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Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Shrinking Season
by Michael R. Burch

With every wearying year
the weight of the winter grows
and while the schoolgirl outgrows
her clothes,
the widow disappears
in hers.

Originally published by Angle. Keywords/Tags: schoolgirl, outgrows, clothes, widow, disappears, winter, time, shrinking, season, atrophy, emaciation, bone, loss
Red Oct 2019
My words are but shells of emotion
poorly imitating my thoughts
so why return to poetic devotion
and warmly embrace all I've fought

How do you decipher the incomprehensible
the unfathomable side effects of existence
what god resides here must think me dispensable
may it fear my thrashing and resistance  

these stoic shells have returned presently
and like death they stubbornly prevail
when I fade into the unknown pleasantly
these words shall live on past my last exhale
writing for the first time in a long time... sometimes words do not meet our tragedies, nor do they our triumphs. but they are all we have in a world of sin and insanity
Jenna Lucht Aug 2019
i want to peel off
all my skin
out of punishment
for knowing it was once
touched by you.

tear away
bit by bit its memories
out of jealousy
that you’re gone
and it remains.

i will then
hastily tape it back
piece by piece
the only remaining artifice
of your earthly exploration.

it will be ugly-
it is ugly.
without your touch-
it is useless.
The uniVerse Oct 2017
The silence it deafens me
with violence they threaten me
to carry me off to an asylum
unless I can provide them
with an ulterior motive
till I hand in my notice
relinquish the chains upon my bed
the fiendish brain inside my head
deviously plotting my own demise
take leave from this place to warmer tides
bathe my body beneath calmer skies
naked like the day I drew breath
naked as I stare upon death
one hand holding a crooked scythe
the other beckoning to me, my life
did you forget to count the die?
or forgo the countless lies
that made the Countess cry
neither man nor mystery could change her path
so it's left to me to rearrange the past
jigsaw pieces scattered upon my pillow
connecting dots to draw the willow
who could forget the weeping widow
that cried herself to sleep.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BzgaX_GHJRE/
Caitlin May 2019
It won't hurt like this forever.
One day, you'll wake up,
and the pain won't take your breath away.
You won't fear the coming day
that you have to do alone
and before you did it together.
And you'll pass their picture in the hallway
or the shoes you still can't throw out
or the cinnamon candies that you never liked
but that you'd give anything to smell on his breath,
you'll pass and look at them fondly
and you'll swear you can feel their arms around you
just for a second.
And it won't hurt so much when the feeling passes.
People will stop looking at you with pity,
and you'll enjoy lunches with friends again.
You'll all laugh as if nothing ever happened.
But the empty chair beside you
will be a testament that you just can't shake
although you'd never try anyway.
The pain you have and harbor
is proof that you loved
and lost
but loved, all the same.
It will never stop hurting
but you'll embrace the pain.
For my cousin Kristy
Salmabanu Hatim Feb 2019
I am your wife,
I do not have your courage,
I have a soul which cries,
Which is restless,
When you are sent on the Front Line,
Not knowing if you would return alive or dead.
And if you return home,
Wounded,scarred with traumatic
stress disorder,
I become not a wife nor your widow,
Just your caretaker,
My soul bleeds.
19/2/2019.
brat bunny Sep 2018
Do you hear the suffering,
and cries.
Do you see the desperation
in my eyes.
Do you see the drowning
of your lies.

Can you feel, Mrs. Black Widow?
Or is your heart black as coal,
and your mind void of hope?
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