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what do you call this?

this ******* void, this deep hole
dug up by us both in each other
i know you feel this too
we share this now, as we shared all else

my phone plays your favorite song
as i'm out for a run

cars on the road start moving faster and i'm thinking
if the hit would hurt less if i close my eyes

****** by this absence of you

this isn't love,
this is the feeling you get
after it leaves.

-melancholicreator
if you enjoyed please consider reposting to share with others. <3
Colm Aug 2019
Pain, no conscious name
Be known, but never the less
In present heaven
Tuesday 12 - You ever have a dream like that? One that you really don't want to wake up from, again and again? Lol. #recently
Hemlata Roy Aug 2019
They go on searching in Kingdom of happiness
Trying to find a place of
kindness.

When they realise that it is a barren field
Unexpected failures break their dream.

They are not searching for castle and king
But a crowd of dreams that they're loving .

Wearing a crown is not the only source of a beautiful smile
It is a strange heaven where nameless happiness lies.
'Strange heaven' one of the best poems written by me. It is my favourite poem.
Poetoftheway May 2019
she smells (nameless and shameless)


a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless

morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-a-little-closer-tasting for the summer solstice,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded

the first of the season red spot-stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are mostly gender identifiable

my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within, a ****** hallelujah,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt Nile of the basement waters

the burnt crumbs of illegal in-bed brioche toast
amazingly invisible on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed, was yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things (popcorn pieces)
is just a scratchiest fragrance too far,
needing a sheet wiped clean slate

even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
one of us makes a (vice) presidential declaration:

she smells, I man-ually stink, each,
each glower shower nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass aroma fresh cut,
to exhume and then send away
this odor now christened,


nameless and shameless


11:47 28/4/19
ogdiddynash Apr 2019
a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless

morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-on tasting for the summer coming,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded

the first of the season red stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are gender identifiable

my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt of the basement

the burnt crumbs of illegal brioche toast
hidden on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed,
is yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things is just a fragrance too far

even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
make a vice presidential declaration:

she smells, I manually stink, each, glower shower, nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass,
exhume and send away this odor now christened,

nameless and shameless


11:47 28/4/19
Penguin Poems Apr 2019
namelessly, I am a lighter.
used to ignite, and then ignored.
namelessly, I am a writer.
picking up a pen whenever I’m bored.
namelessly, I am a heater.
warming those around me in their darkest hour.
namelessly, I don’t work well either:
and sooner or later I’ll run out of power.
“Without your name, who are you?” -escapril prompt
Rue Mar 2019
I am her.
Yet, I am not.
I am the sun.
She was numb.
I am courageous.
She was nameless.
I am her.
Yet, I am not.
To my past me.
Luke Mar 2019
The sadness leers
Coming from with in
Hateful cry’s ring in your ears
How dark could these be, such  dreary sin

The light is now feeble
The demons come near
Nothing is as evil
Do not cry now dear

Look around you
The flames burn forever
You did not have a clue
You are not ready for this endeavor
I wrote this poem with mindset of Hell. I do not have a name for this poem...
Bonk Bonk Sir Jan 2019
A blank stare.
The soft rustle of long black hair
whipping in the wind.

Tear stained cheeks and red eyes,
a certain feeling of numbness that won't subside.
The sound of painful screams echoing in an empty mind
that is bustling inside all at the same time.  

Distant memories come back to haunt
while the good times have already been forgotten
as if they were some wild dream.

Upon looking at the calm water and being spritzed in sea spray,
most don't realize that the same crystal waters they are gazing upon
is part of the body that swallows up unsuspecting victims
and sent many to their graves.

The sun reflecting upon the clear water burns her eyes.
She jumps as a soft hand rests upon her shoulder.
It is a young boy,
An unfamiliar face that seems so innocent and so pure
that she feels she has known him all her life.
Then she remembers that she no longer has one.

The person she was,
the person that would smile and say hello
was long gone.
She died in that same sea long ago.

The boy asked her name but she only replied,
"I don't have one. Not anymore."

Upon seeing the confused look that had washed over the boy's face
and the curious gleam in his eyes,
she said,
"Names are for people with purpose,
for those who have someone to love
and a life to live
and a home to arrive to at the end of each day.
They are not for the broken.
They are for the people who are blissfully oblivious.
They are not for me."
And so she walked away,
her frail body becoming smaller with each step she took into the distance.
And the boy tried calling out to her,
but he couldn't.
For she had no name.
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