaped by pandemic measures in New England, where silence became a prison for many. The enforced isolation and restrictions led to feelings of confinement, as laws and guidelines dictated daily life. Yet, within this silence, there emerged a defiant spirit—a refusal to accept oppression. The juxtaposition of fear and resilience highlights the struggle against societal constraints, resonating with the collective experience of navigating uncertainty and loss during the pandemic. Through poetic expression, the complexities of human emotion are unveiled, capturing both despair and the unwavering hope for freedom.
Sara Barrett Jan 11
The nights belonged to me alone,
the lullabies, the worries, the dreams.
I learned to hold the weight of two,
a love fierce enough to carry us.
A glimpse into the solitude of the military lifestyle and motherhood, shaped by distance from family and the absence of a partner. This poem captures quiet nights filled with love, worry, and dreams, as the mother carries the weight of raising a child alone, her strength powered by fierce love in an unfamiliar place.
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