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"devastatingly" poems
I was 15, And you were 16. And we met through a computer screen. And we instantly connected. And we talked non-stop. And we became best friends. And we shared our deepest secrets with one another, not caring that we were two complete strangers. That never really mattered. We were just troubled kids, longing for someone to talk to. Someone who felt the things we did. Someone who wouldn't judge us. Someone who might possibly understand. We found that in each other. You were my solace. And I loved you. I told you about how my family was no longer a family. And you told me about how you didn't know if you could handle much more. And I was worried. And you occasionally disappeared for days on end. And I became frantic. And you would tell me you were in the hospital. Those ****** pills again. And I begged you to stop, To try and get better. Because you were my solace. And I loved you. I was 16, and you were 17. And you had a girlfriend. And she didnt like me. Or maybe she just didnt like what we had. So she made you choose. And it broke my heart to see you choose her. Because you were my solace. And I loved you. Six months later. Six devastatingly long months later. I heard from you again. And I didn't know how to feel. So I cried. Tears of anger, sadness, regret. But mostly joy. Because you were back. You were finally back. And you were my solace. And I loved you. I was 17, And you were 18. And we met face to face. After two long years, it finally happened. And it was the best night of my life. And I was so sad to see you leave. But you had to return to your broken home. And things got worse for you. And old habits picked back up. And your depression consumed you. And it ate me alive to see you that way. Because you were my solace. And I loved you. I am 18, And you should be 19. But you never got to see that day. Because old habits die hard. And you finally succeeded. And my heart feels like it's been ripped out of my chest. But the rest of my body is numb. And my mind is darker than ever. Because now I have no one to share my secrets with. No one to listen. Because you are gone. And you were my solace. And I love you. ~kns
0
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
Solace.
I was 15, And you were 16. And we met through a computer screen. And we instantly connected. And we talked non-stop. And we became best friends. And we shared our deepest secrets with one another, not caring that we were two complete strangers. That never really mattered. We were just troubled kids, longing for someone to talk to. Someone who felt the things we did. Someone who wouldn't judge us. Someone who might possibly understand. We found that in each other. You were my solace. And I loved you. I told you about how my family was no longer a family. And you told me about how you didn't know if you could handle much more. And I was worried. And you occasionally disappeared for days on end. And I became frantic. And you would tell me you were in the hospital. Those ****** pills again. And I begged you to stop, To try and get better. Because you were my solace. And I loved you. I was 16, and you were 17. And you had a girlfriend. And she didnt like me. Or maybe she just didnt like what we had. So she made you choose. And it broke my heart to see you choose her. Because you were my solace. And I loved you. Six months later. Six devastatingly long months later. I heard from you again. And I didn't know how to feel. So I cried. Tears of anger, sadness, regret. But mostly joy. Because you were back. You were finally back. And you were my solace. And I loved you. I was 17, And you were 18. And we met face to face. After two long years, it finally happened. And it was the best night of my life. And I was so sad to see you leave. But you had to return to your broken home. And things got worse for you. And old habits picked back up. And your depression consumed you. And it ate me alive to see you that way. Because you were my solace. And I loved you. I am 18, And you should be 19. But you never got to see that day. Because old habits die hard. And you finally succeeded. And my heart feels like it's been ripped out of my chest. But the rest of my body is numb. And my mind is darker than ever. Because now I have no one to share my secrets with. No one to listen. Because you are gone. And you were my solace. And I love you. ~kns
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75
The old woman ran a leathery hand through her cropped hair. "Yes, you may weep for the fields of green, as they were gorgeous yet thought to be boring." She rocked back and forth and her wrinkled face contorted into a smile for the first time in the conversation. "You may always cry for the tulip fields as they were devastatingly beautiful yet loathed." And yet, as soon as her face had lit up like a thousand suns, it was once again devoid of expression. "But, nonetheless, reserve your pity for those that loved he or she that burned out, for every lover of Icarus knows that it is better to be hated than to go unnoticed."
