#worn
the ticking clock - it soothes,
headaches sneak in like a crime.
now in its place, a quiet slithers,
leaving foreign trails behind.
walls tainted with a past,
bearing scars of reckless times.
alas, it warns of five o’clock,
sun mirrors back two bloodshot eyes.
3.4.26
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 11:42 AM UTC
You may as well be dead
Yet you live in my mind
manifested; a book I’ve thoroughly read
Weathered, faded, worn at the spine
Tucked in the corner of the shelf
Tethered, fated, scorned, story of my life; I digress
Shaky fingers trace the cover
Then fold them over and under each page
Though, I cannot be faced with the same words
They feel as empty as they were before
Feb 20
Feb 20, 2026 at 10:10 AM UTC
The glimmer in your eye
doesn’t shine the way I remember.
There’s still kindness in your gaze,
but it feels hollow.
Your eyes look worn,
like you haven’t slept in years.
Do you even remember
who you are?
Still I give you the coffee
that you might love more than me.
So I can sleep next to you
while you stay up at night.
May 7, 2025
May 7, 2025 at 3:00 AM UTC
I have no guidence.
Searched on every summit
for some lost elusive cure,
and for the alchemy to make
me feel like I was pure.
Violently, I've torn through
the marrow of all I am,
begging every single deity
I've known for their hand.
I have no peace.
Maybe healing will never surface,
Maybe muffled by the sand.
A doctrine for the hopeful,
Who will never understand.
Wounds have always held
Daggers that were never removed.
What if pain protects the heart
Because it never is renewed?
I have no harmony.
Singing broken hymns can birth
another's hymn of praise.
Unspoken cosmic laws that state
Examples must be made.
I am never truly broken,
I can wish to be in time,
But I remain a quantum sonnet,
That is void of any rhyme.
I have no exit.
Maybe there is grace that lives
Within my wilted plea.
In knowing, I'm exactly
Who I knew I'd always be.
In a life of pulling chains,
Tethered to a hopeless mind.
What is left within a soul,
To see a purpose that's divine,
Without the residue of ash
From embers charring bone?
Without emotions echoes,
That have turned it into stone.
The cold sweat of empathy
For the fellow misbegotten.
Or wihout the twitching nerves
Of a body that is rotten.
I have no dreams.
I cannot find belief in me
For false restoration.
No longer a beggar for
A hollowed-out salvation.
I walk with aching fractures
To a rapture born in rust.
A fate I feel deep in my core,
That all is made of dust.
I have no reasons.
What's the purpose
For this riddle I weave?
Is there truth in what remains,
Or is truth in what will leave?
As I stand, a withered body,
weeping now without a plea.
I am all I ever was,
All I've known I'd ever be.
I have no future.
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 4:46 PM UTC
Could I have done more, yes
But I'm worn out at best
Sore by the pound and stressed
The more I try to get it back like before
The more I regress
I know the score,
I know what's in store,
What it is I'm in for
But sure,
Let's hear what YOU suggest?
©2024
Oct 16, 2024
Oct 16, 2024 at 8:05 PM UTC
~For Pradip~
Pradip: who yet walks among we useless
<>
this
layabout in my drafts,
driftwood in a sea of
******* poems in a circumscribed
hell
for who knows for how long,
all that is certain is that
summer ending dreading,
is in full force
now marching
forward,
with the end of days
of body chilling whipped winds,
cold so paining no one be bothering
to breathe out white steamy curses
and life is a half a calendar league
too far to be believed
I mate much coffee imbibed,
the cheeks wet incessant,
no error, the death thots~
throes come in waves persistent,
like the monsoons we’ve survived,
it’s easier to recall army of losses
than the few
teaspoons victories,
who cares,
they plentiful companions,
reliable,
and we
share them with cups of black tea,
salted by our tiny tears that this too
shall past
for:
it’s the seasonality of our lives,
and these are the days of
unending unendurable
grayscale
Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 10:19 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I don't even know if I am her anymore:\
I am silenced beneath
dropped to rage in peace
I am aloned born
crafted head lonely worn
I am abused again
manipulated in blind to the said
I am saddened depressed
repressed too much till death
I am nightened a lot
mooned in the soul shot
I am painted black
darkened no rainbows seen back
I am cried tears
abandoned for good of fear
selfish no one cares
to see how human small I mere
------ravenfeels
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 3:26 PM UTC
Going around circles
tired of all this endless arguments
wondering..
when will this going to end?
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 10:01 AM UTC
Have you grown weary?
Would you like to rest a while?
Shut your eyes with me...
