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Yip Wayne Jul 2018
Whitewashed four walls
Silence and total recalls
Ticking clock on the wall
My mind begging for a curtain call

Flashbacks in my cerebral theatre
Complimenting the rainy weather
Raindrop falls as my insides wither
As I lay on my bed where we were last together

4 months gone and I still remember
Your scent from my shirt down to my sweater
Your voice I recall and every laughter
Became history now that you found another

So much done in this apartment room
So much wrong ended it so soon
River of tears flow as I vacate the room
Another chapter ends, a new story resumes
andisashayi May 2018
We dipped our rags in the toilet bowl and lined all the doors, traded the chipped glass for plastic cups and set the party up on the floor.
You drew all the green cards (of all the colours), and spread the rest of the deck out for everyone to see.
My reach for the gin was clumsy, made you frown, but you chose to stay.
After 9 the die had rolled out of sight but we played still, followed other rules.
When the smell of gas wafted through the room I wanted to tell you I'd changed my mind, like with everything else
You were so sure.
At last, you struck a match
and at that we all clapped.
mismatched furniture
a few dishes in the cupboards
a couple random blankets and lamps
a pan and a mug or two in the sink
a broken clock above the fake fireplace
a fake jackalope head on the fireplace

a couple college kids' apartment
my brother and his roommate
it isn't much but it feels like home
I feel like you will get bored
In my bare bones apartment
that lacks a TV
or ****
I know only a few ways to
entertain you
but I have to find new ways
to keep you entranced
so you won't leave, because
the truth is, otherwise
I fear you will also
get bored of me
s Sep 2017
said i loved you to your face
you just laughed and walked
away

it's getting dark over here
i mean it's been dark for a while
but i could use you around

and you always said it would get better
(and i always waited for it to get better)

such a shame
what do your eyes even look like anymore?

(it's still dark)
(maybe it's just been me all along)
He found himself living in apartment 3
Then he moved to apartment 33
From there he travelled abroad
Only to return
Now he lives in room 7
He thought it would've been a house
Though the smallest of all
From this room 7 ... Magic flows
Up into the heavens
It reaches so far
Beyond the stars
The real stars
Not mortal beings who claim to be so
At night if you look closely
You shall observe an electric blue streak
Reaching upwards towards the sky
See to whence it leads
This line requires no phone
And shall remain uninterrupted
Until one day
He shall go to where this blue streak leadeth
Written by Sean Achilleos 19 January 2019©
www.facebook.com/SeanAchilleosOfficial/
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Kewayne Wadley Oct 2018
Her heart is an apartment.
A building I know well.
Well lit, comfortably nestled in the center of her chest.
Free from rent.
The trouble of pink slips.
Delinquent notices of insecurity.
Broken promises.
Each of our memories kept safe, behind each & every door.
A winding case of stairs.
With us the occupants of every  floor.
Tiny peep holes with welcome mats beneath the door.
It's times like this when I think how big the world really is.
The countless number of steps taken.
Helping each other unpack our bags.
On the outside of each sliding door is a patio.
The stars never seemed so close.
Long uninterrupted stares.
Peering back and forth.
Our belongings all lined up.
A dresser that holds every piece of clothing.
My arms, legs.
All slid into the thought of you.
Her heart is a apartment.
A building I know well.
She loved old things.
Her heart sterdy, each piece of mail addressed with a kiss.
The only knock heard, goes without embarrassment.
We,
The tenants.
spend most of our time visiting ourselves.
Running up and down the stairs.
Moving in was the best decision I ever made
Lydia May 2018
"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love

We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands

She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up

I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't

She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly
The support on this poem has been unbelievably incredible. I am so grateful for this community with all of these lovely people :)

Please comment :)
Molly Gaschott Nov 2015
Resolution lies in our hands
but these hands are
Dropping bombs
and taking lives

Step back. Look UP.
how senseless it all seems
in my little apartment on main street

But

I feel a crumbling soul beneath me;
an angry mother, a scared caregiver.
trying to tell us something

Shhhh…

Can you hear her?
Can you be silent for just one moment?
two at the most!

And listen

She is sick
She is tired
She is gazing at us
through ocean eyes

glazed with disappointment
yes thats you,
Disappointing.

and she knows
all too well,
she is taking her final breaths
Ilion gray Sep 2018
I remember

The way it was.

One June afternoon
everything in the universe broke.

I was walking down Bushwick ave.
into the hungry concrete;
Below
a Brooklyn Bound L train
slicing through
Earth;

myriads of strident rushing
town cars drifting
Over the streets
Of the patchwork
City;

I turned left down our old block
Madison ave.
nothing could prepare me
for the silent
pulseless
minutes that suffocate
everything breathing

There would be no sound
in the apartment tonight.

