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Bummer May 9
Does it ever bother you that pictures can be lies,
how a smile can be faked and nobody will ever realize.
The photos of you that I hang on my walls are starting to feel distant,
I hear a pain in your voice, as if you could break in an instant.

And it's a whole lot easier to burn a picture than it is to burn a memory,
And I was kinda hoping that we would never reach this treachery,
And you're falling under quickly and I can't do a ******* thing,
And I'm writing songs to cope but I don't have the guts to sing.

I think you're better off away from me.
I think you're better off alone.
Poetic T Mar 21
We're a  memory in a jar
              never getting full.

But those who think it
         is empty and worthless,

do not understand thought.

For it is fluid,
                and all liquid
             eventually  evaporates.

Causing a storm to rain
          down on us.

Refreshing what nearly ran dry..
Poetic T Mar 15
She was the fire fly that I held
                        in a jar of frailty.

But no matter the temptation
              I kept her withheld.
The world that was concussively shallow
                                           without her brightness.

Could I contain the light that was needed,
               it gasped at  breath
                                       brightly before me.

There was too much oxygen to keep
            her kept.

                      For when the jar fractured,
her light shined brighter like a super nova
                                               of minimal proportions.

When I let her fly free of her shackles,
                       woven in the fabric of evanescence.

Life momentarily seemed to mean more than
                  when it was kept clasped in a jar
                                                 of visualised reflection..

And every rising sunrise burnt brighter
                      as lingering  fire flies kept
                          ignited within the vocal
                    message that light had rose once again.
Poetic T Mar 9
People think I'm just
an empty jar
                 with a lid on it.

But you took the lid off,
and looked underneath

And it said!

"If your reading this
              then you know
             looks can be deceiving,

I wasn't ever empty,
                           I just didn't
                            show myself.

But you saw underneath the façade.
Drinking tears under the stars
Kissing jar that full of lies
Crawling to the stairway in the sky
Trying so hard to numb every scar
Dreaming the dream so i can fly
Osiria Melody Feb 23
Gray, lifeless desk of blank vastness
Reserved for papers scattered
across its cool surface,
Like a disarray of blankets, leaving
unsuspecting feet neglected


Writing utensils yearning to
engage in a race of writing,
Cannot take off from a jar of
confinement: mini-prison
Liberated from their incarceration,
I pick up a writing utensil and write
Freedom, at last, to write without the
worry of apoplectic judgement

Writing is conversing with yourself,
No fear of judgement except from
your own doing
Lingering for hours like a tree
that's  trying to pull itself
out from the ground

[writer's block]

Black coffee envelopes the room
with a smoky touch
Atrocious LED lamp light glares at me
hard enough to hurt my eyes
Dissonance resonates beyond my
window, a border of security from
letting my creative thoughts
wandering too much
Car music blaring with
Doppler Effect (dissonance)


Frustration, more wary than my
stomach growls, signals that
I've been "out-of-it" for too long
Thought that my work
would be appreciated,
Only to get blank stares as lifeless
as the deceased that repose beneath me
(I hope that I've made them happy)

writer's block?

'Tis nothing eccentric about
being a poet, suppose I

i write in SOLITUDE

My eyes are like camera lenses.
Ammar Younas Nov 2018
Put my numb soul with some love
in a jar of imagination
and poke some holes in the lid
so hopes may breathe

Or when you catch fireflies
hold me in your fist as well
and keep watching
if we are still lightning

Or put me in your eyes with eyeliner
so I may stay close to your dreams
and see myself
if I am there or not
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
If only I could collect the rain,
Put it in a jar
And take it to God.

Then I would say,
Here, I found your tears,
They made the soil breath.

-- Eleanor
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.
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