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Alya Adzkia Jan 26
who knows that
i can hold a hand
made of ice
for years?

you might
make me feel

but i don't mind
holding you
than i should.
we are completely different,
yet we work so well.
Dante Rocío Jul 2020
Aren’t most of us crying
The funerals
From our own
“Selfish” reasons?
Not from the dead one’s
Biggest treasure passing
Yet ‘cause we won’t get to feel
Them clearly
For our own needs
And desires?
They are most probably
At least peaceful,
In the new realm
We mourn
For the moments no longer
For us

How wondering it feels
To think
That usually we are those,
Who must and should learn
To live on and rejoice
After someone’s death
When there comes at last
The moment
When we become those,
Who leave
And are to tell others

Taken out of kitchen in a rush,
In the same tiny cape of black
I use when naked,
Now standing before sudden
Church “shanties” and
Of my father’s friend no-more-together
I watch, cry solely
In the colours of thoughts of my eyes.

What are those measly flowers for
If they shall wither soon, Dad?
Why can’t I break now, Dad?
How much did he mean to us, Dad?
Step blocked as such,
Adam grips calmly yet strongly
The collar of my cape
And there’s no more another place
For him
To stay,
Than the crook of my
Seventeen-year-old tanned neck.

Hold his hair, backside,
Protecting all the salty water
He has nobody yet to everyone
To offer.

Can’t move.
Don’t move.
On a funeral of my dad’s friend I cannot remember fully anymore
And who took us in when in trouble.
I didn’t think of his death then and there.
Wondered about us, my death,
The Church’s voices void of personalisation
And how He had that short hold on me
As if gripping his lifeline.
Maybe I was like that for a while.

Of funeral thoughts N*2
Tizzop Nov 2019
stiff dreamz




still dreamin'
me ok
a tasteless empty word
like numbness of the fingers
like numbness of the tongue
a numbness of heart
and false plastic lungs
bland face
bland skin
bland stomach
and bland eyes
wax satisfaction
in a false candle pose
wax candle prose
by plain poet hands
I am a wax figurine poet
who writes
but bland
Brynn S Nov 2018
Mountains drip into devils pond
Broken wings float and fall
Clueless and reckless they fought
Angels of fallen
Angels of darkness
They fly around my mind
Whipping into kelidoscope frames
The outskirts of joy
The edges of pains
They rise and drift
Like summers breeze
Cold and stiff they no longer breathe
Harsh and irrational they plunge
Diving into the deep ends of thoughts
It pains me to see them leave
The give me strength
Whilst to others deceive
Sometimes I get tired
Of all the blubber
The grinding of systems
The metal to the rubber

The pushing of points
The singing to the choir
Pickaxe in place of featherc
Look there's a bird upon the wire

Maybe potions going dry
No thank you please
And fingers going all stiff
While here awaits the feast

And vases laying all smashed
Words sitting there all torn
Lets gather the broken scraps
Rearrange them and be reborn

Maybe it's me and only me
Closing an old and tattered page
Maybe I've overstayed my welcome
On an old and creaky stage

Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now
The crows I think they've left
But the cinders upon ash
Still burn bright upon this hearth

Out into the clearing
See it twinkling up ahead
An inkling of some something
Some of us have thought of and said

Merlin's done it agian
Con-Ed's shut down
Tesla's come into power
And White Bear gets his crown
George Carlin is pope
Shakespeare is president
They both know the ropes
And you what ya think?
Wink, wink
Old out dated systems gone haywire, personally,socially, politically. A system soaked in ideals we call 'civilized'.........from my collection The Situation@amazonbooks/taralizdriscoll
SwordNPen Oct 2017
He sits in his dark apartment listening to the sound of the old ceiling fan whirl around. Pleading with his insecurities and his other dark thoughts to stop. The air is stiff and his eyes heavy but he can't fall asleep. His heart races because he made the mistake of going to those dark corners , those **** dark corners .........
Wyatt Mar 2017
Mind barren, all clustered,
perched up on the window sill.
I'm shaken, I'm flustered
even when I'm slow and still.
Still as in no progress made,
but my soul also sometimes feels
as stiff as the corpses of yesterday.
Am I already too far gone?
Words and ideals of a ghost
mixed with the living?
Dead man walking.
Lady Ravenhill Feb 2017
My hands and my feet
are always cold, now.

They said it's normal,
a known side effect.

But so cold and stiff
they ache and they creak?

They took something
I can't get back.

Sometimes it feels like
I'm already dead.
@LadyofRavenhill 02/21/17
MsAmendable Mar 2016
My jaw is frozen
Ice and fire creep up my numb face
Circling my eye with gentle hands
Tingling across my stiff lips
They call it 'filling,' but when I touch it
It feels invisible, empty
Unreceptive or responsive
Numb like dead feet
What a curious feeling
That numb is
I went to the dentist for my first-ever filling, and can't get over how weird the freezing feels
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