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 Jul 2014 VENUS62
Joshua Haines
Dear Talia,

I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.

The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.

This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.

I want it to be Christmas already.

The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.

I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.

I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.

You.

It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.

I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.

I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:

I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.

My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."

I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.


I hope that was okay.

I love you.


Yours,

Joshua Haines
Many have come before us
many to come after we leave
don’t wake us from the hush
traveler here silently grieve.

Time washed we came on the shore
to our place ‘neath the moss laden stone
when our dreams soared no more
down here we lay cold alone.

Hold here traveler your breath
forget for once all the strife
hear the peace of the world beneath
death in the midst of life.
we are in death.
 Jul 2014 VENUS62
Amitav Radiance
Clouds give us respite from the harsh sun
Glaring rays obfuscated by the black screen
Rains quelling the rising heat of the Earth
Soil is replenished to sow a new harvest
I gave my heart to a woman--
I gave it her, branch and root.
She bruised, she wrung, she tortured,
She cast it under foot.

Under her feet she cast it,
She trampled it where it fell,
She broke it all to pieces,
And each was a clot of hell.

There in the rain and the sunshine
They lay and smouldered long;
And each, when again she viewed them,
Had turned to a living song.
 Jul 2014 VENUS62
NuurSeraph
Has every Poet felt THE Pain?
Well...considering we are human beings, and every human, at some juncture, has Been in Pain, then Yes, every Poet has felt Some Pain.

THE Pain is the brand that tunnels in and twists You through the Grate, until SNAP! You Break...wide open, a blazing bonfire, Flame of THE Pain has digested and phased Your Matter into Vapor, You are released in Smoke from the Fire,
Catharsis of Inner Core,
revealing an own
Inner Nova all Your Own.
As Your Essence mixes within the Mist of the Etheric Brain, you find your Calling, and your Mind breathes again and releases an expression of Healing.
Found In the passion of Musical Musing, the stories of the Glory of Redemption, the Color Splashed Canvas, the Prolific Poetic Artist, the Kindred You shall Find.
Those Deep Works that Speak to the Seat of Your Soul,
the Goosebumps that Follow,
the Feeling of Connection are just but a Reflection of a Kindred Kind.
The Kind that if You Met You would finish each other's Words before the first Sentence need be Spoken.

If You can Know what I mean, then I bet You've Felt THE Pain.
If You are a Poet, then Yes,
You are a Poet who has Felt
**THE Pain
Pain can Paint the most Prolific
 Jul 2014 VENUS62
jeffrey robin
(                                                                   )
(             0           ).
(       )
(            )
/----\

Stars all around

The time seems ripe for serious discussion

The fire is burnin down

Oh wind !

Cease for a while

//

She IS a lovely child

Made to suffer for our transgressions

There is a truth
( I don't know what we done )

The violent earth

The angry oceans

///

Naked raw lust

We pretend our love is a gentle emotion

We don't really ---- touch

We only bed each other for a while

//

Stars fall and die

Is it too late ?

Come
Let us try

To touch each other one last time

//

Stars all around

The time seems ripe for serious discussion

The fire is burnin down

Oh wind !

Cease for a while
 Jul 2014 VENUS62
Amitav Radiance
When I take a dip in the water
I merge with its calmness
Washing me off everyday grime
Flowing serenely around me
Carrying away my past
Helping me realize the silence
Which the water carries within
It’s a union with fluidity
Making me more considerate
To cut off the noise of the world
And flow at my own pace
The dip in the water
Washed away my anxiety
Now tranquility flows within
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