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Your hands and knees
hit the floor

with your head to the ground
you let out a blood curling scream

leaving goosebumps on my body
and my eyes wide open

“Deja de llorar”
Slips from my mouth and into your ears

“La luz de mi vida ya no brilla,
mi piel arrugada y fea,
mi cuerpo ya está cansado,
como puedes decir
“Deja de llorar”

My head jerks back
and my arms fall by my side

“Deja de llorar”
Slips from my mouth once more

But this time i’m saying it to myself
The realization that your mother is growing old is terrifying and that you can't do anything to stop it, is what inspired me to write this. (Even though my mother passed away a while ago, i've seen my aunt grow old and I feel like it can be applied.)
Anger, agony, and a
Crass chaos curtained by
Belies a bruised being
An "I'm not really okay" stare
But I'm not really "all there" so who cares?
Echoes die at the end of the tunnel, no matter how loudly you scream "I love you"
The corpses in my mind of lovers who left reminds me that they just knew better
So why don't I?
This is my diary where I die every day
Distant, dark, brooding
Bitter over what I couldn't have
Like swallowing sand


this doesn't help any more
//on her, all of them, everything, and ultimately nothing//
Dallas Oct 6
nothing is making sense at the moment.
i know two things
I. i miss you.
why? i know but i cant find the words to properly explain.
when? when did it start?
did it ever stop?
II. you were the first person I ever loved.
we drift
but we keep pulling back together
a gut feeling
the rest is a mystery.
really hoping its not just because of the old history
i hope you dont have the link to my writing anymore
Jack Jenkins Oct 6
my heart will always hold you
though my arms cannot
your name is on my every breath
whispered to the dark as i fall asleep
& i pray your spirit haunts my dreams
for i miss you eternally
you are the words of my muse
darkness & light of my heart
window of your soul pierces me
azure tranquility
punctuated by storm-wrought walls
oh how i miss you so
//on her, yet again//
I don't like anything new,
& I'm sick of everything I'm used to.
Sometimes thrive for something different
yet get bored of it in an instant.
Trying to hold on to what I already have
still, getting ******* at the same routine!
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 9/27/2019

You are the Sisyphus of the modern world,
you try to move the boulder in the streets
narrow and winding, but it's so heavy,
and getting heavier on the scale of passing time,
you are getting older and older after every midnight,
so your figure - becomes angular,
and the cobble-****** street - trodden and slippery;
and the gutter has overgrown from all kind of the sewage
- you have scratches that don't want to heal,
the cataract has crept into worn-out eyes.

Youth has betrayed you, but not only you
- you'll get a wreath at the big funeral.

Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 12/4/2018
Ken Pepiton Oct 3
oh, now listen, to that blues man, singin' prayer
singin' words in ways we never
hoid woids sung thisaway, since Grandma on th Bayou,
me, to Mr. Jake,
Now mister jake, he was old country, old school

He settle a passle of flybit cows with a croon,
aimed right at the moon,
top o' his lungs, knowin'

I am the only voice I hear, my prayers
never bounce,
they soak down

may you arrive, said Mr. Jake
where you wisht you were, when we

learned of life in Louisiana from an old Siclilian
fisher man cook, who knew of
Tavasco Inlet, to Bayou Bleu,
the real
you can feel black mud from the top of
the river, carried all this way,
to squish between my toes,

so I never fo'got toejam spreader was a
occupying principle behind any
search for pearls
once fed to pigs.
Mr. Jake taught me to think these muddy
with my toes, wigglin',
feel a nibblin'
hook, what do you know?
A thought while wondering if prayer is more the unwritten poetry blowing on breezes that sometimes feel like care-touch, figertip to cheek
Yes, I'm 65, now elderly,
That's the term, officially,
One day, shopped locally,
Bought a lotto, luckily?
Someone wins tonight, says she,
Dear God, why can't it be me?
Yes, yes, this lotto is lucky,
Wait for the draw, breathlessly,
Anticipate now I am elderly,
Old folk can be winners too, says she,
This is going to be my lucky night,
If I win, I can sort the bill for the light,
Getting old is not for hissy fits,
Come on, lotto, let's have a bit!
Feedback welcome.
When did I get so old?
Too old to kiss my mom on the lips??
Too old to tell my sister I love her???
Too old to even hug her????
When did I get so old?????
So old my back kills me??????
So old my knees buckle???????
So old I’m losing my thoughts,
As if my cards are constantly being shuffled.
Why did I have to grow?
Kellin Sep 26
Adulthood will sink into my skin
it will decay my bones to sand
it will ease the memories from my head
it will make me feel dead
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