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Diesel Jun 5
I miss wet rain on buses
I miss crowded subway stairs
I miss noisy streets in public
I miss breathing ocean air:

I miss walking in the snow
I miss snowmen building high
I miss concretes slushy flow
I miss children stepping by:

I miss eyes of pretty girls
I miss old men sitting too
I miss seeing squirrels creep
I miss streetlights switching hue:

I miss walking to and there
I miss waiting crosswalks tick
I miss coming home all wear'd
I miss sleeping after six:

I miss waking up at nine
I miss dreading morning days
I miss my recurring life
I miss living life again.
I have several things left to pack:
First, the old grey jumper.
Second, a dusty photo album.
Third, that China plate from the kitchen.

Moving through to the hallway,
I swivel on the spot.
The cat eyes me from the stairs,
Swishing his tail left to right.

I gesture to him: In childlike voice
"Don't worry I won't be leaving you".

Boxes laid at my feet, I fumble about.
What a life;
You spend most of it collecting junk;
And then you realise,
What an earth are you going to do with it all?

Leave it behind?
Chuck it away?
Chuck it away, leave it behind?
A disastrously difficult decision!
We are all sentimental someway.

The smell of cooked beef wafted from the kitchen.
Ah, home cooked meals.
I suppose it'll be takeaways soon.
Until we've settled in of course.

It's really real now isn't it?
Like a punch of reality,
Slapping you in the face.
Mixed emotions,
A bit like Sunday: You enjoy it but know that Mondays coming.

Gently, I stroked my cat.
Amongst the purring:
There came a sudden realisation,
That I had not started my list yet.
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.
Chipped and cracked
Old and worn
Yet you are still my favourite
Old things have more sentimental value than new ones, almost the same with people.
Rachel Rae Mar 19
My scarred up fists that broke
with weary
Long wilted petals released
Once rose, once lily
And I watched them drop off fingertips,
Catch the breeze
And with ease, drip off the cliff
Down from the mountaintop
pt 2.
Zygos Mar 3
-I scream at you for bleeding everywhere, when I myself feel like an never-ending open wound.

-Lazy, laying, and filled with disdain we sit and let time wander through the dusty halls.

-Suspended in mid-air, twirling amongst light and darkness, I wait for movement to occur.

-The smog has lifted, but we remained mentally clouded and uncertain.

-There's plenty of food, but nobody eats. We stay still until the sun sets and countless clouds of *** eagerly activate the palate. Then we feast meagerly on snacks and drink and drink and drink until tomorrow blinks into our vision. We clean until the space feels open and momentarily alive, only to wreck it through the night to create purpose for the next day.

-The fragility of the day immediately crumbles in my hands the moment I make contact.

-I'm holding my breath, hoping all the air will keep me afloat.

-Because in the end I'm just a scared girl, shooting arrows at the world trying to pinpoint my direction.
Tweet tweet
Twitter handle
Many are judgemental
A few sentimental
Very few instrumental
Sit on a Twitter handle
Take a sample
Don't forget to include yourself
Analyse data
How many are mental
Write a thesis
Get a degree DTH
Direct To Home
Doctor of Twitter Handle!
Caleb A Johnson Dec 2020
All I ever get is your ashes:
The macaroni dinner you burned,
The last part of your jokes,
The short end of your smokes,
And the last ones will be in your urn.
My wife asked for the ****, I had smoked it all and she says "all I ever get is your ashes".
Kam Oct 2020
I never liked people who call trauma "interesting"
especially in reference to those white raised lines
cascading skin, or young worship of praying
for the hurt to stop in my sleep.

Devoting years to stupid diets,
melting away the jiggle of my thighs,
sometimes when I indulge, my brain receives texts
but I don't reply.

You certainly don't, so why
should we give energy to the notion,
I am only as interesting as my suffering. Saving
ourselves isn't a definitive moment,
though I strive to find purpose within myself,
slivers who I'm meant to be
come through
in conversations with you.

All those years,
living life like an obituary. I want
to show you I'm more than a picture
that told herself shallow things like,
ugly people are a statistic and pretty
people are a portrait-
these things bore me.

But your head resting between my thighs
as I hold you


knowing our imperfections
keep us young


a meaningful life in love

For my love.
AgerMCab Oct 2020
We use to glide
With nothing to hide
The smile we have
On a waltz we dance

May music won't end
Eternal dance to spend
We tried to hold
And grip with hope

But hope turned cold
My grip you no longer hold
The waltz changed its tone
And now I dance alone
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