Benji 4d
Hate that you don't want me
But love that you don't need me
Don't you hate it when you're torn
Between all these fuckin' feelings
Love that you hate me
But lately, I can't take it
And everything is recently eating me
I'll surrender to every thought
And yeah you don't care at all
But babe I've had my share of regrets
But you were never one of them
Our true potential is still undiscovered
But how can we work this out
When you're hiding in the closet
And I ain't trying to cast you in iron chains
I'm just trying to make a change
And I want you as part of that plan
So step up and give me everything
This was never worthless in my eyes
But you burned some scars deep into my soul
But all that is over, Now I'm feeling sober
And I'm feeling so right, right now
Just wish you'd understand me better
See I'm not trying to make this heavier
Then it has already been
The rains washed away all the hate in my heart
And my heart is still pumping blood
Through every part of my veins
And I still get the shakes every time I hear your name
And I would never trade what we have
But right now it feels like all we had
I'm just hoping you can take a chance
Look at me instead of just glance
And sometimes the glass just shouldn't be fixed
But I think we should in a case like this
I just hope there's still a spark there
And I won't stop until I trigger it
I can still feel the electricity in the air
And I know that I've still got a love for you
Deep down inside and I don't want to let it hide
Just hope that you can put a little faith in me
Because I still believe in all you are baby.

©2018 Written By Benji James
Amanda Mar 29
I am so glad
Time changed your mind
You were able
To seek and find

You claim you forgot
Which is not as great
Let us drop it
Close the gate

I hope we make it
Past this looming speedbump
Over the road
It is only a lump

Let's move on
I think that is what's best
My final decision:
Put our problem to rest
An old one About a fight I got into with a close friend.
Tommy Randell Mar 22
I have known you for years
We were lovers in our teens
You took mine, I yours
This is what A History means

You cannot now say
It wasn't like that at all
When clearly it was, like that
As I certainly recall

I have photographs not theories
My memories have not been invented
It's not fiction, it's not stories
No matter how much you resent it

We have a History, a past, a record
We were an item, a couple, a pair
It was you  chose distant pillows
You were the one wasn't there

Now you are inventing these reasons
I hurt you, that I was the one
Broke your heart with multiple treasons
You were the one being cheated upon

It's all rubbish and you know it
Who do you think you are... Adele?
You need to get a whole new Reality
The one that you're living in is not well!
Coming from and Living in a small town can become complex when old relationships can't 'come to terms with' current situations.
Erik McKee Feb 19
in the flow, we melt.
like slipping off pajamas
we sneak from our skin.

our faces are cleaned.
lips shift from the bone laid bare.
small, immature shells.

bright eyes, virtuous.
but our briny hope crumbles.
and then, a flicker.

worn by the pressure,
our skin, bones, eyes to fine sand.
mixed in glass, draining

then sifted apart.
as at the start, new.
I’ve seen shooting stars,
Their, bodies, burning undesired
Thrown away
Like banished tears
From the dark pupil of the sky
I’ve been holding the hand of
A decade worth of dreams undone forever
So they could achieve dreams of their own
Before my gaze
I’ve held their ghosts in my arms
I’ve been standing at a full “I mustn’t” worth of distance
From their lips
I’ve been filling in vain, the bottomless glasses
Of the most beautiful words,
That spring from the electric spark
Beneath the ribs
I’ve been leading the guerilla squads
Of my beliefs
Against the empire of Impossibility,
And its most decorated generals: Doubt,
Insufficiency, Wrong…
I’ve lied face-down, hands tied behind my back
For that traitor, Restraint…
But now… I forgive him now…
And now, Empires fall on their own
Now those dreams unachieved,
Meticulously paint their eyes
Wrinkled from the salty trickles,
That realization has drawn towards me
For I’ve always known that…
Loving is now or never
You cannot wrap it in tinfoil
And freeze it for later
Yet, they, those morally unattained, chastely righteous dreams,
They do arrive at Knowledge station
Aboard the Intuit train,
Atop the tracks of true common sense,
Alas, too late.
My loving is given now
To Fulfillment,
For it chose now to never
And caressed my scars of restraint
With warm fingertips
And kissed my see-through “I mustn’t” from the other side of the wall
To melt away the distance to my bloodless lips

*This one, I wrote first in my native language. Here is the original in Bulgarian:

Защо нямам съжаления...

