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Filomena Apr 2
Worthless, worthless, says the preacher
Self-important, self-taught teacher

Worthless, worthless, says the buyer
Yet your price was never higher

You get it cheap, and start to boast
And then leave nothing for the host

But emperors are like their clothes
Their what and whether no-one knows

You take their treasure in your hand
And feel your fist is full of sand

You search for some security
See things become, but never be

Why seek to run a perfect race,
If past the sun is only space?

Would you rather face the end?
Or live to chase the wind?
Late 2018 - April 2022
My mother decided to take me to the doctor
she said, ‘something must be wrong with her,
she unlearned laughing, she unlearned smiling,
never leaves the house until the late evening’

And I think the sun should rather concern her.
Burning things don’t make good companions.
Took my bags and left my home town that night,
my eyes hurt from the condolences of sunlight.

Went back home in September, I surrendered,
had to promise to be good again and presentable.
Indifferent on life, did I suffer from depression?
It’s not been an illness but a philosophic decision.

One Sunday, it was quiet during breakfast time,  
somebody from town recently took their life.
Rised brows behind the newspaper’s edges,
secretly, I admire the courage and recklessness.

But I act eager and am polite with relatives,
at holiday occasions I behave and give kisses
until one proposes a toast to life being a gift.
I say nothing in exchange, I feel guilty to exist.

It all changes one day, when I find me a lover.
He sins for amusement while I sin to self punish.
I love that he’s mortal, of a perishable texture,
hope to be buried, rot with him in the graveyard.

We agree on senselessness without any pity,
he watches me fail life and thinks it’s poetic.
We can’t hurt since there’s nothing to heal from,
but this physical love that in essence is platonic.
Sandman Jan 16
People grow old
Like the withered roads they drive on
Like the houses who hold them while they dream
Forgetting their future one second at a time

The day after tomorrow
And the day before yesterday
Slipping away into distant worlds

People pretend to be people
Forgetting yesteryears memories
Who will be the last one standing

People wait nervously
For something that is nothing
For nothing that is something
Perpetuating endlessly
(Dreaming of black sheep)
A paradigm of calm insanity

People cry out into the dark
But only the soft ticking of clocks answers
Killing time with each inhale
Killing themselves with each exhale

In the end
The question is the same
On the hospital bed
Or on the battlefield
"What did I do to deserve this?"

Soil and flame pick apart the body
A ghost remains
The black sheep
Sarah Richardson Dec 2021
Don't allow yourself to close your eyes;
To sleep or rest, to look away.
You see, you know,
They all lied to you.

Existence;
Immersed in it's ambiguities.
Meaningless suffering,
Life is unjust.

Left behind.
Drowning in real
Refusing to ignore,
It's killing you.

It is all truly there,
It is all that there is.
Onerous to accept it.
You're creating a war with a reality
Who only seeks to destroy.

Nearly lost elation,  
Thoughts transmitted in times of joy,
Hope at times afforded.
Faint memories of it will linger,
Just try to hold on.

-

You think so highly of such a lowlife as yourself,
Or are you it?
Are you it?
Taylor Oct 2021
there are too many words
senses overloaded
saturated
bloated
with all these
words
words like magic
words like grinding teeth
digital words
spoken words
printed words
political
social
economic
comedic
influential
credible
ill-­informed
hateful
pretentious
all
*******
pointless
words scribbled drunkenly
on a wet bar napkin
to a woman who’s heard
way too many ******* words tonight
words that hide the vicious words buried inside
words like a traffic jam *******
there are only so many words
and we play them all on repeat
but everyone thinks
they
have
the
most
important
words
i barely want to write this
because I’m throwing more words
into this well of ceaseless chatter
but I guess my word for today is
irony
or maybe it’s hypocrite
who cares
it’s
all
just
words
This is probably the most divisive and ironic thing to post on a poetry site, but I haven’t written in a while and I needed to write something with teeth.
Inori Kimimoto Sep 2021
the meaning of an apology:
echoes of a thousand I’m Sorry’s;
the silence of deceit, its awful slink;
the humbled hope to atone,
to pay amends where due,
to mend the maimed,
and trust renew.

