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Mores the fool, me
To reach out without setting expectations
To harbor burgeoning hope
For planting the seedlings of love

Mores the fool, me
To hope for romance in a sea of transactional lust
To give port to the illusion
For watering my attraction

Mores the fool, me
To trust your words despite the signal flags
To give you berthing
For sheltering you against the storm

Mores the fool, me
To allow myself to fall for the obvious lies
To try and tie you to the dock
For bringing you upon my island

Mores the fool, me
A question for the audience: How can love be found when romance is predicated on an exchange of money?
Tired is an emotion,
It's a wavering between sad,
And paranoid.
Exhausted because you couldn't sleep,
You were worrying about everything,
About her, about you, about life, the future too.
You keep worrying,
Until you pass out from lack of sleep,
And not even writing helps.
Because there's nothing to write about,
You feel the same every passing day,
But you can't write the same thing for days in a row.
New work, is there new work?
I'm working on it,
Drowning in thoughts,
Wish I could drown it out,
I can't out-think myself.
Though I wish I could,
My mind is a faucet,
But there's no turning it off.
So tired
Cindy 1d
There's nothing like
waking up at dawn.
The plants and the trees
are bare.
Each blade of grass
is either brown or green.
The quiet demands silence.
Even the cats
that follow
me outside
lower their heads
to show some respect
to the quiet.

I collapse, surrendering
to the rocking chair
My eyes still heavy
from only having a few hours of sleep.
The pills haven't worn off yet.

A half-smoked cigar is in my hand.
I take it to my lips
flick the Bic
and give it a long kiss.
Inhaling enough smoke
to fill my lungs.
Leaning back in the chair
I release a stream
of smoke.
Sitting there watching
nothing happen.
It feels good.

Until my mind starts up again.
Like a record on repeat.
The static
and flashes of
all the episodes
with every word
drowning my brain
with loads of cheap whiskey.
I question myself,
Will I be able to make it today?
Can I outrun
this hurricane
at least for
another day?

It's awkward being around so
much stillness and having a
tornado inside.
From a perspective of
someone people watching
I'd just look like a normal lady
sitting outside enjoying
their morning cigar.
They're partially right,

It was a **** good cigar.
I didn't have the energy to shine.
I didn't have the strength to put on my shining armour,
and I couldn't spend the evening smiling and laughing with you,
if overnight I'd be crying alone.

What are friends for, if not to help you through.
If they become nothing but a load,
are they even friends anymore?

I've been spending my whole life circling around this question.
Going through every excuse, trying to change and twist its truth.

But I no longer have the energy to lie,
I no longer can put on a smile and hope for the best.

Because I can't be others prince in shining armor,
while inside, I am still the frog,
and the princess to be saved.
:)
ivan 2d
sometimes i just need a hug

not the harsh words
maybe i just dont want to listen
to the truth
maybe im just too overwhelmed

sensitive.

i would never ask
for something like this
stabbing teeth into my wrists

like a dog, i follow you,
i admire you
but
sometimes all i need
is a hug
exhausted
torn apart.
Kai 3d
My eyes
Used to run exactly like a faucet would
Crying because of every bruise
Head damage
People hitting my head
And calling it a day
Daily
I would trip
Fall
And land on my head
Push
Shove
And land on my head

Every Amber alert I would hear
Would make me cry
Turning on the dials
And tears would be pouring out of my eyes
Because I thought
I would be the next victim
To be kidnapped
Scared to leave the house
Scared to leave my mother

I thought the same about thunderstorms
How the lightning
It would possibly catch the house on fire
When I was sleeping
Or electrocute me when I'm touching a window

Seems to say
Times have changed
Years have gone on
I'm still the same faucet
But now just a ruined one

Drops of water
Leaving the faucet
On unprompted moments
And some
Wouldn't even come out
On the most tear-threatening
Situation
As if the faucet has the mind of its own

The faucet
Would turn on
By mere phantoms
Trying to take out the faucet
And warning to make it shatter

Faucet
Made of china-glass
The fragile glass
Was made to be broken one day
And be replaced by another
It's like- 11 pm on a school night and I'm tired. Goodnight.
Oh dark eyes
With skin sagging mounts
Feed me your love
If you would remain open.

Cherish your soul
It's tired and dark
I'll feed it my love
If I could bear witnessing it.

Curtains closed
In your bedroom
And I would knock
If you would answer.

You should open your eyes
Open your soul
Open your window.
Because I would give you a world's worth of love.
^_^
Tired is the hush that falls on the bones,
a slow collapse behind the eyes—
like dusk unrolling through the halls
of thought, where once bright echoes rise.

Tired in the mind is static hum,
pages blurred and drifting slow,
words that once leapt sharp and sure
now stumble, slurred, and cease to flow.

Tired in the flesh is heavy steps,
shoulders pulled by unseen hands,
the climb of stairs a mountain now,
the bed a far and foreign land.

Tired in the heart is quiet sighs,
smiles held up like broken glass,
the weight of joy too much to lift,
the days too wide, the nights too vast.

Each kind of tired speaks its own,
in ache, in fog, in silence deep—
a different shape of letting go,
a different way of falling sleep.
inkedsolace Mar 23
Give me a break,
This shouldn't have to be such a hot take,
Stop making me feel worthless and fake,
You're grinding my head into a medium rare steak,
****** and broken to throw into the lake,
Where rumors can drink from to cure their slake,
And I'll end up at night lyin' awake,
Wondering when comes dawn's jailbreak,
Stayin' up 'til my head starts to ache,
Stayin' up 'til my heart starts to break,
...Why can't you see what's at stake?

x i. solace
Jia En Mar 23
Sometimes I feel like dying
There isn't any point in trying
To be the person I used to be
The me
That people actually
Love. Barely
Any
Energy
Left for the simplest of punctuation.
My notebook hasn't been touched in days
(Like I said, there's no point anyway)
It burns to even glance at it
Glance at the me that's supposed to be
Alive and thriving
But is simply
Rotting away
Doing what I can't say
But it's all fine
It's better to leave nothing behind
Than to have set fires for
Others to put out
When I'm not here anymore.
burnout.
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