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Silver Oct 1
the scissor is on your
nape. think away the thought, please

.

.

.

water. there's a drop stroking over the rim that is your forehead. down, down. a

tear. slips down. a tear of

blood. down more. it edges toward your jaw, neck, throat, into a

vein. crawling, descending. throughout your self and your legs,

crisscrossing. spiderveins. open into

roots, white fading to spruce. your feet are gone and you are a

tree. millions more of you but look up to your leaves, flickering green to the sunlight like

a school of fish. silver in the surrounding black. a cold, encompassing, holding, embracing

ocean. you are the water once more. only this time you meet the sky, through a gate called

horizon. endless. infinite. edging, but it only follows you and you it.


are you one with the world? if not, be the world.

you are a world.
they make you sleepy, except for when the part at the back of your neck is getting cut down to less than an inch.

i thought of this while i was getting one and tried my best to write what i remembered after i got home
Emi Jay Oct 1
the sound of the highway outside
whispers through this rain-tapped glass:

quiet and fleeting and constant,
so like wind and rain and nature,
ebbs and flows, soothes with those
highs and lows and breaks—

with no telling when it will end,
just a rhythm like sleepy breaths,
a lullaby in the making

i prefer this noise to silence
outside my window in that dark;
a vast world alive and vibrant
while i slip into muted dreams
Sky Yang Sep 26
2 AM:

i'm falling in, and out, and in, and out,
of sleep.

my mind reaches:
arching forwards,
slowly uncurls a single finger

pinkish joints blossom
one-by-one

the slightest graze of fingernail
and what i think is real bursts into a million,
iridescent
spinning globules sent
skittering down a marble hall,
who knows how long?

but sometimes there are no marbles--
there are only shooting stars

masses of hazy, gaseous yellow
pixels, flickering and glitchering

in the corners of my eyes, hover
at my brow, drop at my feet ah...

a sadness devoid of
emotion.

like androids,
dreaming.
two dreamscapes
Releasing for the memories,
Keeping for the energy.
I am so proud of who you are,
And I thank all of those lucky stars,
To be on this Earth to know who you are.
Lucky Stars.
Arby Sep 17
The foggy, mist-coated outside,
condenses into a speckled bedroom glass.  

Through which,
nestled deep under my blankets,
I hear the orchestra of a rainy 8am life.  

Bothered by the unconducted iso-rhythms
of dripping water droplets,
dropping onto the metal window sill,
I peak my head out from under the duvet
and yawn open my eyes.  

I notice my girlfriend left coffee for me
on the bedside table before she left for work.  
I stretch out and grasp the still-warm cup.  

As I sip down the coffee,
I hear the birds in the trees somewhere below
warming up their sleepy little lungs.  

I close my eyes and feel the cold rain-infused air
coming through the window.  
As I snuggle back up under my duvet,
my eyes fall shut, and I drift back to sleep.
restlessness seres throughout my bones
dry pain lays upon my throat
tiredness weighs down my eyes
yet no sleep will return tonight
i’m tired, yet here i lay.
Josh G Sep 4
These eyes are weighted
Offering peace to this fight
Sleep sweeps me away
Wellspring Aug 21
Two weeks ago,
I said farewell.

To my home.
To my country.
To my family and friends.

My time away was relaxing.
The people were lovely.
But honestly,

I'm dealing with re-entry.
People expect me to just fit in,
But I'm suffering from jet lag,
And am ready to sleep.

If I could just catch a break,
A week, maybe two.
I could get back to normal,
Get my life back on track.

But no.

This is the problem;
Life goes on,
A sink or swim situation.
If you can't catch up,
You're out.

Just like that.
An explanation.
Blade Maiden Aug 18
Morning dew
kitchen smells of last nights stew
Sleepy eyes brew
Coffee for two
Words, many or few
We simply follow through
I touch your hand like to sew
Two hearts that are true
A soft kiss on awakening lips too
Welcome the warmth between me and you
Me and you and morning dew
Bryden Jul 24
Manhattan bathes in lilac-stained dawn,
patiently waiting for a new day to form.
Skyscrapers tickled by the flicker of confused lights
on
or
off?
Night
or
day?
they wonder
whilst light meets dark,
nodding heads
as they pass each other by.
Taxis creep around corners,
collecting the last of the night raiders,
breath sour and eyes wine-weakened,
allergic to morning light.
Cars groan and begin to carve today’s trails
exhaust pipes snoring
as they huff out polluted clouds into smokeless sky.
The 6.a.m. sun crowns The Empire State Building,
and glazes a million windows like honey-roasted ham.
Chrysler squints,
May’s rays bounce off her bronze-blushed walls.
Sleepless wanderers now sleepy crowds,
wine bottles now coffee cups.
Pigeons flutter between dragging feet,
pecking pavements,
catching the odd petal from the honey-blossoms
that stand like angels amongst grey steel.
A sea of suits cluster at the crossing,
people politely covering yawns
as they wait for the green man to give them instruction,
unsure whether the button has even been pushed.
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