forgiveness is a sad word:
it bears the scar of a wound;
to forgive is to hope with hurt.
it is to trust in tide to wash ashore;
for in lack of trust and hope,
it is noble to sink with the ship.
it is bolder yet to hop asea,
and let tide be guide.

the parable of the builders:
the wiser built his house on  rock,
the rain came down,
the floods came,
the winds blew,
and beat on that house;
and it did not fall,
for it was founded on a rock

the foolish built his on sand,
the rain came down,
the floods came,
the winds blew,
and beat on that house;
and it fell — and great was its fall.

determination's downfall;
for, is a house still not a house
despite its foundation?
fortune's fortress looms;
our sandcastle holdfasts hampered in comparison,
but home is neither keep nor battlement,
neither moat nor bailey,
neither portcullis nor drawbridge;

home is where you touch the ground,
where you choose to grow...

the rain will retain its hiss;
but the rain is still the rain,
the floods remain the floods,
and the wind is just the wind.

~ Inori
After a long hiatus from writing to focus on my academic life, which currently is in shambles, I present my apology: an I'm sorry for allowing negativity, doubt and youthful ignorance to get me down to the point of barely functional soon-to-be drug addict ; an apology long overdue.

~ Inori
Ryan Apr 2021
13.8 billion years
spark, space, and dust
boiling ball of gas
cold dark rock
an impossible miracle
70 billion dead
7 billion alive

me
a crystal lattice
of chemical bonds
ups and downs
forever dissolving
into a pool of entropy

a small heart
trying to make sense of it all
where have i come from?
where will i go?
in the infinite nothing
who am i? how do i know?

in the void of my anxiety
i see your beaming eyes:
two perennial stars,
a breathing soul that feels
and i know
that if death is the end
if life is but an illusion
you, my friend, were real
When the complexity of life overwhelms my anxiety, this poem helps ground me into what, I believe, is most real.
venus cafe Apr 2021
why must i care
for a world so unforgiving
why must i be
when there is no point in living

the world pushes and pulls
with all of its might
never a happy ending
nearing my sight

so as a stand
at an intersection a few
tell me, world
what must i do

why need i
care oh so much
when a world of nothing
has me in its clutch

need i always put myself
in the way of harm
when apathy already
has me in its arms
Srikar Apr 2021
As the light seeps into the west,
And the Sun slumbers in to a rest,
Weary birds go out of sight,
The night, shy, comes from twilight.

The calm spilling over the pure,
With stars sprinkled on azure,
Come to light the puny lives,
Easy to miss, in the looming abyss.

Yet, Star-lit sky, through its heavenly rains,
Showers peace, on thoughtful plains.
Ecstatic nectar, flows from the moon,
as river of solace, by the hills of reason.
Like the stars, we are easy to miss on a cosmic scale. Our lives  have no intrinsic value nor purpose. We also are very close to "The abyss" implying death. Just like the vast darkness inundating the stars.
However, the star lit sky gives peace on people who think about this. Nihilism need not be depressing. It gives solace while staying reasonable, indicated by the river of solace by the hills of reason. The safe feeling is always bound by logic, not by faith or anything else.
KyleB Apr 2021
The rain clouds are dragged over by invisible winds
A storm. Raging, strong. Unstoppable
Shivering
Colder than ice, piercing through my body

The rain is wetting my eyes
The storm is controlling my heart

Defeated
Caught
Imprisoned
A world, a body
My cage

Strangers

The clouds my fog
Blind
Blocked
Drenched

The body is nothing but an empty vessel
Rats welcome
Making themselves home
Strangers
Hijacked
Nagging from the inside

Just a puppet
Only some skin and bones

It is a waste
I am
Everything is useless
Failure

This is irreversible pain
The body’s only filling.
Never. Ending.

Changes impossible
The inside is dead

Please help
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