0
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
The Lover Of Icarus
I'm a spinster, sick of seeing my sisters treated as flowers picked and wilted. Their petals ripped and ragged. In a cloudy vase -- the water needs changing, but what's the point, at this point? She died when you picked her -- cut from her roots, She is lacking nutrition, She can no longer absorb the wind's wild sustenance. She is too preoccupied trying to survive, under-appreciated, and ill-cared for. Soon, when she is dry brown, brittle, into the compost, she goes. Fertile, rooting another devastatingly beautiful, flower, told to wait for someone to pick her. But if you think a flower is beautiful, let her remain with her sisters.
0
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
Sister spinster
Where you go I go But still I will never see What keeps you up at night As you softly scream hauntedly For you I will always care Even if the sky shattered and fell I would be there not letting a shard touch your hair And vowing to make the heavens wish for hell Where you go I go But sill you forbid me to ask From knowing what you know What happened in your past For you I am devastatingly aware Of your sanity and your pain Life is so cruel and unfair I wish I could end your suffering alone in your brain Where you go I go Where ever it may be If any one is going to hurt you I would do it the most softly We can finally take comfort in the end And that I am no longer prolonging your pain To the heavens I pray our souls will send And that we will be blessed with the chance to start again
0
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
Where you go I go
I may have loved you too much, but; A part of me still loves you to this day Your sweetness allures me so, Like honeyed days we’d stare without shame You were irresistible to my heart and I knew trouble cornered me I’d shoo away the laughable thoughts, Aiming to mail you a letter of love To which you’d open it fresh with a scented kiss Flower petals would descend from your heart Your cheeks adopted a sunflower The stars entertained you that night You told me you always dreamed of late evenings Informing me of the curtain of constellations That you’d like to sleep soundly in Of course I’d be willing to offer you anything in return of your smile And the night we escaped, you gasped softly at the surprise Your simple happiness was all one romantic would need No matter where we dreamed, Together we are one Standing besides one another  Fate draws near, echoing our future Your bleakness eats me devastatingly Tomorrow we are still...one being But overseas, I send you my farewells So that you are found in perfect health And that we consume truly divine harmonies Made only for the sweetened couples Whose stories fade ever so forlornly in the past I love you brightly as the sun You illuminate my pathways But one kiss erases my existence Continue to please those around you; Without me, the world withers Please remember my love, And be gentle with it For it is delicate as the world My eyes see a star But yours fail to see within that darkness The gloom that retreats before you arrive I am part of that campaign An honorable being among the troops Yet your continuous ignorance saddens me so See me now, Find me wanderlust in this world And somewhere, we can swiftly enrapture ourselves Whether it be in the meadows of glistening rays Or the places that calmly send the earth into slumber Wherever we are destined, I’ll always be there for you Even if tonight’s curtain unsheathes And you are no longer the image of love, But rather, a friend I could love with silliness on languid days and somber nights.
0
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 4:10 AM UTC
Gloom Gleams to the Shining Stellar Sunbeams
I may have loved you too much, but; A part of me still loves you to this day Your sweetness allures me so, Like honeyed days we’d stare without shame You were irresistible to my heart and I knew trouble cornered me I’d shoo away the laughable thoughts, Aiming to mail you a letter of love To which you’d open it fresh with a scented kiss Flower petals would descend from your heart Your cheeks adopted a sunflower The stars entertained you that night You told me you always dreamed of late evenings Informing me of the curtain of constellations That you’d like to sleep soundly in Of course I’d be willing to offer you anything in return of your smile And the night we escaped, you gasped softly at the surprise Your simple happiness was all one romantic would need No matter where we dreamed, Together we are one Standing besides one another  Fate draws near, echoing our future Your bleakness eats me devastatingly Tomorrow we are still...one being But overseas, I send you my farewells So that you are found in perfect health And that we consume truly divine harmonies Made only for the sweetened couples Whose stories fade ever so forlornly in the past I love you brightly as the sun You illuminate my pathways But one kiss erases my existence Continue to please those around you; Without me, the world withers Please remember my love, And be gentle with it For it is delicate as the world My eyes see a star But yours fail to see within that darkness The gloom that retreats before you arrive I am part of that campaign An honorable being among the troops Yet your continuous ignorance saddens me so See me now, Find me wanderlust in this world And somewhere, we can swiftly enrapture ourselves Whether it be in the meadows of glistening rays Or the places that calmly send the earth into slumber Wherever we are destined, I’ll always be there for you Even if tonight’s curtain unsheathes And you are no longer the image of love, But rather, a friend I could love with silliness on languid days and somber nights.
