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co'h Nov 2018
i don't know how people walk the streets of this city as if they were simple streets

a synagogue stood there once
and there
and there
and there

these streets are to be hiked, these streets are trees

these streets were clean until a man was forced to scrub them
and another man
and another man
and another man

a mountain of words disappeared into smoke right there
and there
and there
and there
people were next
and next and next and next and next and next

these streets will talk to anybody willing to listen, nightmares galore

a waggon stopped there once
and there neighbors
and there teachers
and there doctors
and there students
and there friends
and there humans

we didn't know what was happening, we didn't know, we didn't know
not quite sure what this is, but I've been needing to get this off my mind somehow, I tried to draw but nothing came to me, maybe words will help this time
Qwn Nov 2018
Walking the streets from
midnight to early morning,
is not unlike walking through
a graveyard at dusk.
You can see the ghosts of peoples day.
You can hear the echo of their voices.
You can feel their presence.
While stalking the streets
you pass under the fog
clouding around hazy street lamps,
look into dark windows,
and you’re as good as alone.
Breath leaves your mouth,
swimming around you like
the smoke of a cigarette.
The faintest glimmer of life
echos the streets you wander.
The silence screams louder
than your own thoughts.
You wonder what it would be like to die,
would you stay a ghost on these streets?
cleann98 Oct 2018
she grabs me by my arms and pulls me close, much like she always does every single time it pours.

"you're standing under the rain again."

i could almost whisper alongside her. it's not like she says anything different anyway. always that same sentence. said under that same overcast sky. with that same calm concerned smile.

she never fails to make me feel more tepid inside.

"it is okay as long as i'm with you."
"not like we have a roof to stand under anyway".

she answers herself nearly synchronized with me. she knows exactly what i was to say.

"you can stay safe and dry in my arms instead."

i know she says those words every day but i never tire of listening to them. she has always been my fortress. i love her.

and i can barely understand why, but she always says that i am far too cold as she hugs me; to be honest all i feel is warmth. it puzzles me still—

whenever i close my eyes and say that this is the warmest i've ever been all she does is shake me as the rain grows ever so stronger.

her face just turns pale as if she's seeing a ghost in my place. i wonder what's wrong.

"can you hear me?"
"wake up!"
"hey open your eyes!"

"why are you screaming, mother."

all i can do is ask as calmly as i ever could.

"you're bothering the neighbors. i'm awake. i'm here."

i continue to speak out but maybe the rain is muffling out my voice? i don't know.

she looks cynical. much like the opposite of her cool and patient demeanor she always sports.

"no! not you too!"
"please stay!"

"i'm here mother, what's wrong!"

i try my best to shout watching her weep and sob incessantly calling out my name.

i hate it. she does this everyday. she doesn't ever stop. i hate it. i hate it. how can i make her stop?

"please."

i once again shout out but maybe the subsiding rain blocks that away from her ears like they did yesterday and the day before.

i hate to see mom like this. it isn't funny. i'm here! i'm not going away like dad and my big sister!

i'm always here.

"please don't go away."

she whispers once again holding me tighter. much much tighter than she ever did.

her arms almost passing right through me.

"mom, i can't breathe."
"are you alright?"

waterfalls of her tears wet my hair and fall straight to my heart. i can feel them. so so so warm.

it was almost dead silent if the rain hadn't  been taking away the words from my mouth.

"i'm sorry mom."
"i'll always be here for you"
"i love—"

"*******. you good for nothing, leaving me alone."

she whispers almost as soon as the tears subside. smiling. again. unsettlingly.

"mom?"

i don't know. i don't understand. i don't believe it.

"go on. go ahead. you want to leave? leave. leave me alone. that's what you always wanted to do didn't you? don't let me hold you back. go on. go away. go away like everyone else does."

she doesn't even wait for me to collect the proper words to reply. i've been trying to do so for weeks, months of this same dialogue in repeat. ever since she took me from that freaky hospital bed.

she stood up and walked past me. more like she walked through me. like i was a poltergeist.

doesn't she know that my soul is already anchored in her? i won't ever leave. she keeps me for ever safe.

i can't bare to watch her walk away. that is something i'll never ever do. i know she'll be back in a few minutes anyway.

mom will never let get sick in the rain after all...

so suddenly, she grabs me by the arms and pulls me close, much like she always does every single time it pours.

