Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ricardo Apr 19
Why is the sky falling?
Why are we looking at empty loves?
Why do we cry when we hear his voice calling?
Why am I sunk fighting with my heart to shoves?
That's because we are smiling while lying.

When will we be able to fulfil our wish?
When will you stop being unpolite and selfish?
When are we supposed to be ourselves?
When am I will be out to you step by step?
The day you start hurting me again.

We are flying through blue fire,
make me cry again, please, is my desire.
You string my heart with a burning spire.
You're helping me to be a perfect lier.
Will you someday pretend to be a lily?

Questions and doubts we are paying,
people disappearing and staying,
melancholic songs are at night playing,
and I am here writing about someone who never exists before.
Whining whispers echoing the night
Crying large tears, illusion broken up
Mirage of hope at the end of the road
The crazy and violent are ruling this world
The Night is the time of loneliness
The time when the world gets quiet, when there's no holiness
It is the time when all the colours lose their hue
The time when light bids you its ultimate adieu
It is the time when no one hears you cry
The time when special rules of conduct apply
It is the time when you crave to be held
The time of remembrance of all those feelings you have ever felt
It is the time when you start feeling buried sorrows
The time of desire for a better tomorrow
It is the time where hopes of day go to die
The time when birds of hope are too tired to wave their wings and fly
It is the time when evil terrors roam the world
The time of surrender for the defenders who fall
It is the time when you are the captive of your bed
The Night is dark and spiteful; it's the time when you get sad
Hollow hole heaped with nothing
Days are veiled in Sadness's satin
Cheek of Wisdom was whipped by winds
Where's Joy if it's not living within?
we are drowning in the depths of a charcoal sea
with wet eyes that scream their agonising plea
Instead of a lullaby we hear but the cacophony of demonic whispers
On Nyx's throne, Loneliness, our perennial mistress
it's once again time of nightly silence
bringing the horrid internal violence
life clothed in the gown of loneliness
inhibits all other possible happiness
heart shattered into a million pieces
the misery level quickly increases
future is plunged into ebony black
the ideal dreams got their necks snapped
the day is clouded, can't see anymore
the gods of Olympus had put me on ignore
That feeling
Like you want to smash your head against hard ceiling
Like you want to cut your arm off to justify the hurt
The longing for a box surrounded by dirt
The want for tears when you are not an easy crier
The desire to set yourself on fire
The dominance of hate, the absence of love
The constant reminders you are not good enough
That hurt after you've been wronged
While you are cursing yourself for not being strong
To talk and scream towards your foe
Feeling like you are the lowest of the low
Is a feeling I can't wait to never experience again
Can't wait to laugh "Oh, how silly I have been!"
Somewhere further down the line

I can't wait to feel just fine...
An empty shell
A glass was full
once with passion

Now is filled
with darkness and
its 6 feet depth

I wonder
if he ever
thought of me

Six feet under
or I wish I was
My condition is emotionally dreadful

Once in awhile
i need to see his
name once again

Once every blue
moon I hope
I do
Pasquino Jan 1
Perhaps I should have stopped.
The heavenly fields called me then,
and could have been my resting place
of final peace gratified.

And perhaps I could have stayed myself–
and be spared of metamorphosis
that excommunicated all my ink.
Nothing left.

Perhaps I could have been me.
So that at least then  
I’d known I was free.  
Now nothing but punishment remains.

But I remain– nihilo– for now,
and waiting, hopeful for the next bow
of creation, somehow.
Jeremiah Mhlongo Dec 2020
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌,
𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇,
𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌,
𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖬𝗎𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈'𝗌,
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗒,
𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇?
𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍,
𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁,
𝖲𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇,
𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌.
You get what you are given, you only receive to yourself what you deserve.
Next page