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Someday i'm going to break, i'll lose it
and then the whole world will be sorry..
I'm ready to shoot, hand me the pistol.
I hid myself so much,
my sanity was the only thing the seeker couldn't find.
I have all these things going through my Mind.
My best friend forever just left me behind.
When I fall asleep is when I feel at peace the most
Not sure if what we had can be fixed but,
It would be unfair to allow you to move forward.
As I'm stuck here in our memories,
With a shattered heart.
I want you to know I won't let you forget me.
I'll place myself in every past memory of yours...
I'll interrupt every relationship you dare to hold...
it was your mistake to promise a forever
to a boy who would believe you
Isaac 15h
You can choose what you are doing with now,
Written 19 October 2018
Isaac 15h
What is poetry,
but your heart's voice
singing into reality?
Written 19 October 2018
C Spitz 2d
I don’t know what to do,
what do you want from me?
One week you can’t stay away,
the next I can’t find you.
Your reasons are good,
but my heart feels
something is wrong
and now I don’t know,
do I fight for you?
Because I will fight for you with
the strength of a thousand armies,
or do you want me to leave instead?
I struggle with myself,
that I deserve better,
but at the same time,
I know I don’t deserve you.
And maybe you know that too.
I’m tired of waiting,
and I’m tired of being taken for granted,
but oh how my heart beats for you!
I don’t know what to do.
What did we do wrong?
I greet you good in the mornings
And wait for you to sleep by night
I ask if you've eaten, if drinking
And make sure your health's right
I kiss you when you want (need) it
And hug you even when you're sour
Sing you all these sugary nothings
Tell you you're all mine, and that
I'm all yours, even on busy noon times
You invade my mind by the second
All I think of is you, and I tell you
You tell me it's the same with you too
Make our hands touch whenever they can
Then again, all this is in a span of weeks
And by the month we were 'us'
I thought we were the happiest, I thought
And then I come again to ask -
What went wrong? What did we do wrong?
Or maybe I'm asking the wrong question
and maybe it's "What did we do right?
don't read this poem if you suffer from ADD, or merely hate long poems

gave away 3 opportunities to a trusted someone,
a Persian poet carrying on a tradion

ask this poet of his unspeakables,
the open hidden,
received thrice, not nice, searching provocations, (idiot me),
inquiring of the souls interior chambers, where the fear to tread
is politely called in good company,
don’t go over to the dark side

questions of a thousand years, that got that way because
no one wants ever to be truly asked, and especially,
truly answer

but today's surrendering (the last of the three)
What gets you out of bed in the mornings
goes to the deadliest battlefields that millennially nourishes
and beats the blood of life
to feverish flooding that drowns you too close to real
death dangers

step to the step machine, lift the weights,
that cannot be lifted without a prayerful groan,
for surely surly poems cannot be, sleepy eyed ignored,
stepped over,
these muscle builders for the mind, these killing questions,
these ****** answers

Jeez Louise

if you are gonna ask me killer questions like this,
I may have to hide all the mirrors in the apartment,
with  funereal linen cover-ups,^
and/or publish poems that actually
pay the rent (a drag)

to steal a phrase,
what a long story this poem could be,
for one-me routinely accused of being the
arch super-villain with ***** nails,
fighting the good cherubic angels of
brevity in poetry

delay, deflect, d'ignore the irrefutable,
snap, crackle and pop goes the body's ports and parts,
when first you self-deceive,  
yeah yeah, alive, no jive, means

that still ya gotta get out of bed
by moonlight over Manhattan,
to deal with minute to minute trivia of lamentable suff

still here?

you actually want me to answer that question?

thought you were enjoying my evasive shadow boxing,
prefacing a smooth operation while escaping to north of the border

but lurking (always lurking) of late in the back of
the front of the left brain foot poetry orb, has been this word, variants thereof, saying
of me, write of me,

bless, (the) blessed, (with) blessings...

shocked? shocked?

yeah, me too.

on my mind when first we rise...

ah! counting your blessings no doubt...
now that's a thot, quite humorous, let's me count the ways

got your health?
well not really, left you hints aplenty...

peaces of mind?
sure, how many pieces you want to buy, we got 'em for sale
slightly used tarnished but organically reusable, from Whole Foods,
don’t be dumb
peace of mind can’t be store bought

No, I am not whining; I know what I got is good, but them **** poems that keep coming at night, like a fire engines flashing lights, a/k/a
them things that keep you up at night, are my habitués
but sometimes it takes months to finish a poem that
was mostly writ in a single flash
but bed born and dying
for there is no reality disclosable answer

get out of bed from

a ritualistic habit pointless

fear of living for nothing

great blessings, right?

to rinse and spit out our words of the
holy dark
for never seen the true light
supposedly that comes with you from the birth canal

(aren’t you sad you asked)

you see
I do not know
what gets
out of bed
in the morning
for I have been up all night
wondering why
I should

counting my seven days of mourning counting my blessings is a ******* curse

no more questions
^ look up sitting shiva
if want to see the other two, send me a private message
You don't know what thoughts you run through my mind
You don't know what trash you'll soon discover and find

You don't know what my words behind the screen really mean
You don't know what parts of my life are filthy, and what parts are clean

You don't know or see the emotions you've caused to ask why
You don't know what you've said that has caused me to cry

You don't know what messages and signals you show
You don't know how much confusion you throw

You don't know what I want to shout and scream
You don't know what nights seem to be a dream

You don't know what hurts
You don't know what scorches and burns

You don't know what lies behind these eyes
You don't know what causes a heart to die...

You don't know... or don't want to understand...
and honestly... who in their right mind would... even take my hand

They would have to be able to see... and not be so blind...
To see this monster... and yet... still want me... and love me...
...come soon.... i'm so sick of all this ****** waiting...
trf 7d
trace your faint touch down my rib cage,
whispered nails hush my chest,
let's synch our heart beats,
exhale burgundy breath,
that cheap red wine
and our ultra violet teeth.

unlace your lucid ****,
cocoons under silk sheets,
thread counts are high,
your body next to me.

your head rests gently,
my arm falls asleep,
i try not to move,
make sense to me.
girl gonzo Oct 9
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the names 'mark + bethany' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums  
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
I fear that people will find my poetry,
and learn what I have not.
What I have not learned.
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