Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
If only our brains were lobotomized,
So we could spend our lives
cuddling all night,
without the weight of worry.
No more missed calls from mom,
just sleep and your arms
kissing you,
laying down into an eternal calm.

I remember the panic in our eyes,
How we looked to the window
When the police lights
danced furiously on the walls
A car’s reflection pulling us
to the great fear of getting caught.
The shade bled red,
and the misery wore blue.

You said,
"I just gotta be sure."
Well, I do too.
But who doesn’t want to know for certain
before they think they found the one?
Are we still meant to be
if we don’t feel that certainty
deep down?

I guess it was confusion
that made me cry.
The echo after our last kiss—
a quiet ache,
like knowing
it may never happen again.
The way your warmth
became a memory
before it even left the room.

You said,
"I just gotta be sure."
Well, I do too.
But maybe it was already fading
in the silence that grew.
Maybe love was the question
neither of us ever knew.

If only you loved me as deeply as i did
so we could sleep through the night again,
Before i saw your greed
without ever worrying.
But it was your heart
That started to lobotimize
That wanted just to be loved, not love
I could sense all of it
Deep and well in your absence
Who have you been touching in your silence?

That time you started to reply late.
That time I gave up sending the first message.
That time you never reached out.
That time I realized how many lies you'd been telling.
That time I blocked you from everywhere back to back
That time I wondered if you tried to text back.
That time I went on a new date.
That time I dumped our pictures and your gifts with a chest wrenching ache.
That time i saw under your mask, your real face.
That time our memories started to fade.
That time I started to forget your face...
Maryann I Jun 6
you touched my cheek
as the sun melted into its grave
and I swear the clouds wept,
bleeding copper and violet

your voice—
a frayed lullaby
threading through
my breaking

the world
slowed to an ache
and in that hush,
even the wind knelt

you smiled
like it wouldn’t be the last
but I saw the sky
forget how to breathe.
David Fesenco Mar 18
You've left me torn.
Now, that you're finished,
you've left me tarnished.

I hear no more

greetings in English,
just byes in Irish.
The title is part of the poem
Maria Mar 16
I’ll leave you at all, whispering,
So as not to awake you.
I’ll kiss you softly at parting
And I’ll never forget you.

Don’t feel sorry for me, my loving.
I will come to you in your sleeps.
I will be with you there, my dear.
But now I’ll just be in your dreams.

I’ll leave, covered the door behind me.
Don’t try to turn me back.
I’m an illusion, an impossible dream.
And when you arouse, you’ll find my lack.
Lostling Feb 10
The day I watched the fire die
Only once did my tears fall
But I knew that once the moon was neigh
I would answer sorrow’s call
Despite the embers that remain;
Pathetic wisps go hope
I know it’ll never be the same
As I clutch this rotting rope
I think the walls are closing in
But maybe it’s just me
The emptiness hurts from within
So suffocatingly
I guess this is the place where we
Have no choice but to part
In the future I hope I’ll see
Us in each other’s hearts
Till the next time we can meet, friend,
I’ll save a seat for you
Though many faces are fleeting
You’ll stay one of the few
This was literature homework =P

(Emptiness this loss does bring,
And so the pain I shall now sing)
Chaitanya Nov 2024
With mourns and frail tears,
for the faded brief love, lost,
will cry when you die.
MetaVerse Sep 2024

In the middle of midnight,
Night and morning kiss and part:
Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Jamesb Sep 2024
In many poems,
Indeed mine own,
Relationships are defined
As two vessels sailing
In close company,
Plotting the same course
By choice and happiness
Choosing to stay close by,

But in truth a relationship
IS a ship,
A single hull with
Two crew to sail it,
Working together
To maintain the five essentials,
A level hull, with sails and foils well set,
And direction agreed,

Who holds the helm,
The tiller and extension,
That person controls
The direction of travel,
And that has been you,
When you sailed us into danger
My hand was there to guide
Us back from hazard,

Now I am steering
And the course is arrow straight
In lieu of help
Or kind suggestion,
A crew entirely focussed not
Upon the vessel but themself,
And no gentle hand to
Re direct our boat

Nor kind word
Or still small voice of calm
To calm the storm for more
Than a minute,
And that is a shame,
It takes two to tango
Only one to sail a boat,
But it is better by far

With another
Jamesb Sep 2024
I teach others to sail,
Quite literally,
And I am good at that,
Many many people will attest
To my passion and effectiveness,
But sailing is way more
Than just a glorious physicality,
Its a perfect analogy
Of life and love and death,
I also coach and mentor
The lives and loves
The living and doing
Of others,
Also in truth their endings too,
And I offered that best
Of me to you,


But something you seem
To fail to grasp is that whilst
Tacking can be wide,
Deliberate and slow,
Sedate even,
A gybe is the opposite,
Stern to wind,
A boom crashing across
And the cause of many a capsize,
You cannot be gentle gybing
In any kind of proper wind,
Its either one way,
Or it is the other,
It is sudden and immediate and NOW,
So no,
I have not been tacking,
Although at one point maybe
I was going that way,


With an icky feeling
In my heart like
The warning trembling
In a sail's leach,
I am about to gybe,
And it will be sudden,
There will be
A rapid change of direction,
I am a good sailor,
A great seafarer and handler
Of boats
Both real and metaphorical,
So my gybe will be anticlimactic,
Calm even,
But I will be accelerating
Away from you,
Your self centredness,
Your precious secrets,
Your rage,
Months of scorn and derision and accusation,
And while I do not know
My destination,
Indeed in truth I have none,
I do know the seas will quickly
Be much calmer,
The spray far less and that
Without the ice of attitude
And pain,
And at a parting rate of five knots each
In just twenty four hours we will be
Over two hundred miles apart,
I wonder then,
Will you OR I
Find peace?
Kind of captures that sense of sadness when someone just keeps pushing away and you know that when the end comes they will genuinely wonder why
Next page