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52
Earthquake weather cracked the sky deep A cool reprise in midstreaked heat Alight with the flame of desire burning with a full pink moon   Sleeping canyons black from fire Glowed swelling, glimmering into Neptune’s fantasies, frenzied Splintered mad with sweltering gems Shaking the summer from our hair Dreams falling like stardust into the ravine As the earth said “anything can be, anything can be...” Flickering upon cracked faults Glisten and catch in the night’s sunlight Devastatingly seductive, smolderingly bright.
0
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 12:38 PM UTC
Elysian heights
It only takes one second For me to become attached And it only takes one second For us to come apart. Ripped at the seams, This attachment. Something that started so small, Ended so devastatingly.
0
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
Attachments
A depth so Deep A black whole Could sink - The Tunnel of troubles A miracoulous devastatingly dysfunctional trickle of life that will one day - eventually (hopefully) be the day of all days in my 21 years to date
0
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
Financial Apathy
I was born in a pauper’s grave, with the metallic taste of a silver spoon still lingering on my palate. A passed life of exuberance, lost like the previous days’ sunrise. Golden beams; symbolic of only a desire for an intangible ecstasy. I grew with a sharp tongue and a black heart, the quality of my soul marred by the bitterness of regret. I craved a euphoria that I could never quite attain, a deranged obsession to feel at home again. Though, I knew I would ne'er again experience, the touch of fine lace on my flesh. There is now a palpable separation of the wicked and the righteous, and I have been caste down from my glimmering throne, to walk among the dead. I cringe away from their decrepit hands, and the sickly-sweet, decaying smell of their breath. These rats eating rats, this cannibalistic life, I feel its effect moving through my layers of psychosis. It gives me that déjà vu feeling that the sky and sea, unfeeling as they are, have heard enumerable cries like mine, all too many times before. I have a yearning in my bones for the days of Summers' passed, with the smell of sweet honeysuckles and red roses perfuming the air. Delicate words whispered through the vines of cherry blossoms, dressed in soft, white cotton and lying amongst the Juniper trees. It calls a tender feeling of nostalgia, but my vision is shattered and beaten by a retched reality. That of broken moon beams and a devastatingly darkened, burgundy-lined sky. There is a perpetual insanity that lingers after every passerby, like a dense trail that is all consuming. The residents of this apocalyptic dimension are all obscene and ****** they all ooze a voracious odor of lingering death meat, and no one seems to mind at all.
0
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
the fall of a voodoo queen
I was born in a pauper’s grave, with the metallic taste of a silver spoon still lingering on my palate. A passed life of exuberance, lost like the previous days’ sunrise. Golden beams; symbolic of only a desire for an intangible ecstasy. I grew with a sharp tongue and a black heart, the quality of my soul marred by the bitterness of regret. I craved a euphoria that I could never quite attain, a deranged obsession to feel at home again. Though, I knew I would ne'er again experience, the touch of fine lace on my flesh. There is now a palpable separation of the wicked and the righteous, and I have been caste down from my glimmering throne, to walk among the dead. I cringe away from their decrepit hands, and the sickly-sweet, decaying smell of their breath. These rats eating rats, this cannibalistic life, I feel its effect moving through my layers of psychosis. It gives me that déjà vu feeling that the sky and sea, unfeeling as they are, have heard enumerable cries like mine, all too many times before. I have a yearning in my bones for the days of Summers' passed, with the smell of sweet honeysuckles and red roses perfuming the air. Delicate words whispered through the vines of cherry blossoms, dressed in soft, white cotton and lying amongst the Juniper trees. It calls a tender feeling of nostalgia, but my vision is shattered and beaten by a retched reality. That of broken moon beams and a devastatingly darkened, burgundy-lined sky. There is a perpetual insanity that lingers after every passerby, like a dense trail that is all consuming. The residents of this apocalyptic dimension are all obscene and ****** they all ooze a voracious odor of lingering death meat, and no one seems to mind at all.