No other souls
wrapped in wanting skin.
In my life,
I loved you savagely...

                                        tonight
I'm going to be alone

the concrete has expanded since you left,

The blocks are longer than last summer;

The hours just pass.

what it took to get to the front door
From the corner
in fear of entering our house
After I've lost you.
I come home
where all these memories are stains;

Black streaks left by
Murdered cigarettes.

******* trash bags
full of empty Scotch whiskey bottles;
filled

With Guts,
Blood teeth and pounds of skin
miles of empty dry veins;
Like a river
that God fell into,
these waves of days
Rage

Sometimes I wish
I'd never felt the Sun;
its fingers burning my skin.

I will burn
from every memory of you.

The total emptiness of this space
where love was put to rest;

The emptiness just stares.

Stealing seconds from shallow pockets of years,
Stealing years,

From this shallow pocket

Of life
News announced today "cop kills a man in his own home".
Mistakes his apartment for hers, mistakes him for a burglar or
an easy target!

My Granny says "I bet she is white and he was black"? She used was since Botham is dead. Granny says "cops killing black body has been normalized since forever".

Three days later the news releases her name and photo.
My Granny was right. She is a white woman with Klansman's robes for eyes looking to **** a black man.

  Amber tell me did you sit in your car for 15 hours carving Botham's name on the bullet that killed him before going to his apartment?

Did you want his apartment to reflect the same color as
the red mat in front of his door?
Oh, you didn't notice that,
or did you just decide to take a shot in the dark,
while Botham was in his home resting effortlessly?
It was too dark for you to see that was not your apartment, but lit enough to see him to shoot him in his chest.

Amber, I bet your heart is cut from the same
cloth as your mother's "All Lives Matter" Tee Shirt.
Botham's Mother says his heart was made by angels.
I've been sleeping in odd places
next to a ***** blanket
on the floor of this cold apartment.
I get little sleep because my insomnia
keeps saying ridiculous ****
and its starting to scare me.

I find myself frozen when he asks me
Do you think you know yourself
He tells me I care too much about the answers
I tell him he isn't very good company.
He tells me I try too hard for others
that I'm only going to get my heart broken.
I tell him it's still worth it
He crawls closer to the couch
and impersonates my crying.

I've been sleeping in odd places
next to a confused womanizer
on the bed that can't stop squeaking.
They never look at me directly
they can't afford to find attachment
under these eyes of mine
when it's only the cuffing season

I've been sleeping in odd places
next to my anxiety
on the floor of my mind.  
I'm clutching onto these odd moments
like little snippets of my life
I'm trying to piece myself together
with all the bad that I have done
thank goodness for the councilor who listens when i speak.
Robert C Howard Dec 2013
What sort of lean-to
is habitat to your humanity?

Is it an apartment, bungalow, flat ,
or a cozy cape cod
or perhaps a suburban ranch?

What sort of lean-to
provides those inches and flames
that shield you from
hypothermia and death?

Is it a Georgian Mansion by the sea
or cardboard boxes stacked
beneath the interchange
on the far side of town?
(How many lack even that)?

What sort of lean-to's
will suffice
to shelter the family of man?

*December, 2013
LP S Jun 2018
"You can't always win, L."
he says.
He always says that,
the boy from Ohio with the lopsided grin,
"Sometimes, you just lose..
and that's okay."
Emphasis on the "okay".
Because he knows
that's the one word
I won't hear him say.
He knows this,
because he always says it.
When I tell him,
I don't feel right, where I am.
And it's worked before.
So it should work now,
he thinks to himself.
And perhaps if I were sitting next to him,
like I used to,
in that one room apartment,
in Victorian Village,
I would hear it.
I would hear it,
and it would resonate.
Before he punched me in the arm
and asked if I was done being dramatic,
so we could turn on the game,
because he just got a text that OSU is down by 7,
and he's pretty sure it's because he's not watching..
So I would laugh,
shove him off the couch I got at Goodwill,
and he would grab two more PBRs from my fridge
that only sometimes worked,
and it would be okay.
It would.
Because to the sound of him yelling at Braxton Miller
through the tv
like he could actually hear him,
and the hot summer breeze pouring through the open windows,
it made sense.
What he said,
made sense.
But we're not in that apartment,
and he can't hear how hard my is heart beating
from 700 miles away,
can't see the look on my face
when I tell him I think I'm losing my ******* mind.
Suddenly his voice sounds so far
and so foreign.
And he knows,
he knows it's not working this time
but that's the farthest he ever got
so that's as far as he goes.
And the long pause is deafening.
So in one final act of desperation
he simply says,
"Love you, kid."
And I just say,
"I know."
Ilion gray Sep 2018
I don’t want to be a ghost in the dark
Spaces of your universe
where there was never any light;
A chasm teeming with loveless
Vengeful demons,
nothing returns;
I don't belong there.....

