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Anais Vionet Feb 13
Hangovers are a back-tax on fun.

To paraphrase T.S. Eliot:
"Can last night just belong to last night?”

I’m not thinking about sins and penance
or making any bound-for-failure resolutions.

I’m giving myself a mental health break.
Close your eyes,
I whisper in your ear,
when you think of forever,
what do you see my dear,
or rather who do you see,
right through your tears,
through the uncertainty of time,
and the path you will take,
who is your partner,
your guide as you are theirs,
I asked you this question once before,
a rainy day on the second floor,
tell me your answer once again.
The last time I said I love you.
Knowing you has been a song,
familiar silence,
as we become aware of existence,
but no form of friendship,
complete empty instrumentals,
the start of us.
beautiful vocals set in,
in anticipation of what's to come,
as I fell for your smile,
only then do lyrics form,
as our story unfolds,
our song isn't finished,
but it's so distorted,
so empty now.
Regret is all I feel when I think of you
Brett Jul 2021
In my folly, of following fathers that have come before me;
I find myself lost, strewn about, and blown off course.
Teachers taught me time, in only the most linear of directions.
Yet the sins of those long past, seem to rest a weight,
Heavy upon my back.
Each of us an Atlas, on our knees before our masters.

It seems quite the contradiction, to have freedom inside a system.
Where rules are loose, in their applied use.
A game of pick and choose;
Played with loaded dice, that always seem to favor the few.
We the beast of burden, weakest first, penthouses the new-age church
Where the powers preach the verse.

Lost in our lack of direction, like southern-bound birds,
Plucked of their feathers.
Grounded in work boots, dumbfounded and resolute,
In poisoning our connective roots.
Fields of flowers and acres of pine, burning with the flame,
Stolen from us, somewhere along the line
A sinking ship, with only ***** rags to plug the holes.
Streets once paved with gold,
Forever cracked like our collective souls.
Poem should be three 6 line verses, but alas HePo loves to mangle my structure. ARGHH!
An old mind,
from thinking,
tired eyes,
from crying,
a bleached heart,
from trying,
all the symptoms of a lover.
Been diagnosed with being a lovesick hopeless romantic.
What is it about sad poems,
or poems about love,
which are often melancholic,
that I love so much,
well for a non-alcoholic,
I need an escape,
cause I sin,
and I bleed,
and it's always my fault,
but when I'm writing,
my pen bleeds,
and these lines don't judge,
the page has no choice,
but to love me,
why would I come here when I'm happy,
no need to comfort someone with a smile.
Why I write
What did we talk about,
before you forget me I need to know,
know you want him though it's none of my,
concerned bout how you're doing,
I know you're more than ok and that,
hurt by the things that I told myself about,
you're the same girl I've always known but we're,
distant in the sense that I'm running out of topics to start a conversation with,
you and I used to flow,
where has our river gone?
Sometimes you think you've moved on.
The day I met you,
was the beginning,
of my endless dream about you,
where the taste of your lips,
is magical,
and your beauty,
the result of wonderful imagination,
is this a dream,
this is a dream,
or a nightmare,
since i still lose you in the end,
lose you once again.
Im back : )
Polseh Jul 2021

Forgive me.
You pushed me with your words.
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