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If I saw you again, I wouldn’t care about things that were so petty, like whose plates and cutlery lay idle in the sink...who didn’t take out the *******...who forgot to water the plants, or who forgot to do this or that.

The only sounds I hear now are our splintered voices down the phone. Every night. They grow. They break. They hover, they drift ever-so, and they try to fade. But somehow, they are always there. Lingering. Over and over again.

And as I look out at the morning’s rusty dream of dawn, a thin film of moisture condensing on the windscreen, I pause.

It isn’t the first time I’ve tried to take a film noir journey through my subconscious.

It isn’t the first time I’ve tried to pull moments and memories together to make some utter sense of what’s happening. My thoughts seem to always unravel themselves. And I struggle with them. They don’t effortlessly slot together anymore.

I often think to myself: isn't it funny how our impression of time changes? God, reflecting back on a fading memory now seems livelier than life itself.

As I sit here, thinking all these sad and strange thoughts – that everything – time, work, effort, money, affection – are moments that will, one day, crumble and fade – that they won’t be there forever in the physical world.

Because everything we had cherished with such love, I still remember. Still.
from late august. little memory
Zoe Grace 16h
To read is to breathe
To write is to drink
To listen is to eat and
To wonder is to believe
Literature is energy for the soul
I knew you wouldn't come back
Where are you really?
You never write to me and mum
You think you're soaring freely?
I hear mum cry every night
While you're out there having fun
How can you think that this is right
When mum wants her life to be done
George ran away from his sister and his mum
A writer writes for themselves
An author writes for the world
A poet writes for those who cannot speak
She wants a lot of love but I can’t force the body to consume what it doesn’t digest, to be fair we were young, in love with our toxins, and slightly obsessed. It’s kind of hard to part ways when you once shared better days. Tears falling from her porcelain skin, I stepped in like ancestors in the form of guided winds. I uplifted you, showed you that you are worth more than a number from the mouths of many men “she’s a ten”. As we both walk away from the pain, the love we have for each other will always remain. Bad relationships have knowledge in the end, the take away is.......****! We should of stayed friends.

CP.
When you are young with no experience. You accept certain people. You don’t know what you have you just know you like that person. But when you grow, your eyes start to realize that it’s not what you want.
SHE SAID: LATELY I’M ATTRACTING..... CERTAIN ENERGIES IN MEN THAT BRING BACK TRAUMATIC MEMORIES. I’M ATTRACTING.....CERTAIN SITUATIONS THAT I AM FACING HEAD ON, I NEED TO CHECK MYSELF MY FEELINGS ARE TOO STRONG. BUT IT’S HARD TO KEEP MY MENTAL WHEN YOU HAVE HOPE FOR A “MAN” THAT YOU THOUGHT HAD POTENTIAL. I’M ATTRACTING LOOKS WITHOUT PERSONALITIES, FEELS LIKE I’M LOSING MYSELF IN DIFFERENT REALITIES. DEEP WHEN IT COMES TO STROKES, DEEP LIKE OPENING MY HEART UP AND THEN I’M CRYING TO MY FOLKS. LET THE UNIVERSE HEAL YOU WHEN YOU ARE FEELING BROKEN. MANTRA: I LOVE MYSELF, BOUNDARIES ARE SET FOR MYSELF, TRUE TO MYSELF I’LL REMAIN, MY LIFE IS OPEN FOR CHANGE.

CP.
Alice 6d
I once wrote about
being written into existence

how I longed for someone
to put pen to paper
fingertips to keyboard
to tell me who I am
to give me worth

how could I have
forgotten

I am my own poet
and I can write just fine
I don't need you any more
when I picked up my pen,
I wanted to write about
gray skies
and thunderstorms
and the sound of rain
and laughter
and splashing in puddles.

I wanted to write about
the hole he left in the wall
by the staircase,
and how it seemed so much bigger
than his fist.
I couldn’t believe he made such an impact
with one blow
before he walked away.
I couldn’t believe he made such an impact
by walking away.

I wanted to write about
cigarettes and smoke
and young men with blackened lungs
and why we love
the things that destroy us.

I wanted to write about
this numbness
and how I feel nothing
but everything
at the same time,
and how I’m not sure
which is worse.

I wanted to write about
your cologne
and your citrus-scented shampoo
and how the smell lingered
on my pillow
long after you left,
and how I found someone new
but still fell asleep
to the thought of you.

I wanted to write until
my fingers blistered
and began to ache,
and my demons fell
from my overflowing mind
and drowned in ink.

but when I picked up my pen,
I had shaky hands.

I sat there silently
and I trembled
and broke down
and let my tears fall,
and my thoughts did not stop
racing through my head

but none of them
managed to escape onto paper.
Maria Etre Oct 14
The confessional between my body and the world
is in my hand
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Chase Pamplin Oct 13
You
I’m trying to find the words to say,  but my brain can’t keep up with my mouth so it can’t be processed. Beauty isn’t everything but when you speak, wisdom pours out and I’m slightly obsessed. I like those earth tone colors you wear, it lets my mind know that you are all the elements combined into one. I love candid shots from behind when your backs against the sun. Even your silhouette is beautiful on my camera screen these pixels tell no lies, perfection in my eyes look at the goddess you’ve become.

CP.
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