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#glum
It's all a little weird, The way things fall into place. How life seems to catch us, When the time is just right. Life found me when I was glum, It told me to write.
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Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC
Life Found Me
There really wasn't much to the day A bit of sun A bit of grey Leaving me with room to think A sip to numb A heart to sink
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May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 11:44 AM UTC
Glum
January will not be missed but stubbornly, mist it is
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Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 4:15 AM UTC
Fogged up
<> ***"having found a white coal seam amidst the black bunting that decorates their glum apprehension of tomorrow's tidings"^*** the computer tablet recognizes as I essay,                                                                                   the "tomorrow" word as possessing a reality, with time sensitivity, please,  somebody help us, almost an inevitability the possibility of a realizable event,                            as if the poem composing was the future's assuming a 99% probability,           right ready for scheduling offering me two choices: create event or view calendar? as if the next shooting, bombing, and my glum apprehension thereof, as if ''tomorrow's" tidings were mine own doing of my undoing, somehow my fears create or anticipation of the "next one" makes me a guilty part my heart cracking with despairing moans knowing that this is foolishness but                 not to me for as we think upon it, that tiny extra precaution, 'tis already the small death of me each death a cut in the same spot, and the pestering wound ground deeper, bone closer find myself jailed in a place with no view, insecure and unprotected no view, no window to crack, no window no view no to letting  in fresh air, hope or something good, and yes to no, I know about this and that and words intended to offer up optimism, albeit on a small scale I am careful not to mock the words and those who offer up but seriously, don't I came to, I came to this place to write only love poetry silly love songs and some black angel sideswiped me in the left lane writing now in stead of ways I'm dented and unforgiving feeling stoopidly foolish            even as I try and I try to find the seed germane to the connectivity between the horror hallmarks of these times and the ******* window is just stuck stuck stuck I'll think I'll change my name, honestly, only love poetry? cries out ridiculous this is no poem, more a teacher's note of surrender,                                                        come back with a new identity or just a new field of endeavor so I put that on my calendar for tomorrow and it appears right away, right after: 6:00 am Check on Glum Apprehensions and it appears that I'm too late confirming I've missed my appointment so too late for my kind of tomfoolery.             and that white seam, glimpsed but not grasped, illusion noxious,, I can't seem to locate it anymore
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Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
a place with no view: the glum apprehension of tomorrow's tiding
<> ***"having found a white coal seam amidst the black bunting that decorates their glum apprehension of tomorrow's tidings"^*** the computer tablet recognizes as I essay,                                                                                   the "tomorrow" word as possessing a reality, with time sensitivity, please,  somebody help us, almost an inevitability the possibility of a realizable event,                            as if the poem composing was the future's assuming a 99% probability,           right ready for scheduling offering me two choices: create event or view calendar? as if the next shooting, bombing, and my glum apprehension thereof, as if ''tomorrow's" tidings were mine own doing of my undoing, somehow my fears create or anticipation of the "next one" makes me a guilty part my heart cracking with despairing moans knowing that this is foolishness but                 not to me for as we think upon it, that tiny extra precaution, 'tis already the small death of me each death a cut in the same spot, and the pestering wound ground deeper, bone closer find myself jailed in a place with no view, insecure and unprotected no view, no window to crack, no window no view no to letting  in fresh air, hope or something good, and yes to no, I know about this and that and words intended to offer up optimism, albeit on a small scale I am careful not to mock the words and those who offer up but seriously, don't I came to, I came to this place to write only love poetry silly love songs and some black angel sideswiped me in the left lane writing now in stead of ways I'm dented and unforgiving feeling stoopidly foolish            even as I try and I try to find the seed germane to the connectivity between the horror hallmarks of these times and the ******* window is just stuck stuck stuck I'll think I'll change my name, honestly, only love poetry? cries out ridiculous this is no poem, more a teacher's note of surrender,                                                        come back with a new identity or just a new field of endeavor so I put that on my calendar for tomorrow and it appears right away, right after: 6:00 am Check on Glum Apprehensions and it appears that I'm too late confirming I've missed my appointment so too late for my kind of tomfoolery.             and that white seam, glimpsed but not grasped, illusion noxious,, I can't seem to locate it anymore
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Heart: I have a book of songs, a collection of antique emotions, carefully crafted for someone Like how seedlings germinate inside the womb of the good green Earth feeling the warmth of a watchful Sun Yet I pick up another, a chronicle sans embellishments, A tale every bit pure, every bit unspun A familiar fear grips me - clouds me, maims me, ****** me as I open it with glum expectations But I feel myself break, to know of my absence from this tome, with each page I anxiously turn Did I not deserve a chapter, a line, atleast a word? Maybe I will find a footnote - none! Mind: Oh my dear heart, Do not expect in return something better because you've surrendered to her memories Equivalence is just, but justice is not a quality How do you plan to **** the one whom you've already granted immortality?