I don’t want to haunt you

Nor do I want you to haunt me;

Lest we be buried side by side
Beneath a 60 year old willow tree
That rises instead of weeps
It's leaves reaching
For falling rain
Just as I have stood
In the throat of the storm
Waiting
Wanting
For your words
But the silence
Is black
As the outskirts of
Space
Where no-thing
Begins or ends
I am adrift
And I will drift
At the will of the stars
Across the ageless seas
Of essence
I will not let the water
Touch me
that each
Drip of the infinite deep
Is a number
Only God knows
Look! I saw
Unknown waves
Rise above the tide
And swallow the clouds

   I am
                  A  Phantom
                  


I have excavated the apartment
for  every
Scent of you;
I use yours and our sons
clothes for sheets
Otherwise
I would never sleep.
I would die
In this loveless house.
      I would live,
only if I could
stay quietly beside
your two souls;

listening to the language
your body

Speaks,

I would only hold you

while you sleep;

I would never wake up

I will refuse to breathe;
Dying before you leave…
To live eternally in that dream..
I no longer want to be a
human-being

Only  a “being”

Being human
comes with too many amendments
and clauses

Too many excuses written in our dna

I do not remember when I came.

Humans only live once..

A being,
can begin again..

So tonight
til time indefinite,

I am nameless...

Until you name me,

You can only name me ,
If you lift me

I will die nameless

Until you miss me
Deb Jones Oct 2017
Home is wherever your heart is
Adobe, hut, mansion, apartment or igloo
Alone or surrounded by family or friends
As long as your heart lies within
King Panda Aug 2017
I am common.
seemingly feminine
but shoulders strong
as barbed-wire.
like a chicken I am  
underdeveloped—my wings
weak and unable to
lift me into the air.
I am preoccupied
in self-identified war
with the 875 square foot
apartment and the pasta
that refuses to boil.
on my knees, I
crawl
reconciling rhyme
and reason for
suffering.
the world has gone awry,
I say to myself on an
afternoon bike ride
through wooded
pain, my face
a perfect plane for
scathing branches.
quick and easy blood
am I.
wretched and astonishing
is the rhetoric I
find in the hollow of
my rib.
I am common
but not so when
written by hand.
Ilion gray Sep 2018
We are all time travelers,

Being that time is but a word,

It describes movement through space,

We are not always moving forward...

Sometimes we go right, left or behind

Convinced however that we are moving on

We try to forget

Yet the snapshot of each moment is

Indelible

Always right there

on the same plane as the present

I let my thoughts fall

marbles to the floor

All of which roll

and gather in the corner

I have watched this scene

every day since you left...

each second of a decade

like a tiny photograph

Painted across

yellow white walls.

The colors dripping down

Running out to escape

An eternity in This east New York

first-floor apartment,

Where not a day has passed since we met,

Since I thought the devil owned the world,

and God heartbroken...

Had left...

I was wrong

God is still here...

The devil still owns the world...

Only you

Have gone
laura Aug 2018
Love's ideas, two becoming one
two halves of a whole
what if one's not in it all the way
not like the love of olden days but transient

latched on like a love dart
an antibody flooding in an antigen
placing its little locks with its little keys
closer than two genders - a swell

August 2017 brings the apartment together
but hubris and October 2018 tears it down
if there's one hole in the puzzle
it will tear us down with its incompleteness

don't love me like a girl; don't call me one
when that ghost sits at our banquet
rips the swell apart leaving
nothing but blood and dregs of love's dark wine

all over the floor
Sebastian Macias Mar 2017
There is a lot that happens
Throughout the lifetime of a day
24 complete hours of life
Wake up daily, move forward
Know that change is occurring
One afternoon you'll look back
See the last 5 years, changed
You might feel like day to day
Seems the same
The job, apartment, drinks, women
All change, eventually, inevitably
Don't think for one second
That change won't come
It always comes, so work for it
Stay in front of change
You can create change
By moving forward,
Remembering everyday will not last
That change is everywhere
Sebastian Macias Jul 2016
The A/C was on real loud
Los Angeles had hit 99 degrees
My apartment was clean,
I sat ***** and looked out
Towards the clouds of ash
Canyon country was burning up
And I was combating both
Heat and hangover with green tea
Along with ice cold water
I sat here trying to relive
Some discussions I had the week prior
About time and space and everything
In between, and it just made my
Head ache more than before
Trying to tame a wild mind
Felt like riding a bull
For more than 8 seconds
But I've made it this far today
*******, my aches
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