Гледал съм падащи звезди
как горят снага непожелани
като прогонени сълзи
от тъмната зеница на небето
държал съм за ръка
десетилетие мечти
завинаги несбъднати
докато те постигат своите
пред взора ми
прегръщал съм призраците им
стоял съм на едно “не бива” разстояние от устните им
пълнил съм напусто чашите бездънни
на най-красивите думи
извиращи от искрата електрическа
иззад ребрата
водил съм партизанските отряди
на вярата си
срещу империя Невъзможност,
именитите й генерали: Съмнение,
Недостатъчност, Нередност...
лежал съм по очи с ръце закопчани
зад гърба ми
заради предателя Въздържание…
Но сега… сега му прощавам.
Сега империите падат сами.
Сега несбъднатите мечти
гримират старателно очи
набраздени от солените струйчици,
които осъзнаването е изтеглило
заради мен…
Защото винаги съм знаел, че…
Обичането е сега или никога…
не можеш да го завиеш в станиол
“за после” във хладилника…
Но те, морално несбъднатите, целомъдрено праведните мечти…
Пристигат до гара Знание
с влак Усещане по коловози
истински здрав разум…
Прекалено късно.
Обичането ми вече е дадено
на Сбъдването…
Което избра сега пред никога
И погали белезите ми на въздържание
с връхчетата на топли пръсти.
И целуна прозрачното “не бива” от своята страна на стената, за да стопи
разстоянието до посинелите ми устни
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Wasn't too likely,
You missed me nightly,
But the drug drip makes memories appear.

Road lines, coerce the mind
I was believing in something,
Still smell the same, your wet lips on my cheek reminded me of the good days.

When I was yours and you were mine.
Second chances aren't easy,
Guess it's you I have to define.
Guess the saying is true, they always come back.
The art of Conversation = a source of emancipation,
and oral gratification per integration of knowledge
manifesting opportunity qua
sharing unconscious workings 
   Vis a Vis windows to the soul

whereby a quickened pace arises to latch onto this role
i.e. as a conversant fellow, who at LVII years old does poll
the fleeting decades of his existence 
manning reminiscence for ole
flashing back to days of mine childhood's end - 

   When last verse of noel
will be writ when father time 
   dost take me underground akin to a mole
or perhaps cremation will deliver 
   mine ashes along a rib-rocked knoll
of this then once living garden-variety hominid - 

   whose mindfulness endowed
Introspection, his biological ticket tape 
 eventual fated halt to life 
   taken far from the madding crowd

whereby cosmic consciousness reigns supreme 
   lording eminence grise of this beetle browed
chap. hoop fully countless decades still abound 
   for me to relish what would be legally allowed

reaching out to family since no value found as de cries
the ever rapid stealth of living, yet before my demise
this sensate being, with these ears and eyes
reckons he cannot halt like greased lightening
   how tempus fugit with lord of the flies

tempting to whisk me away while mortality 
   donned in get up as go tell a watchman guise
whence a half-century prior to kill a mockingbird 
   deigned as main entree, now i got a bone to pick and pries
as much longevity and stave off grim reaper 
   before permanent slumber doth ah rise!
You are           ...sleeping.
And I am awake.
Smoking cigarettes on porch
and the curb
and underneath the leaves of this foreign place as familiar as our bed.

(Our bed ?

Perhaps. )

As you sleep,
Breathing heavily, soundly,
contorted into dissociation
Blankets wound around your body
        -That I don't dare touch;
I breathe so slowly, so so


[ S
    at the wall ]

And speak to myself in the voice no one will ever hear
with the intensity of red
and the pace of INDIGO
INDIGO of the wall outside your flat
INDIGO of the sloshing acid of my stomach
INDIGO of the synapses pulsing electricity past my neurons to the unreceptive brain matter that lies beneath your skull  

Indigo indigo indigo


(Witching hour approaches)

And I approach nothing
                      Nothing nothing nothing
Approaches me
Invades me
And I ask.               {Please}
But my eyes evade me, speaking distance
Across the span of OUR bed


With the dawn virga of
pink light in the window,
The heat of your hands tenderly apologizes

And in the morning
You kiss me
Exhaling dreary carbon dioxide into my mouth
Stale alcohol meandering past our teeth,
Settling in the air between our tongues.
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