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Dev Apr 2018
(let me)        in
I write to feel sane
weird structure, weird overall.

I'm so **** tired and i can't even sleep
Delta Swingline Apr 2017
Here's to hoping that day 2 actually happens this time.

I'll throw up an "Amen" because I need it and because I want it.

So just...

Hear me.
Going to church for the first time in 2 or 3 weeks. The 3rd time I've tried sticking to a church. Hopefully I actually stick with it this time.
Delta Swingline Mar 2017
I have never felt so sick in my life.

Eating feels like a necessary torture, and sleep feels like an unwanted evil.
Stuck in the same cycle of waking up feeling disgusting, and not wanting to sleep because the longer I stay awake, the better I feel.

But even I can't stay awake forever.

But I try, God knows I try.

So I still live in these infected clothes in this infected house and I can't help but wonder where the hell my conscience went.

I feel weak every single day, and I can only hope that this week...

Can change everything.

So if I'm crying out to the TV watchers and the music citizens. To my best friends... some of which who won't even talk to me...

Help me.

I can't wake up tomorrow thinking that this will not pass us by like the sickness it is.

Or was...

But if somebody else is crying out, I will drop this sickness like a ton of bricks and run to wherever they are.

I won't feel sick if somebody needs me there.

So I can put a lock on the medicine cabinet. Not because I won't be able to pry myself away from it, but because I will believe with the entirety of my whole body that I don't need anything.

My family is made up of some of the strongest people on this planet.

I will not be an exception by any means.

So maybe I can wake up as a medical zombie, filled with my own drop dead weight.

I am tired.

But not tired enough.

Unlike the first wave of sick.
This one cannot be cured by any amount of overdue sleep.

Why do you think I write into the abyss of every night?

Because there is nothing more for me to gain from saying that I am helpless.

So I won't...

Wake me up when it's all over.

And then I can live again.
Time to live like you have something to gain.
Edward Coles Jan 2017
Long divorced from love,
owned three guitars
and slept with nine women.
Remembers every song,
every poem,
scarcely recalls their faces;
lilt of their tongue
as sleep took hold of them-
not him.

Trigger finger over the snapshot
through each baulk and ****** of passion:
"this is the poem, this is the verse
I can lay down in print
and finally live again."

Night sky too full of uncertainty.
Cannot observe a desert scene
without a commentary
on each unanswered question.
She is dressed in sequins
but what for the spaces in between?
He cannot accept filler,
blank spaces that intercede
moments of ineffable beauty.

Maddening crowds emerge,
bright-eyed and stupid
to each early, pink noise morning.
He awakes, drugged to the eyeballs,
slow to movement; formulation of words.

Each night a battle of sobriety
as the sun does bleed
in the skyline before him.
Each night a generation dies,
subtle points of light
lost in the noise of the modern day.
Screams pointlessly, without need:
"don't forget me, don't forget me..."
would rather leave a scar

than no mark at all.
Lives for the colours
he cannot see, for the common thread
that connects everything.
Tweaks the string of each broken seam

to expose each diversity,
each personal loss
as a collective sigh;
every sleepless night
as an off-white lullaby.
Born for collision
beneath a dying star,
long divorced from love;
he is married to art.
C
NeroameeAlucard Nov 2015
Don't read this
I warn you
You might be able to relate too well to this

Huh still here are you
Alright I guess I'll have to go on then
My friend, my advice is simple

Never date a poet

Unless you want to be endlessly romanticized
To be able too see nothing but a torn form of affection for you and writing in the eyes

If you don't want the burden of being a never ceasing muse
Being paired with someone who's hearts taken all kinds of abuse

And if you abhor not talking, but constant wordings about what's truly on the brain
Then for the love of God don't do it,  it'll drive you insane

So please, unless you want these things and aren't afraid to show it.

Then don't,  Just don't date a poet
"How do you keep so unattatched?"*

What do you mean?
I hear this question so much.
I guess you just dont see.

I'm not holding back
Or doing anything
I just don't know how
To hold onto anything

I never had a home
Or any long term friends
Letting go is manditory
Everything ends

This isn't a good thing
I don't know how to love
Don't try to be me
It hurts. It's numb

I'd rather be attatched
Sown at the hip
Helplessly heartbroken
Longing for your lips

Instead i despise you
For latching on so tight
I just want to run
I know that isn't right

So don't ask me that again
There's no special trick
If i could love i would
If only i could stick
An explanation

— The End —