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 11:19 PM UTC
With wearied ways the air looks grey
It's colour stains surrounding planes
Heavy clouds weigh eyelids down
Condensed to rest as momentum slows
Mellow tones and energy spent
Low on conversation goals
All but empty sentiments
No plans today, worn out to play
Sleep instead behinds your gaze
Dreaming to regenerate
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 6:29 AM UTC
There's so much that I want to say
So much popping up in my feed and head today
But the fact is all that comes out now is
I'm so tired of this
You can't have an opinion unless you're white
You can't have an opinion unless you're black
You can't have, you can't think, you can't do
You're racist, you're not a Christian, you're not Jack
For You see,
I'm tired not for myself
But of all the negativity
I'm so tired of a culture that's bleeding
And we think tapping a keyboard is
Bringing about so much change
But it's not, it's leaving us needing
Needing change that isn't coming
Cause of us it's faltering
A constant uphill battle we've created
But to that end we keep running
We used to go out and help a man in desperate need
We used to give out to the hungry without filming it for our feed
We used to never know what happened on the other side of the globe
But now if we don't then we must be ignorant with a broken frontal lobe
We're called to address so many issues
But we don't take care of the ones that are
Right in front of us in our daily lives
You know the ones that you keep hid deep inside
We call out our fellow man and say I'm better
But the plank in our eyes keeps us from seeing that we have our own fetter.
I'm tired and worn
Maybe you are too
But what do we accomplish
By speaking what isn't true
I want to hear positivity
I want to know i made a difference
I met the need of someone
And created a smile where there was none
A lot have been struggling this year
No job, no money, stuck inside with fear
How about we ignore the social media
And focus on the neighbors that live next door
How about we focus on our communities first before we tackle more
How about we turn off the news
Go outside and make some instead
I'm just so tired and worn.
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 12:02 PM UTC
Pick me up,
And open my cover,
But be careful,
Cause I might crumble,
Read my fine print,
Just don’t mock the way I am,
I’ve been through alot since then,
Drugs,
Fights,
Heart breaks,
And more,
Are all the things you’ll find,
In my novel.
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
Each word is a sandpaper syllable,
And ever breath Is a knife sharpened.
Between both all are cleaved,
and each part is divided
and consumed when spoken.
we will never heal when both
are motioned upon us at once.
We are cut
endlessly between ourselves and
only time can heal us.
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 6:56 PM UTC
Back in the corner of the closet
they rest covered in layers of dust
so thick I can barely see their color
but I remember the days of trust
I placed in them on ladders
dragging the hose through mud
standing before the radial saw
cutting with fear of drawing blood
Yes they are quite ugly
scuffed and parting at seams
soles worn and getting holey
walked through broken dreams
But I’ve got more work to do
I shake off the past with their dust
put on these old shoes cozy and true
and step into another future with trust.
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC
Exhausted
Trying constantly
To shed all those days
That have long since passed
"Passed Days" -JP
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 10:56 PM UTC
Yellow journal
Aged in fondness
Worn by the weight of powerful words
Forgotten upon the shelf
Neglected despite your cheery shade
An artist leaves a piece of themselves within their art
A fateful discovery
Thats exactly what you are
Beaten up, broken,
torn weathered-
By years of dry land and drought of inspiration
Made alive by Christ
And awake in its pages
Your cover is worn
Your pictures dilapidate
But once you open up
Magic careens
Unveiled under your dusty pages is joy
Romance
Poetic trances
Art of divine nature
That is exactly what you are
Worn yet beautiful
Aged and reminiscent
Evoking fond warmth
You are the yellow journal
Beloved yellow journal
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
They're the same, in some ways,
With piercing eyes of green that strike me still in wonder.
He stares down from his throne at those who have built up his walls
While she looks past the aisles, capturing me in the winter of her eyes.
The frost in their eyes isn't complete.
Like the white that eats at the edges of the leaves
During the coming dawn and approaching night,
There's something there, brittle and worn
That they hide behind clear ice.
I want to know you,
Lean in close to see the fractured light of your soul
As it slips through the dark cracks of your eyes.
I wish to know how much of the green has survived the frost,
To breathe warmth onto that which you have left frigid
And that others refuse to let thaw.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
Her coverless-tattered state proved the journeys she had gone through.
Her old purple spine was scratched and bent,
Yet still beautifully intact.
The woman who brought her up filled her with stories,
Delicately placing each powerful word,
Gently building her up page by page,
Giving her a story to call her own.
She told her story to each reader,
Each page turn,
Every emotion.
Her pains in every paragraph,
Her charisma in every character,
Her love in every line,
Her tears in every tear.
She was worn
Yet brand new.
She held a strong font,
Each bold showing her power to change something,
Each italization expressing her importance.
Every time her story was told if affected a new person.
Crinkled and worn pages gave life a new meaning,
Provided a new definition of friendship, gave a new reason to live,
Provided a new reason to love.
She taught everyone something,
Giving away her everything.
She was judged for her looks by many,
But loved for her contents just as much.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 2:19 PM UTC
If there comes a day where you decide to strip yourself of the past
to dust off your worn out clothes and start again
If you move to a new city and meet a stranger with eyes like the desert at night
I hope you never grow out of the faint hope we always held close
I want you to know I left my heart in the same city we fell apart and I never stopped wishing you'd come back for it
It's still waiting to be found by you
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC
what i long for are those lips,
to take long, slow, and passionate sips.
to caress your rough, worn face.
as you play around with lace,
both our legs intertwine under the covers,
as you and i mold into one another as lovers
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 2:47 AM UTC
A love that never was
Oh but I felt it
As we left it behind
getting cut
on the raw edges
not yet worn by time
or effort
Just a fresh feeling
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 12:58 AM UTC