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Julie Grenness Mar 2017
Poor little man!
It's like kicking a can,
Did your footy team lose?
Do you wish you had a *****?
Now you're a'sulking,
In your lair you are skulking,
Now no one loves you, churn,
Go down the garden and eat big fat worms,
Sad violins,
Pity parties for him.
His team did not win,
Wah!! Wah!!! Drama  mama man!
You poor little man!
OH!!
Feedback welcome.
TKO Jul 2016
Why have thee stricken me with loneliness,
YET AGAIN,
cruel fate?
The air doth crumble without her
breath to guide it...
Though. I abhor despair.
      
Instead... I shall compare.
Compare thee to a chilling singe
-- Like thy heart produceth,
Oft compared to a winter's winds.
                                                          ­       AYE!
Nay. Ne'er so nice.
I curseth thy name,
For each toe doth bite  
Like sickles of ice!
                                                        ­    
Thou hast hair like a nest!
Thy body odour
-- Passable at best.

So! Shall I
Compare thee to a bacon-fed trollop!?
...
Perhaps that is overly severe.
For thou art lovely, in truth.

   Although eternally unspoken,
   Thy love -- once borrowed,  
   Shall ne'er be forgotten...
Disclosure: This is intended to be entirely rhetorical&melodramatic; -- Meant to portray stages of grief: Depression, Anger and Acceptance.
Cweeta Cwumble May 2016
evening loneliness arrives at dawn
and knocks on the dusty windowpane

in the kitchen, i lie — with threadbare arms —
against the shabby wooden cupboard frame

this house is void of all electricity
except for the light bulbs, the fridge, the T.V.

and my steady-beating heart of rhythmic defeat
lying naked across the tear-stained sheets

if you come home and find that i am dead,
perhaps some ***** dishes fell on my head

but most likely, i'll be, in the living room gloom
with a half-drunk bottle of wine to consume

with emergency flares tied to both wrists,
i'll leave you a smile, a sigh, and a kiss
I don't even know...
London K Nuzman Apr 2016
A woman's an isle, and men explore
He sails on and returns to shore
He docks and walks
Traces in the sand
Changes her with just his hand
He rests and loves and then he leaves
Her wind pushes through the sails and eaves
But I'm more, the wind carries her whisper
She needs you to come back and kiss her
I can be the ocean too
If that's what it takes to keep you
She rocks the sailor off to sleep
And holds her secrets fathoms deep
Dark and stormy, calm and pensive
His heart makes her apprehensive
He moves on with no resistance
Vows to carry him any distance
Miles south
She loses sight
Something lost in the pitch black night
Nowhere near her lovely isle
Blinded by the sailor's smile
He docks and walks
Traces in the sand
Changes another with his hand
****** and lost she's strung along
Sailor's charm a siren song
Nevermore Apr 2014
I thought you loved me.

I had so many things planned for us.
I still had so much left to give.

But you left anyway.
Now what am I to do
With these plans
All this love
But to fling them out
To be trampled by pigs
And eaten by birds

You lied to me.
You're cruel.
And why would I want to remain friends
With someone that selfish?

I tried to show you
That I wasn't like him
Blind to the fact
That you're just like her.

I've done nothing wrong
Except give my heart
And love wholly -
Something I will never do again

When I departed
Who knew
It was for the final time.
Perhaps it was for the best.
That's what I tell myself
In an attempt
To ease the sting
Of your abandonment.

A star is a star, after all
Meant to roam the frigid emptiness of space
To blaze and shine
Through the barren loneliness
And inspire bards and priests and murderers
Here on my patch of dirt

And this neanderthal
Was meant to walk this humble rock.
To vie for the heavens
Is blasphemy.
This simple-minded caveman
Can do nothing else in his grief
But perhaps
To find something more worthy
For which to paint his crude smudges
On the walls of his hovel.

The girl who captured my heart
And held my hand
And kissed my cheek so sweetly
Died back there
With my final vestiges of hope
In The Land of the Morning Calm.
The sad saga
and brittle memories
for the cast and crew
of a sinking melodrama.

No badinage
their faces turned away
silent as secrecy
in the bright artificial light.

Rewinds of prototypes
of decaying greys
with visions
that glare at shadows.
Alissa Rogers Jun 2012
You cut right through me.
I am the dying man in films,
gasping and choking on my own life,
shocked at what was always coming.
How is it that death feels so very alive?
I stumbled in a world of darkness
when you found me and cut me down
and all was clear from there.
You, who I thought least of all
taught me the best lesson:
weakened, and losing blood
my heart pumped stronger than ever,
raging and fighting for life
as it never had and I knew then:
I was happy to still be alive.

— The End —