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32
Shadow is the one Shadow is all you want Purity here written devastatingly on this very line Not to shrink the kind Making love to your shadow Living your reflection up 5 torturing years in a row You have given up
0
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 5:20 AM UTC
SHADOW
sleep is nothing more than pressing pause on netflix; our minds are put on hold, our worries forgotten for the duration of a few REM cycles. the events of the past day, week, even our whole lives - all of it is suspended, frozen in the clutches of time - lurking in the back. Grendel in the shadows, only woken by glaring sunlight and the sound of joy. the beast slinks inside and it interrupts the tranquility of transgression with splintering, mind numbing, earth quavering reality. and consequently, reality is nothing more than an empty space in a too cold bed. it is nothing but a series of unsaid goodbyes and pleas for you to return; but only in the mind, because the words are burning holes through my lying tongue. the only reality left is sometimes, i catch an icy blue glare in the mirror, haunting and devastatingly familiar. sleep is escape if only to a universe where we were not; if only to a land where what is done can be undone, as easily as pressing undo while typing. at least there, where i dream of you once, again, you cannot leave nor hurt me. and we always have happy endings, because i always pictured that that was all you could bring me. i never dreamed i couldn't dream, or that the monsters lurked not in the shadowy alleys, but instead, inside of me. and i never imagined them seeping into reality. i never knew losing you could **** me.
0
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
tired
The light in me is alive! Nothing will stop me. Earthquake-erupting-eardrum shattering explosions Brightening and exciting Transforming the hues of the skies. Rage with heat silent as fire No element can conquer or counter me                                      _My hatred is unmatched_     My love is stronger compared to any living external force _Spirit or in flesh. Prepare for the worse and arm yourself with your best! My frustration in combination with faith of heart beautifully spreads chaotic balance. Summoned by the user who exceeds the power of fire users. Terrifyingly destructive if misused, peacefully and devastatingly enhances life in all I love. I can be at peace, with all I have to face. It will provide blessings to my joys. Magic is a source to not play with as a toy._
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Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 9:15 AM UTC
Flare!
I'm very different from your typical starryeyed girl I'm emotional Very emotional I often worry that I feel too deeply And that this quality can devastatingly challenge my happiness You see when you feel too much You say too much You think too much And you are never given a break.
0
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Boy oh boy
i put my eggs on the bottom of all my groceries. i did it last time, and i'll do it again, and i'll still act shocked when i open the carton and they've fallen apart. i'll watch devastatingly as the yolk slips through my fingers; i'll mourn for the money lost, mourn for the eggshells on my kitchen counter. breakfast is the healthiest meal of the day, and mine is spread across my kitchen floor. everyone walks on eggshells around me, but i stomp on them. i pour bacon grease on my legs; the burn feels good for thirty minutes, but the blisters become unbearable at thirty-one. i didn't just spill the milk; i poked a hole in the carton. i watched it leak through, like blood seeping through a bandage; i'm crying over spilled milk. i'm always crying over spilled milk. i want to grow out of this never ending stage of self sabotage; i am the victim, i am always the victim; the child cries wolf and no one in town cares anymore; the wolf can't be found, because the child has swallowed it. i am no good. my kitchen is a mess, i don't eat breakfast, and i play the victim card like it's the only one left in the deck. my groceries are in the dumpster out back; i'm ravenous -- i'll eat you out of house and home.
0
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
mo(u)rning
I sip on scotch and sit here and secretly, I hope you'll appear. At first, you'll glance through the crack in the door frame, I'll look like the intellectual you were missing all this time. You'll wonder why you ever left and how it was that you thought you could do without me. I'll feel the burning of one eye upon me, so as to keep your furtiveness, your surprise, but then a second reveals itself, and then your cosmic third. The desk lamp will shadow your outline when I slowly, intuitively, glance over my shoulder somewhat unexpectedly, to you. My eyes will pry, if only rhetorically, "Who's there?" and you'll slowly, almost shyly, though we were never shy with one another, creak the door open to unveil your then-lit body. Your radiant figure will send vibrations through the wooden floor slats into my feet and I'll begin to feverishly dance, right then and there, as if bitten by the largest of tarantulas. I'll stare in disbelief thinking that maybe it's the alcohol which has created this image of you, or maybe, in fact, I'm devastatingly sleep-ridden, and so against my heart's common sense I'll rub my eyes to clear the vision. You, who haven't shown up night after night, through all of my writing and pondering and talking-to-self and drinking and questioning and driving and aimlessly-staring and searching and forgetting and trying-to-understand and resenting and hating and loving and forgiving and grinding and howling and loving and missing, but this one night, this blue moon event, I guess you could call it that though it's already passed, after consuming too much, you'll appear. Then I realize, I am here and you are nowhere. Always I think I hear sounds similar to returning footsteps barely audible over the taps on my keyboard, but it's never you. And so, I continue on, peeking over shoulder, awaiting my cliché, as I sit here and sip scotch after scotch.
