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In places where my feet have tread,
I never fail to leave a mark.
Remnants of a pensive light,
or wreckage from a noxious dark.

I will walk away a failure
if behind me doesn't yield,
the tattoo of a memory
or a scar that never heals.
Your cheeks are like apples and apples are so juicy
From your white dress the real fruits I want to see
When I take you in my arms your beauty just agree
Whatever I want to taste and see I see that but clearly
In your gorgeous sea I want to sail like a fish deeply
Your glowing body my sweetheart makes me but *****
Today we are together so let us celebrate colorful party
This real communion makes friends and enemies envy

Your presence makes surroundings to glow and to show
Sensual pleasure in trance takes love and beauty to blow
You are all in me I carry you on my heart and on eyebrow
Let us be like fluid and let us allow each other just to flow
My sweetheart you are so white as seen in winter snow
What all is needed in a situation let my sweetheart know

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
 Oct 2016 Vicious Circle
The Jarl
Effort has been drained from me effortlessly
Each day goes by with further disdain for myself
I sit in my ship and let the bugs eat me alive
Who can help me?

I've burned bridges
I've poisoned myself
I've sailed away
And now I'm on this island, dying.

Who can help me?
I don't live without fear anymore
There is no certainty
Who can help me?

I'm scared to progress
I hold myself back
I abuse my body
In hopes to go back

Who can help me?
Who can help me?
I only fear death when I stare it in the eye.
Who can help me?

I want to go back
To the time where I could live
But I feel this rope tighten
Can I make it back? I'm not positive.

Who can help me?
Who can help me?
Who can help me?
Who can help me?

When I can't help myself
You owe me nothing but to breathe.
To remember how I tore my heart in
Two rendering a

Blood Eagle to stretch its wings and
Tickle our souls with its sticky feathers.
When I think of us, I see us as we were.

Other people than now.
Memories framing themselves like a
Fantastic painting the artist

Stepped back to admire, then died.
Hang me. Hang me before i hang
Myself.


Dramatically opposed to drama.
Uninterested infatuation.
Broke billionaire.

Mortal gods shaking divine hands
With decomposing composers,
Thanking them for the silence.

We were lovers and enemies, and
I'd still give my life and afterlife to
See you worship another as if I

Never left a fingerprint on this
Planet; resting as safely in arms that
Love you unendingly,

As we all lie sleeping; dreaming
In our own, stronger arms,  
Forgetting that even our loving

Is imaginary.
Death is awakening.
Rubbing the

Eyes of our souls and yawning,
We look up and smile at that which
All of this is a bleak and fleeting

Shadow of.
Plato knew.
When I wish to die, I do too.

This love is not Love.
It's all mud and air.
You owe me nothing but to breathe.
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
Heavy chested I breathe
as the moon whitewashes the night.

The season is changing
and in the wind is the vapor of hyacinth
in the thick of which
the glowworms drink the nectar of night.

They have no philosophy and I have many
like while they dance just for the sake of life
my mind enveloped in obscurity
has shackled my feet and clipped my wings.

I wonder if the glowworms have a mind
that knows when they dance
they have an audience.

Maybe the stars know the same way
when they twinkle.
I seem to make a mess even when trying to be my best

I wear that sweater covered in feelings

The thing we're programmed to receive

Respect is never given to the hurt


pretty disgusting


Never, a word death is kissing

Karma will eat your soul

I guess that's the goal,


when you have nothing

I wish to walk away from the plenty

Only to be something


For a nobody

who loves me
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