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we,
as potentially conscious beings,
do incur such fantastic Purgatory
and yet we seem
indeed so very keen
to choose to wallow in
vain and irksome squalor-
a comfortable yet blind stupor
when it comes to
the very real causality
wrought of our intention:

yes, you read right:
i said "potentially conscious."
maria allyssa Jan 2016
oh honey,
i'm having trouble breathing
as the tears mix up with sweat
and the ragged breaths won't rest
i'm still trapped in this purgatory
between forgiveness and regret
or maybe
just disgust and resentment

when will this waiting
ever end?

it all started with
a night of poetry and music
between artists and lovers,
making music and art
like they do when making love
speaking in tongues and lust
even angst from their lungs

but i was with him
all through the night
when i knew
all i wanted was
to be with you

oh if you only knew
this silence leaves me blue
between lingering breaths
and cigarette smoke
i still yearn to be with you

so maybe it was the
excessive alcohol or ******* poetry
or maybe the live music
blended together in loneliness
and yearning
or is it the blank statement
against the white wall?

but this confusing as ****

my thoughts were swimming
in beer, nothing more
and at the very back of it
was you sleeping
but subconscious tried to
wake you up
poke you with what ifs
and what nots

i pulled out my phone
and let my loneliness overcome
didn't know it was wrong
like dominoes they all fall
one by one
realization built a spark
as my conscious came apart

tore my heart out the next day
i used the aftermath's blood
to write you an apology
filled with regret and dismay
29 hours after
i used my crafted letters
to sincerly construct
a sorry

but you said to wait,
until the demons go
until you find yourself
at peace whenever
you look at me

and i did. i did wait.
amidst the confusion and regret,
i'm still waiting for you
to rip my walls down
and envelop me in
your arms

but purgatory's version
of a painful torture is
in the mind games,
after all
setting up fires
that can burn you alive

keep in mind
what my mother used
to say about flames,

"don't set yourself
on fire
to keep the others
warm."
crying brb
(c) maria allyssa
pluto Jun 2015
I wasn't afraid if the Devil sent you to me. In fact, if it was the Devil then this would all make complete sense. But the thing I'm terrified of is if God was the one who brought you to me. I wondered if you were a test- some graded assignment I had to complete to get to the Gates of Heaven.

Yet after meeting you, I didn't want to ascend into the Gates of Heaven. I wanted to stay on Earth, still using 24 hours trying to figure out why we are here. I wanted to stay in Purgatory, sinking my nails into the depth the darkness while you hold me up. I wanted to descend into the hole of hell to feel comfortable in the fire with you. All I wanted was you- in each stage of hell or life. I wanted you.

You see, thats why I think God gave me you. I think God gave me a test, and I'm still not sure if I passed or not.
Grizzo Apr 2015
Glass lights, red star glow
Could this be Purgatory?
All the bars are closed.
Prompt 17 for Napowrimo, social media poem

A response to a poem on Tumblr
Darren Mar 2015
I no longer want to feel like a bottom of a whiskey bottle
like the last sip of regret before my head hits the table.
This story I wish was a happy one but I know longer
know how to write the happy ones.

I have seen both heaven and hell, but of the worse I say neither.
The worst is the empty room, my own purgatory.
Here there is no joy, no pain just  an endless forever
and I have seen forever and I seen never.

The promise of tomorrow has became the threat of today.
Today is the abysses of which my toes stand upon the edge
Creeping ever closer to the final descent,
the leap into darkness, in pursuit of peace.
Connor Mar 2015
Here I wait.
The daily purgatory
continues
trains speed through
the underground
lips neutral
eyes half open
shoe untied
girl three seats ahead
brown hair green eyes
gone
no words
sealed doors
cloudlight
sheds through
the tunnel's end
buildings reflect
off glass
tie my shoe
stand up
rush down stairs
girl three stations behind
brown hair green eyes
on the quiet elevator
fifth floor tired yawn
half past six
the daily purgatory continues
eyes half open while the trains
speed through the underground.
Here I wait.
Ujwala Iyengar Mar 2015
I do not know why I travel back to you,
My steps forever eschewed as I make my way to that sullen place.
It smashes my soul and crushes my spirit,
Your words, your lips obliterate the fire in my purgatory.
Yet as I pen down each word, it never makes sense,
Like the words I write now, they warp and distort into shapeless and meaningless beings.
Do you get what I speak as I touch your cherub lips?
Or are they lost like my heart that shall never come back home.
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