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May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 4:21 PM UTC
Dialogue IV: Mind and Heart - Songbird's trepidation
I believe in utilitarianism And stay living in a state of disguising glum for glee I see it as my way of giving back Because as long as they're happy I can keep up the show
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Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
Glum for glee
how does one write M-E-L-A-N-C-H-O-L-Y without stopping to wash their hands?
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Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
title
always crude to everyone even a discomfort to herself certain times is willing to help out but cannot even fix herself admits that everything is well to not be a disturbance certain times is willing to open up but still feel glum it doesn't feel right and normal to prefer to be disregarded mostly wishing to end everything but stays for the people she love it is ultimately true and real that she ruins what she touches mostly wishing to find a remedy but strangely fine with her state {k. l.}
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Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
unease
Translucent and cold, My body doesn't even shiver, Lips faded to a dull grey, This isn't old age. Inside is empty, As lonely as my shell. Earth is my personal hell. They push on my chest, To rescusitate me. The blood pumps and for a while, I'm alive again. My previous corpse blown away. But it doesn't take long, I soon become fragile, And my insides shatter like glass. A 100 cuts just in my mind. Walking down the street you wouldn't tell. For I delicately place my mask on every day. To hide my pain and Shame.
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Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Rescusitate
I've got that feeling once again, After staying up til 3 A.M, When insecurities start to creep, And I curse myself for lack of sleep. It seems I have no way of knowing, Which way my thought process is going, One day I'm happy, the next I'm glum, And console myself with smoke and *** I try to find a compromise- Get blasted drunk, and close my eyes, But the world keeps spinning round and round, Bottle's empty- no peace found. Like the Irish airman in the sky, I seem to watch as other lives flash by, Then I pass out, hoping I'll never know, The places those tormented souls must go.
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Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
More Thoughts At 3 A.M
Never have I seen your purest smile Nor see it shine I don't know if it's just me But I know I can see Those eyes didn't glisten Your lips have never widen You always say that you're happy But please stop pretending Don't think of me so lowly I can sense that you're lonely It hurts to see you like this But what else can I do? You never wanted me to Be that one who catches you Up till now I don't know how I want you to show The place i'd mend To let you know that it's not the end Just show me your broken pieces I shall heal them with my kisses
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Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
I'd like to see your widest grin
My gums are bleeding; I've brushed too hard. Because my words, Were much too harsh. And it seems to me That I'm trying to scrub them away. And I'm praying that they will not Stay.
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Cleanse My Mouth
You taught me how to float When I was sinking. So why was it That you allowed yourself to Drown?
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Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
Drown
I swallowed the sun, Because I wanted to be light. But I followed the moon, Because I missed the balance.
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Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Wanted
My life is so bland My heart is so bitter    My mind is full of lies    And my lungs feel as if they are collapsing. Everyday is the same It's like I'm not even a living creature    I feel like a robot    That is programmed to do the same thing      Every single day. Anger laps at my heart Like a raging flame    I clench my fists    My knuckles turn milky white      I hate myself so f-cking much. Everyday I tell myself that I am okay; I am all right    I am alive      I tell myself I am beautiful,      And even though my body is small      (and very skinny)        It is unique and perfect. But I know deep down I am nowhere near perfection;    Nowhere near beauty    And I know that I am not okay      I'm not all right      I am breathing        But I am d e a d. My lungs yearn for the cool spring air I long to go outside    While blissfully inhaling     The smell before the spring shower      But I can't       I am stuck in winter,        I am frozen solid. I am a burned out light bulb I am the worthless blade of dead grass   I am the hazardous oil that spills into the sea     I am the gloomy rain clouds      I am the raging storm. Basically I am worthless   And everday    The same question floats into my mind     "Why am I still breathing?"
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May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
The Past and Present me