"despondancy" poems
Dysfunctional behind closed doors
Shapeshifted the lovesick *****
She'll touch you timid, trembling hands
Scared that you arent coming back
Digs through drawers and under the sink
Searching for her missing link
A cigarette will do for now
At least it isn't puppy chow
Shameless in her actions past
Comfortable in coming last
Theres more than at the surface level
And everybody's personal hell
Clove hitch knot around her waist
She followed at a steady pace
Wrapped around your pinky finger
She mimicked all you seemed to give her
What her eyes can do to you
Back of my throat still tastes like glue
What a sullen memory
Of what that **** can do to me
She bites her nails and fingertips
Terrified that she might slip
A clumsy dance that she once knew
Of falling into penance due
Twirl your hair and crack a smile
This one's gonna take awhile
Different or the same old same old
They've paid for it in pounds of fools gold
Chasing after fading dreams
Tripping up on memories
Will she make it on her own
A concept simple, yet unknown
A reunion of the sweetest kind
Desperate to escape the time
Spirits burn an empty soul
But never can they make one whole
Echoing within her chest
"You have always been the best"
She sips and stares across the room
Shadowed by her phantom groom
Cut off from hearts nourishment
All on her own cursed to lament
The choices that she didn't make
And chances that she didn't take
A sigh inside an empty mind
A drop of water off the tide
She's buried next to clementines
Roots entangle, synchronize
What a pretty little mess
Of despondancy and tenderness
And she's still waiting underground
For a love once frolicked, love once found
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
the rain sank the goodness into the ground,
an attempt to better the world with aesthetics replacing the dangerous cracks in the sidewalk
the mud encapsulates my deepest fear
my feet, cemented inside, like quicksand I'm sinking
Chances of surviving are a million to one
as i scan my brain for a trace of impending chances
but i will never see the sun set on the east side
and the birds won't sing when the frigid rain is biting their tongues and feeding on their despair
to live a life in despondancy, or to rise above the rut i am sinking in
the mud never lets it's victims leave, no redemption, no second chances
the clock strikes "over" and a thought about the future is not allowed to cross my mind, for the bridge has closed
and the boats sank under the water
i would run down the sidewalk forever, searching for a purpose
but im stuck
i am motionless while the rest of the city passes by me
invisibility brushes my hair and clothes my skin
ever since i fell victim to Despair and it's awful side effects
I held the future on a string, but as i dangled it above the balcony 10 stories high
what more could i expect than to lose it within the countless busy footprints of those who walk with both feet on the ground
Mine will be irrevocably stuck onto the pavement while i watch everyone else take off with their wings attached
and their smiles plastered on their faces
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
the day i will stop loving him
is fanciful and fictitious
he makes me melt by his complexion
his granduer beauty and alluring charm
his voice makes me euphoric--
blossoming with jubilant
fire ignites within my lungs as i catch gaze of him
fire seeths within my alabaster skin,
boring holes into the precious epidermis
the affectionate, passionate feeling i feel when i see him--
its unexplainable and inexpressible
his jade eyes are the epidemy of color
a widespread concentration of lust
his voice is the sound of angels crooning
mellifluous, harmonious, dulcet
but once that pure, divine resonate had vanished
i hear of melancholy and despair; sorrow and despondancy
him
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
if they played the same tune
over, will despondancy ensue?
life is full of multiplicities, other
hard spellings, lessons to drench a life.
whilst in the midst, the struggle, we fall
and grow.
these things do happen,
to most people.
except some seem immune to
harm.
who are the chosen ones?
the radio plays the same tune,
faintly upstairs.
sbm.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
if they played the same tune
over, will despondancy ensue?
life is full of multiplicities, other
hard spellings, lessons to drench a life.
whilst in the midst, the struggle, we fall
and grow.
these things do happen,
to most people.
except some seem immune to
harm.
who are the chosen ones?
the radio playes the same tune,
faintly upstairs.
sbm.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC