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Shane 9m
When red apple roses rise from my head,
Know that the earth has embraced me, now dead.
I'll rest where roots wrap my bones in the ground,
And bloom through my silence, no longer bound.

Their petals still whisper the things I once said;
In death, I will part with the cage of my heart.
So grieve in my garden, but know it’s my home,
For beauty will grow where my love ever roams.
stumbling into the main hall
in my stained hospital gown,
my feet covered by those socks
with the grips, my ******* swollen

beyond measure, rock hard for lack
of expression. Eyes that saw me
but didn't question me. My growing
panic when I missed turning in

yet another food option card. Three
missed meals when my body needed
the nourishment more than ever.

The pills they prescribed to placate.
The kindly old man, his lip tremors
and teeth stained yellow, who freely
extended his friendship, who called me comrade. My exhaustion,

my deprivation of sleep and food. Of my right mind. The way I laid my head on the lunch table, asking my new friend if he could watch over me

as I slept, nightmares and demons
finally staved for some indeterminate
amount of time. How everyone there
let me call my mom over and over again, on the precious shared

hall phone. The way I was starved, thinking I would die there. The little card I drew, artwork at its finest, not knowing what reality was anymore.

How I recalled my own father being in a similar mental institution after his own suicide attempt. How he was saved. How I was.
On this day celebrating
or reproaching love, I can only
recall each year you were still here,
clutching a fragrant bouquet for mom

never mind the allergies that flared
even as she, beaming, placed each
one in the dark green sturdy vase
certain to hold the life within

Now she sits in the gloom
of a room that is too cold, empty
nester forced to befriend the shadows
and suppress the urge to burrow

into small cracks, senses heightened
with the absence of those fragrant
bouquets that never failed to remind her of the fullness of home, of you
Brandon 22h
I'm wonerding endlessly
Across a field of my past
My mind out of time and energy
Losing what was to last
Openly accepting my penalty
So here I was cast
To lose my every memory
Look At the first first leader of each line
Brandon 1d
Look into these eyes
Behind all the wicked lies
Take a peak at the soul inside
A river flows as this soul cry’s
Love is a art that can’t be mastered
And it turned this heart into disaster
A person trying to take care
Who got caught in loves affair
Love is winding maze
And holds the feeling of saved
But a simple memory
Turned into a person’s biggest enemy
So beware
Love can the be the greatest nightmare.
Love brings us together but can also do quite the opposite
Intricate labyrinth of neurons
Within whose web I dally, caught
Tangled synapse-bridged *****
Continuously recalling tallied thought

Laser-etched steel-plate memories
Deny wisdom so dearly sought
Reinforcing episodic-twisted realities
Revealing epiphany where is naught

Neuronal circuits staccato-fire rapidly
Tetanizing notions trauma-wrought
Spike-timing-dependent plasticity
Potentiating emotions distraught

Swearing healing by hippocampal oath
Promising surcease to wet-work hard-fought
Neurogenesis rebuilds hope for both
Amygdalan peace and neural-networked bio-robot
Hope this one wasn't too cerebral... 😉
Zelda 1d
Silence-spilled rooms,
and red high-high-heeled shoes
Shadows blooming in forgotten perfumes.
Curtains drifting like whispered thoughts,
she lies on a bed
watching morning break her—
dreams...
and unwelcome guests in her head...

Oh, darling—
there's no time for excuses,
flashbacks.
Something special in a hush.
There's no reason to ask for anything more...
Between Breathes.

Plastic tips tap-tap harsh on icy floors,
empty kitchen,
undone button-up shirt.
Her skin is exposed to the poetry.
The Art must suffer.
Be careful
not to let it leave a mark.

watch every fall from grace—
and she meets herself.

She is the moment just before,
a soft repose,
a breath withheld,
a breath set free.

She is
Between Breathes—
and she meets herself.

Oh darling—
there's no time...
Between Breathes—
and she meets herself.

Gasp.
July 1 2015
ash 3d
i came across this post today—
it asked me if i wondered
what would be the best place to leave my heart—
even if it's bits and pieces, like shells in the sand.

made a list for my own peace,
but here to share it, if you seek to leave a piece
of your own:

the sea, people claim, carries the tranquil
and provides the cool;

the empty temples and churches,
where your heart prays and reluctantly admits;

graveyards at night,
protected by those who left their own behind.

libraries and dusty old bookstores,
in between the pages and caskets of the used shores.

sun-dappled shades of yellow, green, and orange—
once settled, the purples and pinks of the similar hues.

gardens of thorns and flowers,
the sleeves of your last lover;
knots of the willow trees,
in winter blues and heated blooms,
risky texts during the night,
with strangers i met online,
in midst of late monsoon showers,
not to miss out the midnight hours.

a few bits i leave
in the misty mornings of the early summer,
the drenched evenings of the spring shimmer.

the company of my closest companions—
in the fur of a cat,
the nip of a bunny,
the smile of a pup,
sometimes in a sunset,
in the lush green of the forests,
often in the foil of the autumn trees.

mostly on my bed,
in my tear-filled, forsaken pillow,
and against the one i sleep so dearly.
plushies and teddies,
keepsakes of childhood memories.

with all those i've met so far,
and cookie crumbles at the footstep of my life—
for those who are welcome
and those who are not.

i have left, and leave, a lot more pieces.
i wonder if my heart is a cake-a-piece.
a bit old, mostly new- i keep on editing
what can i even do
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