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Brendann Apr 7
The creaking boards, leading to the endless fog

The smell of salt

The crack of the waves, seem like a distant memory

The only noise comes from the boards and the birds

The smoke, white as snow, consumes me as I near the end of the peer



I could only stand and stare
I wrote this in 2019. It was really smokey from the forest fires and I took my motorcycle on a ride to the beach. I walked down the pier, sat down in the smoke, and wrote this. It was so peaceful.
siix sense Mar 4
And I know you don't want another friend,
Said you weren't ******' with my guys again,
And now you're all up on me it's all lies ye,
But it don't bother me cause you're all mine ye...
(x2)

It's taken so long just to have you on my own,
So won't you come here to the side,
Ye I'll talk it up but **** it times runnin' out,
So I'll have to give it up ye...
We-both-know we'll fall in love,
I catch you in your eye,
You've been on it so long,
Got me feelin' so high,
Got me feelin' so whole,
Girl you stole my heart,
Bet you wanna go low cause...

And I know you don't want another friend,
Said you weren't ******' with my guys again,
And now you're all up on me it's all lies ye,
But it don't bother me cause you're all mine ye...
riri Nov 2020
She liked sweatpants, just like her mother did
She wore them her whole life
She told him how much she hated when people tried taking them
They always tried stealing them

He stained the sweatpants though
Her favorite sweatpants
The one she waited months for to get
She tried not to think much of it

Then he stole her sweatpants
She didn't get why
She made it so clear of how much she disliked when people did that
But he did it anyways

Why couldn't he ask?
It was just a simple question
It was what she held on to the most
He took it away

She misses those sweatpants
She misses how it felt when she did have them
Her favorite sweatpants she wore her whole life was gone forever
And there was nothing she could do to get it back
The damage is irreversible
Alek Mielnikow Nov 2020
Is that danger in the distance?
Or do my eyes deceive?

****.

Like dark clouds
gathering above mountains.
Like how the young see their futures.

(Though it's not like the world hasn't been ending
this entire time.

In billions of years the sun will explode.
In hundreds, our planet will be just dust and stone,
and the bones of industry.
And at my rate
I'll self-destruct by sixty years of age.

But) what is this thing that sticks and stings
and irks
like a mirage?

Not the flavor of fingers dipped in deliciousness.
Not the freshness of a newborn babe.
Not the scent of flowers.
Not feet in a hot bath.
Not fumbling a lovers face,
frolicking through foxglove fields,
flitting a fiery frevo,
finishing first.

No,
none of that.

It's not a thing,
but a feeling.

Fear
Fear
Fear

And it sticks and stings
and irks,
like a mirage.

-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
I have returned.

Make sure to follow my profile to keep up with my new works. For extras, please check out my Instagram, @alekthepoet
Norman Crane Oct 2020
Not all light has a source. Some streets travel
in freight cars city to city to be
extra-urbanistically unravelled,
oppidan rugs unrolled for you and me,
Only upon close inspection we see
that the perspective lines fail to meet,
A top shadow has spilled. Tread carefully,
Although a flag blows, the street is empty,
What lives in all these abandoned buildings?
you may ask but no one will answer. I
wander here searching for who pulls the strings
of this, our cleverly falsified world,
But quick look now how the light breaks the rules,
They already roll up the street—the fools!
Inspired by Chirico's painting of the same name from 1914.
Jay M May 2020
How can this be
"Happy birthday" to me
When anxiety and fear
Has been so near
And now finally upon me?

It feels as though there is something to flee
But what, I know not
Possibly just a passing thought
That this day was so ominous
The potential for darkness
But all that lingers is confusion
Were my anxieties but an illusion?

Wishes to me from those around
But I can only hear one sound
A heartbeat
Then the patter of feet
Upon the hardwood floor
A knocking at the door
"Happy birthday to you!"
Everywhere I turn
But it's anything but-

It feels as though I'm being suffocated
Drowned out and forced down
Into a seat
In front of a small burning heat
Just to listen to them sing
While I sweat a ring
Then extinguish it
Have a bit
Of the sweet below it

Smile for the camera
Watch them as they smother you
Tell you what to say and do
Some say the
Best things come in time
Say a little rhyme
Until the day comes to an end.

- Jay M
May 7th, 2020
I don't know why, but I've been fearing this day since Monday. It just felt so...ominous. Now that it's upon me, I don't know what to do. All I want is a peaceful day, maybe talk to some friends over the phone, and go for a nice walk.
Emma Apr 2020
You feel the burning within, no?
The festering of your morality?
There is nothing so infinitesimal as the meaning of your existence.
But don’t despair, child.
Fear is a construct of your own mind.
Will you conquer it? Or will you die like a dog?
Better to leave this world covered in blood than in tears.
Smear your shame on a canvas and call it art
When we all know that you cannot capitalize on your suffering
But I ask, do not stop
Watching you walk the fine line between reason and madness is tantalizing

I know you hate me, love.
I can feel your anger seethe from your body and ooze out of every pore.
Your mind rots from the fermenting emotions inside.
You want to carve me open.
Watch wine spill on the floor, coating everything in a sickly shade of red.
Shatter the glasses and pierce your skin
Blood is so bright, a stark contrast to the black and white nature of our vision
Splatter the walls in red, just to have something organic decorating your walls
Show the world the artist you are
Paint your face in your medium
Pick up your brush
Tears in your eyes, blurring your view
Can you finish the task?
Will you survive outside of this world?
Can you escape your own decay?

But it is getting late.
The sun is setting on many things, and you don’t have much time.
You cannot **** me in any way that matters, so stop trying.
I will always be with you.
A guide. Mapping the void for you.
So do not fret, dear.
Your soul will be dealt with the hour is right.
No god can save you from the fate I have in store for you.
Bad Luck Feb 2013
The rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.

                       “ Rain drops heavier than water,
                           When it’s laden with doubt.

He said,
                       “ The ground simply can’t hold it
                                     … So it must go without.


               ” You’ve never known water to stain,
                  But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
                  It’s thicker than your skin.
                  It stains your clothes and what’s within.
                  It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
                 And yet, the ground won’t let it in.

          So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
          It runs like a force that knows no remorse.
                     Despite endless efforts to stop it -
                     It still runs like a faucet…
                                        With nowhere to drain. "


But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
               Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
               Will the other remain?


For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
                              They hopelessly persist.
As complements, they combine
                        With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
                        Has the consistency of blood.

There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses, instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
             for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave:

               “ I wish you luck where you are going.
                   My son, you’ve only seen the rain . . .
                    . . . The winds are not yet blowing
.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Serendipity Dec 2019
There is something
so ominous
about
her iridescence.
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