0
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
Ghosted on Scotch
I sip on scotch and sit here and secretly, I hope you'll appear. At first, you'll glance through the crack in the door frame, I'll look like the intellectual you were missing all this time. You'll wonder why you ever left and how it was that you thought you could do without me. I'll feel the burning of one eye upon me, so as to keep your furtiveness, your surprise, but then a second reveals itself, and then your cosmic third. The desk lamp will shadow your outline when I slowly, intuitively, glance over my shoulder somewhat unexpectedly, to you. My eyes will pry, if only rhetorically, "Who's there?" and you'll slowly, almost shyly, though we were never shy with one another, creak the door open to unveil your then-lit body. Your radiant figure will send vibrations through the wooden floor slats into my feet and I'll begin to feverishly dance, right then and there, as if bitten by the largest of tarantulas. I'll stare in disbelief thinking that maybe it's the alcohol which has created this image of you, or maybe, in fact, I'm devastatingly sleep-ridden, and so against my heart's common sense I'll rub my eyes to clear the vision. You, who haven't shown up night after night, through all of my writing and pondering and talking-to-self and drinking and questioning and driving and aimlessly-staring and searching and forgetting and trying-to-understand and resenting and hating and loving and forgiving and grinding and howling and loving and missing, but this one night, this blue moon event, I guess you could call it that though it's already passed, after consuming too much, you'll appear. Then I realize, I am here and you are nowhere. Always I think I hear sounds similar to returning footsteps barely audible over the taps on my keyboard, but it's never you. And so, I continue on, peeking over shoulder, awaiting my cliché, as I sit here and sip scotch after scotch.
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54
We spent hours on our skateboards Hot days and cold nights Skinned knees bleed slightly; they drip lightly on the same asphalt that we glide over all afternoon Rubber wheels smack cracks in the sidewalk Wood scrapes concrete as you launch into the air if only for a moment Everyone comes down Rosy from the sunshine T-Shirt stuck slightly to my sweating back I wheeled myself under the installed cedars, over littered leaves, around suburban corners A man in an orange vest held up his arms, beckoning mothers in their vans to stop for me while I skated by but I didn’t thank him I felt regret In your room we fumbled awkwardly in the half-light Sunshine warmed us in slats through your dusty blinds Partially filled cups sat atop your dresser, full of water and red pop There was a buffalo springfield poster on your wall and I thought you were devastatingly cool We’re sixteen and we’re not in love but we love what we’re doing I still remember your skin, it was olive dark and bruised all over, when I ran my fingers down your back white lines remained for a fleeting moment Short shorts and a long shirt, these memories are vivid I wonder where you are now – an actress I hear, which is funny because I never really thought you were any good I wonder if you still find the minutes to take your old skateboard, covered in dust and the film of time, out of whatever buried corner it inhabits Back in your bedroom, my hand lingers next to yours as we sit close on your bed While you contemplate my lips, I contemplate yours I’m a little late for dinner
0
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 8:30 PM UTC
Youth
We spent hours on our skateboards Hot days and cold nights Skinned knees bleed slightly; they drip lightly on the same asphalt that we glide over all afternoon Rubber wheels smack cracks in the sidewalk Wood scrapes concrete as you launch into the air if only for a moment Everyone comes down Rosy from the sunshine T-Shirt stuck slightly to my sweating back I wheeled myself under the installed cedars, over littered leaves, around suburban corners A man in an orange vest held up his arms, beckoning mothers in their vans to stop for me while I skated by but I didn’t thank him I felt regret In your room we fumbled awkwardly in the half-light Sunshine warmed us in slats through your dusty blinds Partially filled cups sat atop your dresser, full of water and red pop There was a buffalo springfield poster on your wall and I thought you were devastatingly cool We’re sixteen and we’re not in love but we love what we’re doing I still remember your skin, it was olive dark and bruised all over, when I ran my fingers down your back white lines remained for a fleeting moment Short shorts and a long shirt, these memories are vivid I wonder where you are now – an actress I hear, which is funny because I never really thought you were any good I wonder if you still find the minutes to take your old skateboard, covered in dust and the film of time, out of whatever buried corner it inhabits Back in your bedroom, my hand lingers next to yours as we sit close on your bed While you contemplate my lips, I contemplate yours I’m a little late for dinner
