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nora Jul 2017
I go about my mornings
covered in the fog of my paranoia
drenched in the rain of my worries
enveloped in the snow of my bitter cold thoughts.
(strained by the sun
aching for the moon)
Contemplating staying put and doing nothing at all
(That sounds good to me)
I pick up my morning coffee
(Old habits don't die without a fight, I’ve grown to know)
I’m fine for a few hours
The fog slowly dissipates
The putrid smell of rain still lingers on my skin
The snow melting into a warm dampness in my mind
(an uncomfortably familiar feeling)
sticking to the hard to reach surfaces.
My day drudges forward, with ease.
(not for long)
-------------------
By noon time the fog circles back
I’m instantly freezing.
The sun is playing tricks on me
telling my body I’m in imminent danger.
She hides away beyond the fog, like a coward
taking no prisoners.
silently applauding herself for she, again, successfully,
burns me.
-------------------
By mid-day she's on a rampage
forcing me back into the storm,
I’m drowned out by the rain
(I fear him most of all)
(he reminds me of nothing but my deepest fears)
Loneliness
Bitterness
Happiness
Weakness
They capture me and hold me tight.
I’m stuck.
---------------------
By evening time
I try to level with her.
I’m choking on the thick fog. It’s taking over.
I’m shaking now.
(I can’t breath, I’m going to die)
I start to calm down, with no warning.
All of a sudden, the air enters my lungs again.
The sun, still kind, in her light, asks for forgiveness.
I grant her none.
The moon suddenly rears her beautiful head.
“Darling” she caresses my cheeks.
I instantly ease into the touch.
Able to breath, with the sun out of sight,
I take myself in.
I’m broken, tormented, tired, lost, but alive.
(by night fall I am at ease with my inconsolable world.)
I decide to sleep it off.
Ryan Holden Jun 2017
Town hall bells ring
Vibrating my skin awake,
Birds whistle my ears into
The new harmonic day,
Grass-cutters chop my dreams
Short.

My dog licks my tired eyes open
Soaking them with love,
Fresh coffee tingles my senses
As caffeine runs through my veins,
Counting grains of sugar instead of
Counting my parking allowance.

Despite my lack of sleep,
Baggy eyes and aching bones,
I still miss my Sunday mornings
When even what seems like mayhem,
Is sweet tranquility.
Niklaus Jun 2017
The sunlight creeps as the dawn withers slowly at five.
Today, it seems warmer
but the winds were a bit colder
than yesterday.

The world's first ever clock
was the chirping of the birds
That flutter gracefully to the sky.

and once it began to sing,
humans slowly return
from their slumber;
opening their eyes
to welcome another day.

Good Morning, Saturday.
He yawned.
George Anthony May 2017
i'm at that point
where death is an embrace
and i crave that cold love,
but the birds are singing
their beautiful song
and it's nearly five am.

i wanna go outside
and be with them,
listen more closely
in the chill of early morning
as i pretend
it never crossed my mind:
one hundred ways to die.

they pause
and i frown against tears

please sing for me again
because i,
i don't know how to live
and your song keeps me
dreaming, of freedom
and escape
from Death's cold embrace

don't let me
stop to think
of how warm cold love might be;
do not let me
wonder about the way
Death loves me

i'm at that point
where death is an embrace
and i crave that cold love,
but the birds stopped singing
their beautiful song
and it's nearly five am.

my loved ones' dependency
is the only thing left
for me to cling on

my life: a responsibility.
good thing i'm responsible.

04:59
i'm waiting for number five

...

05:00
Madison Greene May 2017
every morning like paradise
and heaven doesn't seem so far away with you
euphoria is your tan skin against mine
& there are one million thoughts in my mind
all connecting back to how to hold onto this moment
I know tomorrow we'll be strangers once again
please just hold me for today
13 May 2017
We all want certain things to last forever.

An un-cupped delight in a crowded bus—Spirit of fury rendering you unstoppable—A flash of lightning in your step—A loving embrace—The ocean air—Admiration, unchecked—The fall with no end.
Breakfast… Certain things….

She told me that she liked the way my lips used to taste.
They’re alive now, sadly.
I guess I’m just missing death.
Posted on May 9, 2015
b e mccomb Apr 2017
it's that kind of morning
you know the type
where you leave your
eyeliner wings crooked
and spend the time you
would have wasted to fix them
sitting on the bathroom floor
feeling sorry for yourself

(i can't distinguish between
what i say and what
i mean and apparently
neither can anyone else)


there's a gallon of
grandmother's bleach
next to my feet but it
has 9,000 calories of
pure sodium per cup
and i'm on a diet

(see i could say i was
just making a funny joke
but there's nothing funny
about that joke)


iwishiwasaperson
iwishiwasaperson
butimnotaperson
butimno­tbulletproof

(are people bulletproof
or is it just their hearts?)


guess all that's left to do is
cry if i've lost what wasn't mine
yoga in the middle of the night
showers in the afternoons
and laugh if i'm still a believer
in second chances (circa 2002)
anyone else remember the jonah movie? let's just hope the caterpillar worm guy got his message through to me.
Copyright 4/15/17 by B. E. McComb
Stay forever
Between the sheets of my bed
With the sun drawing on your face
Your favorite pajama top
And my hands bringing you to my soul.
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