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Anna Oct 2021
Another day.
Another week.
Another month.
Another year.
I fear the speed of time.
I fear that as the days blur into weeks, and the weeks blur into months and the months into years… that I will lose all knowledge of who I am, and why I am here.
Time doesn’t stop.
Time doesn’t slow.
It just continues on.
Time continues on with no care.
Time doesn’t see who it hurts and who it leaves behind.
Time just simply fades from days,
to weeks,
to months,
and to years.
I fear Time, but not because of its power, no, but because of its speed, and it’s carelessness.
Everything that Time touches withers away.
Every movement it makes is reckless.
Time is not graceful.
Time is not kind.
Time is a vengeful, and angry God.
Time does not care or love.
Time continues on.
I fear that before I know it, Time will take me.
Can you here the ticking of the clock?
Can you feel the breeze as Time rushes past you, pushing you further away from what you once knew?
Days turn into weeks.
Weeks into months,
And months into years.
This is everything I fear.
monique ezeh Jul 2021
You used to say my eyes were beautiful right before
splitting me open, groin to gullet.

(Do you still think I’m pretty, baby? Don’t you wanna tell me how
sober I look? Don’t you miss my mouth?)

Eyes wide shut, I watched April disappear in a
blur of bite-sized catatonia.

(Tell me how good I feel. Don’t you miss my blood
on your sheets? Pin my arms back, baby, just for old time’s sake.)

The last time I saw you, you avoided my gaze.
I was lucid for that much.

(Oh, I know you can’t help yourself, baby.)

Tell me again how beautiful my eyes are, love.
We both know how much I like it rough.
april showers or whatever they say
maria Mar 2021
I, no more
count years
in new year's eve,
I, count years
in birthdays,
your birthdays.
Not speaking for months,
a happy birthday
and a new roller coaster
Written on March 04, 2021
© ,Maria
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
The cold hands of January
grasp at February’s promise,
the warmth of March
always just out of reach.

You rub my shoulders,
kiss away the ache
as April continues her rain
over gentle, submissive May.

We sing the song of the whippoorwill,
its haunting anthem spilling
out across the valley floor
when June gives in to July

and August crowns the summer sky.
September will leave
when the colors bleed,
October betrayed by the coming frost.

What will you do
when November comes,
when ice and pain
move in to claim my breath?

Comfort me.
Smile with me.
Lie to me.
Tell me there is no December.
Abhishek kumar Dec 2020
Day and night
Night and day
Keep on going
It's just been two days

Count in weeks.
Why not months ?
Because it's been long....
Since we last talked
This is me trying to count,for how long we are continuously not talking
Past Nov 2020
Winter’s early months,
Carries a solemn sound,
Paired bitter fragrance,
Filled the vacant soul,
Think soley of biting frosts.

Winter’s middle months,
Assemble a bird’s tune,
Matching candied scents,
Known of lining mind,
Broods of woeful age.

Winter’s late months,
Carts a vivid air,
Coupled **** savored,
Divines the untold echo,
Fashions a taper edge.
Natasha Aug 2020
I met you in September
When the leaves were just tempted to change
I met you in September
When the earth felt like autumn in the rain
I met you in September
3 months shy of my birthday
I met you in September
apart from headache or drama
I met you in September
listening to Frank, Kendrick and Lana.

I met you in September
and so I say it clear
I only met you in September
because it's my favourite month of the year.
I met someone, but not in September. It was actually in July 2 years ago.
Savio Fonseca Jul 2020
Last Night, I cried My Tears.
On this Pillow of Mine.
Remembering My Woman,
whose Virtues were Divine.
A Classy Woman,
with Mystical Powers.
She was the only Rose,
in My Garden of Flowers.
She walked in My Shoes,
to share all My Tears.
As the Months passed by,
so flew the Years.
How much I Miss,
this last Love of Mine.
I'm Drowning My Sorrows,
on a Bottle of Wine.
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