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Inday Sep 2018
A cigarette in the morning
To get me over the night time
I forgot to sleep again
My eyelids live on high time.

It's fine I'll just play the guitar
Drink a cup of coffee or two
Walk along to my sanctuary
In my mind I'll write songs to you

A cigarette after midnight
To overcome all this silence
I don't want to sleep again
My eyelids wait for sunrise.

Another double expresso
Until my heart starts to echo
And then I'll stop and start breathing
How d'you get rid of this feeling ?

I'm thinking again of the morning
In the red of the wine time
This bed has become me
I'll get out of here sometime.
Ray Ross Sep 2018
I was drunk last night.
I made a sandwich at one in the morning
I hated the feeling of alcohol
Burning in my stomach,
But I was drunk last night,
I was alone.
I remembered how
I stood on the edge of the cliff,
I had no fear that time,
Because if I'd died, I wouldn't care.
The way my arm was torn and split,
So I could prove that I still feel,
I wasn't drunk then.
But I was drunk last night.
I wrote poetry about wristwatches
And watched music videos
Until I passed out in this bed.
I don't know why I did it.
But I feel sick today.
Dominic Wright Sep 2018
Dear moon,
Sing me the song of solace at the midnight hour.
Illuminate all of the dark souls that roam at night,
For we are all souls living a human experience.

Strip me bare of this human skin,
Allow my soul to rise to the clouds.
I want to see what you see.
kate cc Sep 2018
Dark sky, pouring rain.
I felt the heat from my computer under my fingertips
The occasional flash of lightning, roar of thunder.
Little snores escaped from the lips of a furry creature sound asleep.
Pitter patter, pitter patter.
The clicking of keys spell the words of my heart.
Endless sentences, wondering where to start.
The ticking of the clock, waiting for midnight's arrival.
Tick tock, tick tock.
A paradise in between the lines.
A gorgeous place where no one can find.
Where the scent of sea water lingers in the air.
Dark sky, pouring rain.
One of my favourite things to do is midnight writing. Midnight is often the best time to get inspiration, wether it's writing poems or stories.
y'ay'a Sep 2018
i'm left to wonder;
if i call your name again
will you answer me?

if i yell your name
will i be met with silence,
or will you appear?

if i cry your name
will you soothe me like before,
or leave me to weep?

if your name happens
to claw its way from my throat
will you make me tea?

to ease this soreness?
to rid me of this anguish?
will you add honey?
Where I can not find sleep
Insomnia has found me
Where I can not find peace
Thoughts surround me
I am wrapped in a hardened bubble
An unbreakable shell
And I am ready to POP!

I feel like a human experiment
In a human cocoon of emotions
Please, I can not breathe
I can't think.... Anxiety has the best of me
I just want to dream ..

Dream of a place that has no limits
A place where I can breathe and not hear my exhale of doubt.
The exhale of a broken heart.
A place where I can fix broken things
Dear lord, what will it take too just feel complete?
After midnight the universe speaks.
It tells me to talk to lovely beings.

I look into the eyes of my feline to paint the prettiest opinion of me All I can see is a cluster of colors, blending beautifully
She creates a masterpiece of pure love
In her eyes, I find life's meaning.
It assures me and at that moment.....
I find sleep.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
The midnight air is filled with
fetid sewage
the city block houses
yards of gravel and broken bricks
decorated streets of graffiti and *****
roaches skitter across sidewalks

A homeless woman sleeps on the sidewalk
a hundred yards away from the lofts
where I am safe

And I think where did it go wrong?

You lie here every night
with a casted foot and crutches
covered with the remains of a blanket
wondering where the next meal hides

Do you beg or play the raccoon?

This city never slows
sirens howl to the light polluted sky
constantly
like a coyotes staccato bark

Cranes reach toward the heavens
with a question to ask God

Can we build to your home and charge a fee to view the gates?

The nightclub below full of drunks
or to be drunks,
bellowing for attention
before riding home with a stranger
and waking up to another mistake
of empty emotions

With a hunger for acceptance
one will venture out
with one of questionable honesty
if the drugs are cheap

And here I am
walking the ***** streets
at one in the morning
in this menagerie of a city
because I can’t

Sleep

absorbing the sights and the smell
of sick and disgust
but in the morning all will be

Different

The sun will hide the dark
the sky will add color
the homeless will be camouflaged
with the busy crowd
buildings will look alive
bustling with people
the crane will be building
looking for an answer

And I still will not be able to

Sleep.

**** this filthy city.

And yet, I wouldn’t call any other place home.
Oskar Erikson Aug 2018
“i knew it was a crime,
that i was
guilty of loving too hard.”
Ek Aug 2018
Once again I am lying
face down and lying
about whether I am truly crying
inside my heart that is dying

You're probably there and only smiling
not knowing what you're inspiring
as if you love my rhyming
not like you deserve a whining

I must convince her it is not normal
that this behavior is much informal
that it will only lead to her journal
being filled with feelings most immoral

Starry-eyed child listen
I know you hymn to his whistlin'
but don't believe in his fiction
even if he's your prison

Yet I only flock to your mock
After all, it's only small talk
but way past 12 O'clock
about your mind being stalk

A faint green glow keeps me awake
keeps me hoping for your daybreak
but all I receive is light ache
as midnight fails to reciprocate
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