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N Mar 2020
You
Death is like you,
silent, cold, and
doesn’t love me back

If you are death
then I long to be dead
N Mar 2020
Despair drips
from my lips,
don't kiss me

My sorrowful soul
awaits death’s kiss,
don’t miss me
Astral Apr 2020
I'm tired of writing about love,
So this poem is different,
Instead I'll write something new.

I won't write about it.

About how I miss you,
The feeling bubbling up inside me,
And spilling out in the form of nostalgia.

About how I felt when you said those three words,
My emotions clawed at each other,
Trying to jump in and play,
Yet trying to hold themselves back.

About your promise to see me again,
And how suddenly my mind was in the clouds,
Wishing we were there together.

No, I won't write about it,

I'll write about something new,
After wanting to write about you.
started on feb 22 2019 at 1:04 am
N Feb 2020
She was named after love,
and letters were exchanged
between lovers in her name

Poets found their muse
when she visited their hearts
and I was one of them

But my love never
reached her heart
like hers did mine

And so she left,
when my stubborn heart was
aching to be laced with hers

She left,
and my eyes were searching,
yearning for her

Dear Heyam,
I swear on love letters
and you
For it is the last poem
I write about you
The name Heyam -هيام- means ardent love in Arabic, that was my lover’s name. She’s the ex I’m always writing about, and I pray to Aphrodite that this is the last poem I write for her.
Fey Feb 2020
is it a tender embrace
or more like a blazing storm?
The feeling everyone craves,
including myself,
called "love".

in many stories and myths it seems
to be the one and only impression
one would describe as a pleasent dream,
so fierce and full of undisclosed passion.

but I am certain, quiet eager even
that I won't gather any experience
because "love" these days means treason,
lust, greed and above all

self-indulgent obedience.

I would rather idealize it forever,
to remain an ignorant and loveless bystander.

© fey (24/02/20)
Jason Adriel Feb 2020
o, this vain trepidation,
the fear that though it is you
who demands sincerity,
you're still treading
on both grounds

and i wound up lying on the floor
beaten and battered. and you're
the one dealing the final blow.
Uncertainty is the theme here.
muteD Feb 2020
I used to think nothing was stronger than love.
As long as we had love, nothing could come between us.
As long as I knew love I would never be heartless.
And as long as you knew I loved you, we would be fine.
Who knew I’d be wrong?
Maybe I love too hard.
That has to be it.
There has to be a reason why I feel so drained instead of feeling loved.
There has to be a reason why the feeling of judgement surrounds me like a suffocating blanket!
Oh! how to be able to breathe would feel..
Maybe I would be able to if I loved less.

Slowly but surely, love is becoming an unknown and foreign object to me.
Something that certainly can’t be attained.
Right?
How could I know love after all the pain I’ve sludged through?
It seems as out of reach as receiving any sort of maternal affection.
How could something so positive as Love impact me so negatively?
Maybe love isn’t as cracked out as it were made to seem
and maybe things will become better if I become Love-less.
Love is a strange thing, isn’t it?
i'm sorry that i'm not enough
i'm sorry you thought this was love
i'm sorry my walls are too tough
i'm sorry i threw down the glove
i'm sorry my edges are rough
i'm sorry when push came to shove
i'm sorry was never enough
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