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Poetic T Feb 2020
Let me be
     The soup,

That dampens
       Your croutons.
FloydBrandon Jan 2020
Good gravy
Somebody save me
A seat by the fire
Now may we
Drink on the daily
Bake ourselves dry

Why are we so obsessed with the idea of flying  
Get what you came for
Leave when you’re high.
Swim underground
Rain symphonies down from great skies

Trip into your acid brain
These are the days we pay for
Shape yourself diagonally.
Senses fail in the fourth dimension
Love yourself tragically

When you told me
That you love me
Did you mean it
Or lie
Through your teeth.
Breathing is easy
To tell you the truth
I would rather be haunted by floor bread  
than die in your soup.

Good gravy
Somebody save me
A seat by the fire
Now may we
Drink on the daily
Bake ourselves dry
Colm Jan 2020
I cannot clear the palate of my mind with all of this noisy taste embodied.
Mind Soup - In Ears
JΛM Jan 2020
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HvrySwhZrQ&list=PLbM5LMVZad0YkMVVqzxyQP2w-Petd2kmL
Antino Art Nov 2019
There are three bright spots worth looking for on cloudy days.

In the morning, it’s coffee with you. We find our silver lining in a hole-in-the-wall cafe near the market where fish fly, talking vividly about what we dreamed as muted light finds its way through the window where we sit. We save the moment, but say bye too fast as if we had flights of our own to catch. And we loose sight of each other in the never-ending current of strangers rushing past. The sky reverts to its stone grey self, and I drift in the company of office buildings, weightless as the clouds from my breath.

We meet again, at a walk-up noodle joint on the pier. We share a steaming bowl of tonkatsu ramen and gaze at the mist-covered bay, talking about the jobs that keep us from waking up. The sun peeks through a blanket of overcast to find us. We take a selfie: in it, we are beaming. We say bye again, this time, with an embrace as warm as the soup on our lips. We save the moment, floating alongside the edge of the water with a glow that will see us through the chilly night ahead.

The last bright spot is the golden hour. It gets dark far too early here, so there is no time to waste. We spend what’s left of it together, over a drink that burns when swallowed in a dimly lit bar beneath a stairwell. It begins to rain. We say nothing this time, and instead, share an unspoken understanding of who we are at the end of cloudy days. We put a finger on it, and promise that we’ll see each other again no matter how heavy the fog may get. We’ll find our way through. We save one last moment and slip into the wintery mist, seeing clear.

In a place with as much grey area as this, the word ‘alone’ looks blurred: it’s ‘all’ and ‘one’ put together, where nothing is missing. The selfie we took comes into focus: it was myself, a complete stranger in my own company. Now, when it's cloudy outside, we see each other through it, filling whatever is empty like a glass, toasting to the brightness found within.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
I am eating delicious
sweet corn and chicken soup:
sweet crunchy corn,
soft flavorsome garlic,
stringy delectable egg,
tasty chewy chicken,
and hot savory broth
which warms my torso;
I am enjoying
the experience
of being alive
while eating.
Anastasia Jun 2019
i miss you
when you were next to me
and you were warm.
i'm still cold
even with
a deep blue
kingsize
fluffy blanket
and cheddar-broccoli soup
i'm freezing.
i miss you,
with your grey hoodie
and your smile
that warmed up my insides.
Jo Jun 2019
a man reads not for enjoyment but to pass the time.
the time that a woman is holding onto because of uncertainty.
the uncertainty of life that hangs like a blade in the air.
the air muddled and rotten with sickness.
the sickness spills over from one body to the next.
“let’s get soup after this”
anything warm, anything comforting.
hospitals feel like i am in limbo
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