Drip drip drip
goes the tap
screaming fills the room
a rush of feet
the dripping continues
join us join us
echo the ghosts
of my grandmother’s past

Drip drip drip
It just won’t stop
Just as suddenly as it began
Screaming fades abruptly
entering softly
my hairs stand on end
haunting my dreams
for the rest of my nights

Drip drip drip
there she lies
hair white
mouth wide
a terrified look
frozen in her eyes
indelible is the sound of the tap
An old school poem, based on a Malorie Blackman ghost story by the same name.
Letting go of you
Was the hardest thing to do.
Today I found an old photograph of you.

It was before I broke your heart.
You were oblivious to feelings from the start.
But then, when I went away,
you were jealous within days,
of the life I began to create.

The picture was taken before another love caught my eye.
We connected and our old spark did die.
I can't help but cry.

I keep wondering if,
you hadn't hurt me,
Would my life be different?

In seconds you changed my life,
You drove me into the arms of another
And I was no longer to be your wife.

What was going through your mind?
I wonder and think about it all the time.
Dara 2d
You have seen many moons,
and still the chariot sleeps,
and though many suns,
it’s sleep is ever sweet.

For it rises for the fading,
the weak and moribund of those,
yet being young at heart,
your soul is not yet old.

And even when it wakes,
to gather all its prey,
It passes swiftly by,
for it knows not your name.

(written quite a while ago)
There's some joy in getting old.

Broken bones and snapping hips.

Wrinkled skin and falling hair.

Wasted days that aren't spent wasted;

Coughing lungs and swollen hands.

I've seen the seas of sorrow high.

I've loved and been loved by.

I saw a war and guilt and pain.

I've bled and cried and mourned again and again.

Now I have more years behind me than ahead.

I'll continue on living, but I'll still end-up dead.

There is little joy in getting old:

But it's still there,

and I'm still here.
Diya 2d
Our laughter grayed,
As both of our hearts separated.
Falling out in a complexly simple hate,
Where my 'Sorry' was castrated.

I apologized once,no,many times,
But Every time ,it was in vain.
That's how, gradually our friendship grimes,
With no hope to start again.

Today, I moved on,
Taking it as God's plan.
Those fun are long gone,
Remaining as a casket of mnemonic for my lifespan.
I believe, everything happens for a reason
Still long to act according to my way,
Although it is not possible...
Thanks for reading..
I like it old-school
receiving handwritten love letters with coffee stains on the paper
putting a music-mix together with songs that remind me of us
going on a simple yet lovely coffee date on a rainy day
watching the sunset together even if it's just out of your window
I know it's not your thing,
but I love stuff like that.
Ammar 3d
you're sitting so far away
telling me this and that
and I don't know what's true
and what's not
new or old ?
is there really someone new
did you really do this to go and do that
because darling if what I hear
is really true
then home has its doors closed for you

you tell me not to fck with you
and believe what I already know
that in the end its always me & you
but I really don't know anything anymore
and you aren't helping with your
mixed vibes
I've always known for a fact
that its you & me when all this is over
because I know what it feels like
to have found your soulmate
but is all this "new" talk really true
or is it more of your poetic bullcrap

and trust me I'm into neither
but I'd rather have a bitter pill
of truth and death
than one of life and fantasy

all I'm saying is
I'm no 3rd and 5th choice
no half-assed promise
no sugar coated lie
and you know me
and you know what I'm saying
even when I'm not saying it
because I don't got a this or a that
for me
its either this or its that
so stop with your mixed vibes
and tell me what is it
new or old?
and is it really true
Jeff S 3d
mea maxima culpa:

i am so much 
like a breadbox born.

bowing over time, as things do get

stale, my cracks christening
unwitting loaves with light

already risen.

i hear the newer ones 

come with their own condiments

and an irredeemable crust.

the bread, I mean. 

They don’t make we

breadboxes anymore.
Amanda 3d
Look at what you have done to me
And the things I've written
It seems to me you are the snake
I'm the one who's bitten

Your poison seeps around my words
Twists until they are burned
With my unhappy memories
The painful lessons that I've learned

The effect this has on me
Sinks right to the core
Now all because of you
I cannot write about love anymore
This is one from a loong time ago. There is no date so it has to be pre-2010 but I am surprised at how good it is
mk 4d
i thought you were the first; not the only. i thought being in love with you was how dating was supposed to work. i thought you felt this way about everyone you went on a date with. saying i love you a month into knowing each other, for me, was "normal". i thought love came and went with everyone with whom time was spent.

this wasn't the case.

i'm walking down the street with this new boy next to me and internally i'm groaning. he's rich as heck and sure he's not the best looking but he seems ok. he isn't boring but i'm so bored. he isn't annoying but i'm so annoyed. i don't want to be here, in a tesla in sunny california. i feel nothing for him and i don't want his lips on mine. his perfume smells good but i don't want him on my skin. i don't want him.

i don't want him.

he calls me in the middle of the night and asks if i want to go on an adventure. i love adventures. i love late nights under the stars when nothing is holding you back. i love being alive and feeling like life isn't over just yet. i tell him i'm tired. i go to bed. i sleep. i don't want to have an adventure with him because it feels forced and unnatural. i don't want to dance in the rain or smoke under the falling leaves. i don't want to hold his hand or talk to him about philosophy.

i don't love him.

i thought i'd fall in love with him or the other him or the one after him but heck, i'm not falling in love at all. these are just bodies with beautiful souls that do not connect to mine. perhaps i haven't given them the space to touch my heart, spirit, and mind. or perhaps me and you were a one-off. maybe you were the one for me. the one that got away. i could see myself marrying you. i always knew i could raise daughters, but with you, i could see myself raising a son.

where do i go from here?

when i think of home i think of you standing by the bed with your pajama pants on. i think of my curly hair and bare legs. i think of your oversized shirts and my pink tanktop. i think of the mundane things that felt like heaven. home is your new haircut. home is your old shoes. home is laying in your lap. home is you.
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