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George Krokos Jul 2020
Consider everyone as a friend unless they prove to be otherwise
and then we should consider the workings of some compromise.
There are certain mysteries compelling from previous births we’ve had
and what we’re all faced with now is the outcome of them good or bad.
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Your word kills me more than this knife pierced in my chest
I was your saviour
And you are the death of me.
Here is our story:
The beginning still plays on my head
The images are vivid and alive
You are the one that needs saving,
Lying naked on the street at a cold winter night
I was a passerby who got a glimpse of the homeless child
Our eyes met, just like that
And we became meant to be

Both wearing their birthday suits
In a home built for two
The love burning like a wildfire
As two bodies intertwine
Pushing each others limit
In every passing hour,
You go rougher each time you are inside me
And always finish before me
Leaving me craving for more every **** ******* time

What happened next was a disaster not worth telling
So, let us end it here and not open old wounds
You must go in your own way
And I on my own
An old poem that I decided to finish. Not that I really care.
Sean Achilleos Jul 2018
Time makes us forget
However when you revert to a previous space in your life
You are rudely reminded as to why you progressed away from it in the first place
Written by Sean Achilleos 06 July 2018©
Amazon: Sean Achilleos 'An Affair with Life' The Philosophical Poems of Sean Achilleos
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Vanessa Grace Apr 2018
I'm so nostalgic these days
and I know you've heard that all before
the whole "I'm listening to old songs on repeat
and re-reading the broken stories I keep
to find myself again" thing—but hear me out.
No, this time I really mean it
Nostalgia is not a dark cloud lingering above my head
but a thunderstorm rumbling below my feet
and every moment of every day I'm tumbling through it
and trying to pretend I don't see concrete
hurdling towards me
like it has some twisted sense of vengeance,
some sort of hunger for my life.
And occasionally perhaps I can forget how broken I feel, and be content with what this is.
But this is a small life and it's an even smaller smile
when laughing at your jokes but turning up a noise-dial
in my head
so that I don't have to hear myself think
let alone breathe
over the chatter about how unremarkable I've become.

There's no sanctity to my mind,
no peace in my heart,
and no rest for my spirit.

So I'm nostalgic,
and yes, I mean it.
I'm listening to old songs on repeat.
Combing through ancient poems and pictures;
staring at a face that once upon a time, shared my likeness—
but now she mirrors my demons.

Sometimes I read this and it makes sense. Sometimes I read this and it's nowhere truthful enough.
Although an atheist
   with many question that abound
bout the lineage of humanity, this bard
   formerly of Belmont hills
nada seeketh to be crowned
yet applauds those

   who attest in deity
   where salvation doth re-dound
peace of body, mind
   and spirit can be found
and rest in peace when demise
   finds her/him under ground
identified by a tombstone and a mound
which...over time becomes less round.



Those who practice Jewish
   faith pay obeisance
   Too holiest day of their year
Atonement & repentance mantra themes

   Unswerving prayers flock doth wear
As spiritual raiment in tandem
   With a twenty-five hour
   fast orthodox n’er veer
With pride synagogues rabbi beckons
   flock to don cloak of virtue to wear

Supplicating against creator
   sans vices within psyche tear
The delicate fabric covenant
   easily shredded
   per temptation from ****** spear

Loftiness attendant on this
   High Holy Day
   whence judgment severe
Within gilt written tomb
   encapsulating behavior –

   Vile forgiveness rare  
Thus inducing many a worshiper
   To spend hours immersed in prayer
Or…even self-abuse to vitiate
   demonic forces that invisibly leer

Drowning out words of the prophet
   that believers must hear
To attain coveted accompaniment
   To promised land
   without materialistic gear

Whence with most obedience
   to sacred texts will fare
Most successfully and kowtowed
   Like Rudolph the red nose rein deer

While Santa Claus
   godlike heard crystal clear
Whose voice ushers inxs of hoof beats
   Akin to horn of Gabriel did blare

As eve n tide cast dark shadows
   from royal Belvedere
For those lives of purity
   offered salvation into the heavenly air.
Laurel Leaves Sep 2017
I'm not the way home reminds me
I waft through the world obtaining the ideals
Of unanimous prophecies

Spelling it as if it is so
He turns towards me and hands me the fine tip of a needle
open arms
Swings the words through catalytic loops

He says
Till the final throws of life come through my eyes
I wont breathe still youre mine

But I'm motionless
I freeze as the cracks take their form
The natural progression of ice melting
It signifies nothing
Nodding as the moonlight
I sit still for hours
Cigarette after cigarette
The thick chews of ginger candy
Wrappers clothing me

I'm the skin
Holding our bodies as they morph into one
As the paint fumes poison us
Rats tickling the walls

We lie
To ourselves
Above the sheets on the bed
I tell him I want to see the world
He perks
"Aren't I your world?"
When I was 17 and I didnt know any better.
Henk Holveck Jan 2016
The way you make me feel is incredible. Nothing like the first, nothing like the second, I may have loved them but, not like I love you. I have never met anyone that makes me feel the way you do. My head filled with a no vacancy sign, but the electricity was out; somehow you fixed it. That "no" shines brighter than it ever has before.

When you said, "When you put your hands on me." The thought I caused you even just for a moment, to be afraid of me, just breaks my heart. For you filled my life with nothing, but natural smiles and joy rides. I wish I would have appreciated and it all more.

I'm the last man on this earth who should take anyone willing to enter my dark, closed off & broken structure. Anyone willing to enter my life of chaos and mystery is more daring than any human before. If you persist, you'll come to the place that shatters the pain those with reckless hearts left me. You'll open a pure, passionate soul. To get to the damaged site, you will have to fight through the maze. Those who hid my affection left no map. I think you were almost there. You had me but like most something in my destroyed halls of lost love. My guards spooked you off. You ran far away and left me empty again. Lonely again. I had begun to draft our story. I'm hoping you'll decide whatever barricade halted your journey, brings you back. My hand hurts from writing first drafts. I desire our story to be everlasting. So long the Bible envies it.

If you can make it to the place where love is locked, you have found the key. The key to my heart. Promise me to leave that no on my vacancy sign forever lit.
Christina Cox Dec 2015
I’ve asked it before,
“Is it my heart or my head
that wishes I was dead?”
My doctor would say it’s my head because
I have depression, a sickness of the mind.
My mother would say it’s my head
because the other answer would be too painful.
My friend would ask me what I think because
she understands I am logical more than emotional.
But what is my answer?
Is it the sickness that makes me want to die?
Or is it truly how I feel in my heart?
But is it possible that it’s a mixture and it’s actually
my soul within that makes me suicidal?
Josephine May 2014
Stuck on the last and my confusing past
Gave him my heart and pretended it was poetic art
But now I've found a new canvas
Nothing personal, just the sound of flesh against flesh
No common interests
Nothing deep
Just bruised skin and mortal sin
It wasn't love
It wasn't lust
Just two lonely bodies
I still have the bruises and I love them more then I loved him
i Apr 2014
when hot water runs,
and it relaxes your shoulders,
try not to get shampoo in
your already watery eyes.
because if those white bubbles
that are dripping from your hair,
get in your eyes,
it is positive that it will
sting and burn,
until it gets the attention needed,
but not even the coldest water
can get it back to its
previous clearness.

— The End —