Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
apayne Sep 2020
waiting for the bus, always late, to carry me home  
   waiting for that shiny new tech-heavy device to arrive
      waiting for service when I’ve already been ignored twice
         waiting in line to pay for my overpriced vegan groceries
            waiting for the doctor who simply repeats WebMD told me
               waiting for the Wi-Fi to take only to have it disconnect 15 minutes later
                  waiting for payday when there's only Kraft singles and jam in the fridge
                      waiting for Spring like my bones aren’t already frozen and burst
                         waiting for inspiration like muse has 24-hour shipping
                            waiting for salvation when the devil’s
fork is already in my back


               But
Most of all
              
                                    I’m
                                       Tired
                                          Of
                                             Waiting
                                                For You
Sasha Sep 2020
I'm bored
You are giving all you got
The moves
The tricks

I'm looking for things
That I can count
Some lines
Some dots

You turn around
Now I'm on top
I need to fake some effort

I'm bored
I'm out
Osii Sep 2020
I know that you're gonna leave me in time

what I only wanted's for you to be mine
it didn't last long but atleast we had fun
And I guess I just flew to close to the sun

I know that you're gonna leave me in time

So if you're going then go leave me behind
Don't leave sweet texts for me to discover

Cuz if you do then I won't know if our relationship's over.
Time takes away the things we love most.
Blind Pathos Sep 2020
Van Gogh’s ear sings tales all night
Soulful moaning over mind’s eye sight

Antagonize the heart and turn the eye
A visitor to the heart or passing by

From this spring that we all drink
What whispers all the thoughts we think

Lunatic genius with eyes turned in
Tell me where my mind has been

A freighting tether is shelter and cage
Where the writer’s pen touches page

Ink’s fossil trail bleeding from my pen
A history of where my heart has been

To go and not say in doing so
Beyond this point no words can go

With feet of clay and hand to chalk
I’ve come to hear Van Gogh’s ear talk
There is a moment just before an idea, it's origin. The magic of the written word is a spark that comes before the writing, up stream, unknown, untamed, shear new. I would follow the path to the origin and bring back great treasures. I have been lost many times, but what else is there to do?
annh Aug 2020
She offered to walk in my shoes, but hadn’t factored in the soul-destroying task of having to bend over and tie the laces every morning.
‘We're all kind of weird and twisted and drowning.’
- Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
Ingram Aug 2020
Uncensored thoughts
Bleed from my pen
as your name marks the paper
yet again.
Next page