Finding love is to find unfamiliar beauty, noble and true,
pure in the eyesight, throughout duration before death,
a beauty that demands indulgence and conquers one’s
personal soul, their total being, consumed in every
pocket of essence. Stronger than the Devil. Oh lover,
I’m being torn apart beyond violent sobs in the corner
alone. In genius ways, it's like I’m being applied to evil
for when I’m cursed to be not around you. I vowed to
never write poetry again, if you accepted my hand.
Until then, I’m sure you’ll enjoy master of this world.
As the Devil runs riot and commits himself to his
own death, no longer able to rule earth.
That blinking line mocks me
I can not move forward
nor can I reverse back
I am cemented in this moment of ambiguity

That blinking line mocks me
I have an idea of a destination
but with no path to follow
So I stay at the beginning tormented by the possibilities

But that blinking lines mocks me
My mind is a chaotic storm of ifs wheres and whats
But I have a story that must be told
It has a start and I'm revving to go
My thoughts trying to get anything written down-if you didn't get it the blinking line is the cursor line on a computer
Sudipta Maity Mar 15
Turning page after page,
searching web to web.
Reading books and novels,
prose and poems.
For some metaphors -
those were never been used in history
to portray feminine beauty.
No, they haven't left any
not even a single one.
Now, how shall I capture those deer like coal jet black eyes with so deep and calm stare?
Then how shall I portray those earrings hanging like bunches of berry touching her fine jaw line?
Which seems to be drawn by some Renaissance artist.
How will I draw her lipwing of rose petals, flamed like scarlet wine?
And that smile beneath the cheeks just like the before sunrise.
Or her hair, flowing like waterfall down her shoulders same as rocky mountain.
Svode Nov 2017
These letters
placed onto this keyboard
are able to make art so beautiful
and novels so imaginative!
And this metal piece with keys on top,
can also make
More of a shitposty thing, still decided to share it because why not ;P
MollyValentine Oct 2017
The earth shatters again
and I,
believe too much in fate, I believe.
Quiet now, he walks in.
My Charlie Boy.

He is writing of me pretty words
an ugly girl, a whore
I love you so much I am worried it will be my demise,
My Good Charlie Boy.

I found the letters,
and I am not so bitter,
but Grey, he is.
Not Mine, are you, Charlie Boy?

My lust for the man.

Charlie died that night.
His beautiful bloody face,
the kindness of strangers far too profound
for they all said a gun was no way to go,
for my Dear Charlie Boy.
i miss you still, i think
Evelyn Smith Sep 2017
I keep telling myself to sleep it off and maybe these feelings will go away.
But I keep waking up in the night,
rolling to the left side of my bed and seeing that you're not there.

My hands within your hair is now where mine like to lay.
You're tangled in my sheets and I'm tangled in your arms.

I'll write you as the main character to my most recent novel so I can write us a romance before I ruin it.
Fawn eyes and caramel skin is all I want to see these days.
And I'll write myself as the hero because you have an ego you need to tame.

Can you handle me at my worst because you haven't even seen a glance of that yet.
I'm scared to get close to you in case I run away.
I'm a burden to myself, so I'll be a burden to you too.
Are you sure you really want to do this again?

I've got a dark past and darker thoughts,
you've got hidden emotions and a overwhelming front.
I've always prided myself for my way with words but when it comes to you my throat turns numb.

I've always wanted to date a writer,
but I'm not even dating you.
If we were, would you write about me?
Would you confess my insecurities onto a page,
could you turn them into something positive and re-write me again?

I'm scared to show you the real me but I can't seem to push you away.
As I raise my hands I find myself falling into you instead.
What are you doing to me?

I think I adore you.
I didn't expect this.
Sandoval Aug 2017
With Neruda, I fell in love with you.

It was so beautiful, I felt I had to close my eyes wide shut,

just to remember this was not a dream.

Then Hemingway came along, by then I was feeling a little lost in your eyes. Some days were good, some days were bad. Yet, I still held on.

But when I suddenly found myself with Bukowski on my nightstand.

Well, I knew then, baby, we were fucked. He brought me back to reality, and I understood at that moment, that we were finally done.

Now I don't read any of them, they remind me too much of you..

To Drew.
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