Everyone started to feel like they came back to life now.
Everyone begs for a kiss
Everyone begs for more time
While I wanted to burn inside.

And all the girls have their heads in their lost dreams.
I want to be ****** not to get involved.
They have forgotten how love hurts.
It seems they are not afraid of the smell of love.
I do not want to inhale the scent, the last time I did it completely destroyed me.

I'm going to smoke cigarettes.
I'm going to shake my head.
I put the red lipstick on.
I will drink .
I'll get the best outfit.
I dance the love songs.

But I will not talk about emotions here.
Because it seems like everyone wants to romanticize broken hearts.

Dreamers like his strong scent.
But it is not the smell of broken hearts, it is not the smell of summer on our skin, it is not the smell of flowers springing in the spring, nor of innocence.
It's the smell of love.
Love is in the air
In the land of cold hearts.
In a place of empty hearts and vibrations of misunderstood beings.
The smell of love still seems to be in the air.
It spreads as fast as if it were disease.
So I'm going to get ****** so I do not get it.
It spreads so fast and gives false euphoria.
In the end, it disappears.
We were disappointed after that.

We with unhealed wounds can not be involved in this communion of dreams and fantasies.

For some love is the only reason they exist.

Everyone seems poisoned by love.
 Because it will satisfy their unreal needs ...
But knowing that it toxic and disappointment is unlimited.
And when the pain comes , nobody wants to get involved.

Do not use drugs .
Do not use love.

It seems to be metaphor for little poetry.
But it is the nostalogy of love not understood.

I saw the sun steep
into the seascape ―
lonely as a drowning
    wave
         on still-waters

the dimming of the day
rescinding evanescent daylight                                                         ­         .
fading with the slack tide
         lost at sea ―
a gloaming moment
         let fall from
the remains of the day,
like some other passing
sea bird's molted feather
drifts away untamed

I sit silent as the driftwood
lingering at the watermark,
watching a random gust
    erase the footprints
of another recurring day, 
bearing abandoned memories
    and vacant heartbeats,
atrophied in the drifting sands

    and I see you walking
    towards the abating  
    midnight sunset ―
         but I know
    you're just a mirage;    
like the dimming afterglow
of so many waning moons
            elapsed
         
ever-changing tides grow low  
and promises made lightly  
         do ebb away
          
Scanning the distant horizon ―    
    a blindfold heart    
    mooning all at sea;
parsing a deserted shoreline,
    wondering if love
          is too late ,..
    to stem the tide ―


        harlon rivers

      30   May   2018

Ever listened to song,
Or sound.
Once liked.
Now festered with new meaning.

Tendrils snaking to your heart,
A piece of the world you no longer wish feel.

Yet it hurts to turn away.
To turn away from the truth.
Behind the song:
A real piece of this world,
You can no longer touch.

A fantom limb,
A cursed itch.
Across your heart,
A deep unhealed cut

You can hold a pebble
in the palm of your hand.
But when it's been pummeled
and turned to sand,
no matter how tight
you clench your fingers together
it'll slip through your hands.
Oh how the damaged ones slip through time.
Forgotten n spread across shore lines. Where different waves reach their lips only be pulled away before they reach,

Untouched n unfaze they become apart of the maze.
Left,
Right,
Up or
Down,
It's such a confusing haze. Her walls are high n you'll never find the center place.