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My heart is blackening, day after day.
The cold of your fingertips has numbed me.
I suppose dark is the new way to be.
I’m but a shell of myself, one could say.
“For what, do you pray?“ “Well, for death”, I say.
I am meaningless. It’s easy to see.
When I decease, I will truly be free.
A tragedy, if my life were a play.
“Wait!” You might say, “You mustn’t take your life!”
But I am too far gone to hear your cry.
I have suffered more than any would like.
What else am I to do with this white knife?
After tonight, I will no longer have to try.
The stairway to **** should be quite a hike.
“what might have been?” YOU ASK MY LOYAL LOVE / IM TERMINAL YOUR RECKLESS PUPPETEER / YOU COME CRAWLING TO ME OUT OF YOUR FEAR / DESPERATE DESIRE ASH PRESSED ON YOUR TONGUE / I BLOCK OUT LIGHT TILL YOURE BEGGING FOR SUN / MY VOICE IS SO LOUD ITS ALL YOU CAN HEAR / ALL YOU WANT IS TO BE WITH YOUR LATE DEAR / PULL AT YOUR STRINGS COMPLETELY UNHINGED, LUNGE / YOURE THE ONE WHO DID IT WITHOUT THINKING / HAVE YOU EVER TASTED SERENITY /
I PRESCRIBE YOU EXHILARATING FLINGS / TAKE MY HAND, KISS WRITHING CALAMITY / BURNING HATING FLAMING ASHES FALLING / TAKE THIS DANCE, TASTE ME,
my first shot at a Petrarchan sonnet <3 i really dig this because it's presented similar to a car commercial, and our host is the woman addicted to eating her dead husbands ashes from "my strange addiction", and the car is impulsivity.
RJ Days Dec 2018
Desde un rascacielo miro
fijamente las luces brillantes
pero soy ciego, un infante
aparte del mundo de abajo
Desde las montañas, y sus picos
vientos suenan al horizonte
tocando el sol invariante
estar sólo, tan magnificado
Pero todo lo que ve no es nada
¿Qué es esta luz del cielo?
¡Un resol! El sol es tu sonrisa,
¿O la música de la tierra?
Las aves solo cantan ruido
Solo quiero oír tu risa
Para Guillermo
When we first met I told you just how beautiful you were.
Like the pale lavender sky rewarding me for getting up.
Like a diner in the distance drinking each distasteful cup.
You blinked twice and told me that you weren’t so sure.
Your disarray was perfect, repulsive with allure.
You were fighting through the crowd like a nectar drop through moths.
Everything was terrible, your good was just enough.
And I loved every little quirk that others just endured.

On the day you broke the glamour I was lying in my bed.
You were sending me letters saying all the things that I have done
The sudden rush of inputs started streaming through my head.
My world was dark already, with you as the sun.
And as the sun did set that evening, sinking down like lead,
the brightness of my colors dulled with everything I've done.
Ooh a petrarchan sonnet, how fancy. TBH we’re learning about Petrarchan sonnets at school and I was inspired by that. What can I do to get better?
SMS Jul 2018
The first draft is always hard.
The hardest, if I were to be honest.
When writing, you don’t want to hold back the best
No, not even a shard
Don’t let your story be scarred
Or be darkened like onyx
If you write freely, you’ll be astonished.
But don’t let your idea be charred.
If you don’t want to spend the time

Because you don’t think you have talent
And because you don’t like rhymes
Or want to have a popular valent
To keep your writing in its prime
You must share and be gallant
This was something I had to do for class. It's in the style of a Petrarchan Sonnet.
Breon Mar 2018
The bitter sting of winter's singing howl
Drives me to seek some deep and darkling place
Far from the blizzard's scorn, the wind's embrace,
Far from the beasts who bear its brunt to prowl
In search of prey. I'll clutch close to my cowl
And cloak, beneath which hides a younger face
Than most foresee. The forecast yields no trace
Of hope for safety 'pon the road. No foul,
My fellow traveler, don't fear from me.
I'll lay my knife down well before we meet,
Before we each choke down a share of ***
Or what would pass to warm camaraderie;
I know not where I've passed, to where I've come;
I simply beg a place to warm my feet.
Once, I was asked to introduce myself.
Breon Mar 2018
Another dram of "philosophic wine."
For all the tumbler saps my fingers' heat,
Its glass holds little, now. Let me entreat:
I'll recollect the tremble down my spine
And spin my little web with every line
To catch your gaze, to bid you take a seat,
To bide my time until the next we meet,
When next we close, we kiss, we intertwine -
I fear it so. I fear I'll be transfixed,
All stunned and muted, stricken by your touch,
Or worse, the web won't draw a moment's gaze.
It must be offered, though it isn't much -
All love and lusts, desires intermixed -
On this, of all the ****** romantic days.
Penned first as an offering for Valentine's Day, I wonder if perhaps there's too much  blatantly predatory language here.
Genesis Jamphong Oct 2017
Clicking fingers typing away feelings
Sad-mad clad with smiles publicly exposed
"Imma look happy" your pic says in post,
Yet in another, as though leaves falling.
Feed filled with furious, angry words that mock.
Subtly seeking gentle tap on the back
Or bent down of head for a slight mild whack
Fast-paced tapping, eyes on screen round the clock.
Go away then from that white bird and "f."
Strike a match. Turn to ashes that pink cam.
Unglance from the ghost feat dog-faced pictures.
Enjoy, run around, show off that quiff.
Strive, be on top of things, as though a ram.
The world ain't just ones and zeros but pastures.
Juliana Melons Apr 2017
This serves as a nothing but I tell you,
Never in the existence of a life,
You'll see that words are not a useless lie,
It takes a lot of time to make this new,
But I guess you will watch these lovely hues,
For her future to be, as of for use,
No one will never discover her kind,
I am pretty sure that she stands a right,
I wish I could turn back from the time,
Where there's a madness within all the fears,
I should let this all come to rest and ripe,
Is the fruit when my heart is pure, my dears,
You told me one time, "Please just hold on tight,"
Please just let my voice be your guide, and hear.
RJ Days Jan 2017
In summer gath’ring they invoked the sky
Just throw of stones from where I sit, so bold
On pain of death, they risked both names and gold,
By pen for chance of freedom staked their lives;
Once bought with blood they’d plant some autumns nigh
A tree whose branches ever since could hold
Against the force of storms, growing so old
Though none can say now if its roots have died;
As children huddled ‘neath its shade cry out
Some grasp an ax, ready to strike, upend
Afraid these leaves once-green no longer breathe
While up on eager feet they march and shout
Unsure what perils may on them descend
Many yet hope to climb and still believe
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