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Zywa 5d
I see her peeping --

she looks back to me and then

we are both ashamed.
Collection "Take a picture, now"
I want to invest My Time, in Love.
But I feel, it would be all a Waste.
Coz Kisses, melt like Coughdrops.
Gone is their sugary Taste.
Romance has lost it's Passion.
Feelings are nowhere to be Found.
Lust is ruling the roost Nowadays
and Moans end without their Sound.
Love.......has Lost it's meaning.
It has a Menu, without a Name.
Once the Clothes come off,
Hearts find themselves in Shame.
Take Me back, to the good old Days.
When Romance meant holding Her Hand.
Kisses were shared at Sunsets,
as Legs kept walking on the Sand.
David Hilburn Jun 20
Lost, refound
Boding a sense of austerity...
That predicted a conscience, of how
The wait and waters, of possibility...

Finish me
My salt's worth, is a heroism to find
The world in a tailspin, a poised anarchy?
That sees the seldom of assurance to mind...

Long and bared
The tooth of passion
Has been lost, somewhere
And a secret with my needs, has an intuition

Berate a friend for slowness...?
A tale of homage and vestige, to count
As another ideal live and let live, of kindness
Has come and gone, to consider a chastity in the round?

Curiosity, is at an all-time high?
Time with a haphazard sign of the times?
Bared elucidation will become our justice for nigh?
Asked by a truer us, the past to few, is but intellects shines?

A silence is broken by the seizure of occults
Of vice and sigh's of vindication, a bitter pill?
We can spend on moral's, the better purpose without walls

Pittances and pains, patience and poorness
Through an angel's eyes, devil's become a shadow
Of complexity we should know, for a world to guess
A faring sunshine to tell a story about a staring shame, love?
Places to warm the spirit, until a new day dawn's
Oskar Erikson Jun 10
i tell the 7th
date of the week.                  -managed 2 on tuesday-
and my                   eyes journey
to soft
                hollow behind-ear
                the words tense     his teeth

I think if it weren’t for the fact i counted the steps from this bar
                                  to the train station
        and i.                  landed on your door number
I’d have run back.      you’re just lucky

he’s just waiting to see   if I’ll take him home or to a
                                            hotel so he can hold
        count down the steps         into me

                                               lustful in vengeance  

for the blasphemy of trying to raise the dead in
the same breath
as putting him to rest.

-please            let the first pulse of release
set me           free and away
down-         gifted and taken gratefully
Roland Jun 2
The mask doesn’t care for feeling, the mask doesn’t need intimacy, It doesn’t crave affection, It is content with just being.

I could only watch as It took over, slowly but steadily, a concrete layer hardening over my lead coffin.

Washing away the poison and hiding the cancer that grew up inside. What a fate to have.

Was it better to let the rot take over, was it better to let it show, in all its horror for the world to know?

It doesn’t matter now, the pain is gone, the horror is no more, and the mourners have left the scene, only It remains.
It’s the little things in life
Water, trees, and butterflies
That make me feel alive
It’s the little things in life
Warmth, love, and sunlight
That make me feel alive
It’s the little things in life
That make me want to survive
It’s all going to **** anyways,
So **** it all to hell.
display Apr 15
the hardest thing to do in a world of lies
is to learn to trust again
the endless void of crippling apathy
consumes as a chasm of pain
the hardest thing to do in a world of hate
is to love yourself to death
the endless void of crippling apathy
was not allowed first breath
it was born dead
but not allowed to die
disgraceful abomination of the chasm of pain
if life is cloth this is its stain
my god did not bear witness to its worship
no soul left to claim
and so his silent pleas were thrown aside, worthless prayers in the rain
no soul left aside
in the chasm of pain
allowed life but to live
My Dear Poet Mar 23
my mirror
has been screaming at me
for a while
I chose to walk away today
but it began to follow
became a black shadow
creeping into my cranium
to stay

broken reflection
in my head
that closing eyes
couldn’t save
shaking the grains
in my brain
didn’t help
like shattered glass
it slithered and sliced
my skin and scalp

cutting the chords
of light from my eye
bleeding fingers from braille
left me blind
without vision
there’s no escaping
the mirror
of reason
in my mind
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