"you're standing under the rain again."

she says with a ridiculous smile.
for those wondering, this is not my standard format. this is not a poem. this is a fortress mother and child built. it will last. nothing can stand stronger than a house built from nothing.

nothing left to be touched.
nothing left to be stolen.
nothing left to be hurt.
nothing left to be destroyed.
nothing.
Gabriel Oct 2018
Don't compare me to the streets in your way...  
       I don't let others walk on a path
    that's only for one ..

    I'm not like you  |  I am not a deadman's house
              Where people only come to your door just to be entertained.
                         .I'm better.
               Better than you,but still
        you bring out what's best

in me...
Work my way out of this situation
Maya Lednevsky Oct 2018
Green light beam shines upon the web of streets,
The messenger from strange and distant worlds.
You're far away, for me it all repeats -
My town is empty, shadows roam the walls.

No Savior comes, I run into the void.
And when the masts of pines come into view,
I stop and fall on salty sand, destroyed.
It does not matter if I cry for you -

It's not the wind that rustles sleepy trees,
It's not the chirps of sparrows or jays,
It's Moira, saddened by the Fate she sees,
Unknits the lace of my remaining days...
Robbie Jean Oct 2018
Beneath the Roses,
Down stairs of bone,
the Twilight has fled,
and I am home

At the Nightclub Carnival,
Six-Six-Six Feet Under,
Morphine Martyrs dance with
******* Thunder

Lost among the Nocturnal Nymphs,
the Wildflower Cannibals eat
Innocence.

Violet Vapors
Scholars of Marijuana
Let's **** the Beatnik Babes
into a different genre.

We are New York Fairies and
their ****** Brothers.
Our hearts play on vinyl,
we're the Devil's lovers.

I've become my own Altar,
for the dead pray to None
Under Ginsberg's Grave,
The Party's just begun.

- M.R
For Allen Ginsberg. (the Beat Poets didn't ****)
I walked straight through your heart,
Metaphorically.

Stormy, windy, dark nights,
With shattered street lights,
Void of any form of light.
Your heart suffers an undesirable life.

Stroms embody distress and frailty.
Winds embody hastiness.
Dark nights embody sinister actions.
With no hope present, a more profound image is painted.

When I walked through your metaphorical heart
I felt the suffering.
Shivers and goosebumps displayed my uneasyness,
Yet you live a life exactly like this.

The most metaphorical experience was my most life-like, metaphorical experience.

Place your heart next to that of a queen's and nothing sets it apart as being different,
But upon closer examination - listening and communicating - a whole lot of darkness is felt and seen.

Inner darkness is better than an assumed inner brightness, based on the exterior condition.

Authenticity in physical condition is important.
E B K Sep 2018
in the streets there are
many people sleeping and
many scared to sleep
GraciexJones Sep 2018
Day after day her sanity peels away,
Living to fight another day,
Her hunger stirs inside once more,
Murky shirt is hanging loose,
Her face and hair covered in grime and dirt,
Clothes ripped and worn,
Her skin is withered and torn,
Physically craving meal,
Weighing 10 Stones lighter,
Sockless and penniless,

Time keeps slipping away,
Feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders,
She lays there on the hard concrete floor,
Feeling scared and alone
Looking over her shoulder,
Terrible fears plague her,
In this place she calls her home town,

Strangers walk by gawking,  
Analysing her vulnerability,
Criticizing her capability,
Paralyzed by her identity,

Stability is what she is hoping for,
A facility that puts bread on the table,
But the system shuns her away once more,
She grasps onto her faith in fear it will start to crumble,
A sense of purpose to stay alive

She sees a familiar man standing by her side,
He offer’s his hand with a welcoming promise and smiles with a high-spirited expression,
A sense of warmth and belonging races through her body,
She traces his wrinkles on his face,
His eyes are hazel-nut brown,
His hair and beard is frosty white,
She recognizes his smell from when she was a child,
A scent of incense and lavender,



He gently rests her cheek in his hands,
Sadness fills up in his eyes,
He glimpses into her shattered soul,
The grief which had burnt a hole,
The anguish deep inside,
Tears trickle down his face,
There a stands a man of her heart
Homeless victim in Brighton street
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