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A very good friend of mine once told me that
I sought meaning in everything,
that I found melancholy intoxicating.
She said we are like complete opposites,
but what she does not know
I also share some of her traits.

I bled through the words I could not utter,
stranded on oh-so-many-nights
I wish I was dead.
I sculpted my pain among the stanzas
and strangers’ bed.
I craved their wandering hands on my naked skin,
mapped every inch of it,
and let them make a shelter out of the shattered pieces,
but what she does not know,
I still sit alone with loneliness sleeping softly on my lap,
he often brings a backpack full of doubts,
and stories about the almost lovers.
What she does not know,
as heavy as it seems, there is a haunting
peaceful feeling
every time he is around,
knowing he couldn’t hurt me more
than just being with him.

What she does not know,
I still seek meaning in everything,
asking big questions, that no one has the answer of,
and I still find melancholy very much intoxicating,
that I often wander to the what-ifs world,
discovering the what should have been and could have been.
What she does not know,
that I am too in a constant battle to tear down
the invisible walls I’m surrounded with.
Dean K 5d
It’s bones echo as her song is sung in sorrow
Petrified eyes wander aimlessly until they’re hidden
Reclusive below an endless sea of regret engulfing the path to forgiveness
They swell like flesh that’s been kissed by the blazes of hell
Rising above the intoxicating waves of silk and misery
To gaze upon the sun until it rests

Her head of protruding thoughts ignites while she rests
Inundated in everlasting sorrow
The variables given only result in misery
It’s soul once residing within is now hidden
Lost forever it dredges forgiveness
Such tragedies must only exist in hell

It’s destiny slips through it’s weak hands reminding it, this is hell
Reminding it to cherish each passing moment it has left with her, envisaging forgiveness
Letting all be know and nothing hidden
In hopes for redemption and a life free of Sorrow
Yet alone her broken body rests
Reflecting its misery

The black of night is its cloak of misery
And her misery and brokenness is it’s Hell
Her song harmonizes to its Sorrow
Putting their calamity to Rest
Revealing sprouts of change which lay beneath the ash hidden
Waiting for a new tomorrows light and the rains of Forgiveness
This is meant to be a Sestina…although it remains unfinished.
derblue Jul 13
I almost lost the will to write
You gave me inspiration
Even if it was madness
I don't want to lose this
If I do, I will lose you too.
I started writing here because of him; I read his poems of how sad it is to be him or even to be with him. I love the vibe he gave.  Through all the madness I love him, until now. I already lost him but I don't want to lose the one thing that he inspired me to do.
Alien Jul 1
Ugh, i just hate it here
And this feeling i cant shake
It lingers and it takes
Sometimes I disappear
But even in disappearance
You are unwanted
Not even to yourself
My reflection, so sheer
And transparent
There is nothing left  
Not even organs that want to stay
The invaders settled in my mind
made them stray
My feet heavier
Then the pride they carry
That in justice they make you suffer
That in freedom you are in chains
Never built for the system
To society i am estranged
Made out of mud
Crafted to grow green
But burnt to ashes
When a root began to sprout,
To live is to die
To live is to die

******* twisted reality!

Of course i am
Peace costs peace!

“Go somewhere else now”

With my palms to my chest
I’ll carry the gift life gave me,
The burden of my ancestors
With my pain i’ll carry all of us

Do you understand what it means to live for another and not yours?
You can see it
That we want
To fly
Like no drug can soar
Then the birds
The clouds
And the stars
To be one
With the unknown
the wind was a ruffle in the curtains
and the day went by, unseized

the world was a ricochet in a chamber
and the gunshot bedroom leapt out, inept

the women weep out neglected, knowing
*** is of no value in our promiscuous world

a cigarette is like a god in the skies
the expectation is lofty and leaves us sad

the earth turns me dizzy
my arches have fallen
and the trojan horses have all fled off, torn

each child is abandoned in time and they all
**** their parents with resent, cuckkoos are poets
when they push all the little birdies out the nest

each poet is a cuckoo liar, inflating any kind of truth they've found
in the dotting of their stinking socks.


                   a beard is a false billboard
   a wife is a lie that germinates s l o w  a dog is a god if you look with sad eyes

there’s shakespeare in everything
and its all undeserving

there’s drama behind every curtain
and all the best legs
creep around like common juniper
into the fiendish, lonely night

    people make soup
   and they shoot themselves                                                                with shotguns

                      it doesn’t all make sense.

                               don't make sense.

                                           make oatmeal
Eternal Schumann:
My head is born
Between the shadow
Of your ghosts
Daffodil and echo
Always running around
About the wrong guideline
Of your love for Brahms
I think of you in the madhouse
Skinned by demons
And raised by the angels
You remind me of the gloomy manifestation
Of pure love
And every note
From the concert in La
Gloriously dragging
All that energy and ceiling,
All that contained love
Haunting your holy peace
Snatching the muse
Of the sublime and vertical fabric
From the truth ground to sticks.
It's a heartbreaking era
And the corpse of Schumann the terrible
Has been resting for a century
In dizzying memory
Of the human
Already impoverished
For the departure of God
And abandoned
To their fate
To the last cadence
That you did not write
In the first delirium
From ecquisofrenia

#music #oniria #madness
Adrie May 29
This river flows inside me and all these creatures sing
Who am I, cruel Madness, a girl, a bird, a king?
You let me drink your potion, I enjoyed every sip
And dear Madness, I cannot find my sleep.
All alone in this forest, both happy and depressed
In, out of love and anger, I can no longer rest.
I can see the tigers behind your tears.
Nobody knows
that only you who can feel the fears.
As the poet who always gets drunk every night.
He needs his pen to join that fight.
If one day the poet lost that battle,
the tigers would get her as fresh meat slices.
If one day the poet won,
his poem would become famous one,
because the madness was fried in the pan.
Indonesia, 26th May 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
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