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Still Crazy Jul 27
them creaky noises:

years ago wrote of meandering this old house,
in the creaky hours of-should-be-sleeping,
listening to the varietals of noises old houses speaking,
how the floorboards talk among themselves when
no human about to trod them, to elicit their groaning,
solicit their tales of who, when and memorizing the ending,

I wander same as before, same house, same wee hours,
no direction home, as I am technically “at home,” but still
directionless, still crazy after all these years, but that’s not
the only still, still left unheard, now new creaks demand a

the house
still talks to me in its language peculiar, but now,
my body, of its own free will, in its poetry of groans in bones,
creaking, two dialects of getting old, always being cold,
sleeping with your socks on, your twisty back named Jack,
who hijacked your invincible good health and getting up is a
hysterical funny musical of snap, crackle and pop, coming from
places inside your body, that supposedly don’t posses the skill of

kept awake by a united nations assembly of them creaky noises,
whirring motors turning me and things on and off all night, what
a racket, only early dawn calls them to order, to quiet down please,
everybody shush, the old house and it’s content, an old poet, needing
some winks cause soon enough the sun and the fog will arrive to
commandeer his overnight recollections, write them up, & write them
down, still crazy

like the one about them creaky-sounds, coming-from god-knows
CJ Feb 5
I will not lie
Every year on this very day
the more I want to die
but is the voices that keep me alive

On this day
I'm expected to be happy
as everybody wishes me
But I've always felt empty

Nothing has changed
Every year is the same
From the silence in my room
to the noises in my brain

My wish for every year
will never be different
whether or not I could be happier
Then the previous birthday
Will I ever be happier on my birthday?
Am I selfish to just wish to be happy?
Chandler Ames May 2019
it              doesn't      
      make                                sense      to
put                space          between       my
            words           so                       why
do                   we             live         this          
       way                instead        of

abiding, living together in community
Anya Apr 2019
Rap music, discernible except for when the rumble and bumps of the jumping wheels takes over
But still subordinate compared to the twitters, chattering away
The scent of chicken wafts over from the seat across the isle (mind you I’m a vegetarian)
The seat head vibrating my head, thumping the same spot
From rap to pop, voice like a silky cord, winding, winding, grating
Piano back to rap
Head bends and peers, teases, smiles, the turtle returns back into the shell
Phones, phones, busy busy bees those thumbs
Back squished, precarious water bottle about to-HORN
Blasts, the wheels jump, and I’m gone with the sway
My **** falls, my body shakes, the chatters, the charters, the laughs, the shrieks
I’m swept up, I’m swept up
And washed away
We’re here
Whisperer Mar 2019
As a child everyone was scared of the monster under the bed
That made snarky and rattling noises just when we're about to sleep
I was scared too

But then we grew up
And realized that it's all a myth

We got our heart broken
Shattered beyond repair
We got our self -esteem splintered

Soon we stopped sleeping at night
Like earlier times
But this time the monster that made noise
Was inside...
The monster underneath our skin
Eurus Nov 2018
I closed my eyes
Focusing on every noise around.
Heard some heartbeats I first thought were mine.
Now I close my eyes and softly fall in love
With the way I remembered you,
Your body,
Your soul,
And all.
That made the difference.
Skye Nov 2018
the sun shone brightly overhead
the noises buzzed all through the day
and i was alone
in miseries
in pain
in the dark
i was all alone

wishing you had been the one to end everything.
but im still here so-
Anya Sep 2018
The insect’s trills
Louder than ever
What would happen,
If we noticed
All those things that tend to pass us by
Madness perhaps?
The storm flashes white strobe lights
illuminating the soppy landscape
Thunder rolls the hills
crying in loneliness

Alone tucked under the constant strumming of grandfather clock
I am burdened
Weighted down by tornado thoughts
swirling twisters in and out

There is a haunting silence that slices,
in between the booms of night's tantrum
a silence so thin,
the cracks in the hardwood whisper low
They speak of chilling steps lead by ghosts
of wandering hopes, gypsy breaths and thoughts untold

The fire shrinks, flames frightened by the storm
the lights flicker, electrical surges spark
skin crawling fear inches closer
wrapping it's claw up my back

Panic comes with each heave of air,
the silence hovers like spirits crossed over
my eyes wander the four walls, pained in glass
anticipating the boom
The sudden strike that fills empty room
lighting shattered
Thunderstorms conjure ghostly thoughts
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
What was that noise stirring in the darkness of my room?
Is that a voice?
Or maybe it's just my mind?
Morphing the sound of the fan into mumbling whispers.
Shadows becoming my bottled up fears.
Distant screams from the past.
Leaving me troubled,
and alone.
And as the flashes of light subside,
and the sounds are covered by the chirping of summer birds,
I'll forget my terrors of the night.
Forget the vision caused by my rotten imaginations.
Forget the scent of carrion pouring out of my head.
Maybe it's just my rotten imagination
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