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36
*She believed that she was his moonlight, every shiny star that filled the dark night sky, She believed that she was his every precious sunrise, unexpectedly, by surprise, everything that she had ever believed turned out to be a terrible lie. She believed that she was his oxygen, that every breath he took was keeping him alive, She believed that his every footstep would be taken with her by his side. Her world was devastatingly ripped out from under her feet, Her heart no longer has a rhythm, no longer does it want to beat. She trusted him more than anyone she had ever known, He promised to love her forevermore - but now... she walks this world all alone. Shattered, broken beyond repair, Her perfect love has painfully vanished into thin air. By Lady R.F ©2017*
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Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
Broken Beyond Repair
Some love is patient. Some love is kind. But just not always necessarily mine. My love is urgent. My love is fierce. Like a memo not to be ignored; like weaponry- When readied can strike and pierce. Some love does not envy, boast, and it is never proud. My love is capable of all of those things and can be really ******* loud. Some love is not easily angered and keeps no record of wrong. But my love flips **** sometimes and has a list of grudges a mile long. Some love does not delight in evil and instead rejoices with the truth. Well mine can play some twisted games and deceives with the ease of impetuous youth. My love can be difficult, irrational, and devastatingly insecure, but if you are fortunate enough to earn it, it is guaranteed to always protect, always trust, always hope, And always persevere.
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Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
My Messy Modern Love
Love is an emotion that strangles everyone It holds fears and joys within its mighty palm Fears of betrayal and jealousy Joys of happiness and trust Love is a possibility of both There is the possibility of being hurt There is the possibility of being happy There is also the possibility of being both at different times Love is complicated in a mental standing that humans cannot understand I do not believe I understand Love as in my world she is magnificent In my world she has saved my life and helped me understand this rather simple four letter word Love is simple yet devastatingly complex Love is well...Love.
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Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
The possibility of Love
Now its 2 a.m. And you're surrounded by silence., Absolute nothingness It's great, being up late at night Or the wee hours of the morning, however you choose to look at it Because it's just you and you're thoughts., Now Not the thoughts, those intensely destructive thoughts... that you have in the middle of the day while keeping that stain of a smile on your face Not those thoughts, no, not those pathetically lonely thoughts you have in a crowd full of people that you somehow seemed to keep entertained That's you now., But then it was Then The thoughts, those wonder filled and hopeful thoughts that danced around your mind, like a circus almost, while you sang around your room., Those magical, shimmery thoughts that would get you distracted in class while you should have been learning about pre-algebra, or the founding fathers, or whatever those imagination-killing teachers believed was most important in time., Those dreams, those terrifyingly devastatingly real dreams that you knew deep down would always come true., But that was then. Suddenly the dusk turns to dawn, and everyone's waking up, and you and you're thoughts...They aren't alone anymore And that was then. But now is now, and it's time to get back to Those thoughts. Those roller coaster, tidal wave thoughts that you lock behind that stain of a smile., Because this is now.
0
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 8:11 AM UTC
Late Night thoughts
when i take a fleeting second to think on the rarity that is us, there is no reason for me to be thinking about you every second of every day. they tell us from the moment we are born until the moment we die that it is devastatingly useless to want something that you should not have. this is something that would be destructive to me. this is something that would be even more destructive to you. against the will of my judicious brain, i spend half of my time daydreaming - tracing the curves of your face in my mind. against the will of my burdened heart, i spend half of my time in torture - convincing myself that i don't feel this way. when i step back, though, the reality hits me. the answers i have sought become as clear as untroubled waters. it is the brilliant gold specks in your emerald and turquoise eyes, it is the rush of warmth when your fingertips brush my skin, it is the fact that your smile is brighter than any sunshine i have ever seen, it is the cool, sweet whisper of your breath against my neck, it is the feel of your arms wrapped protectively around me, it is the rare occassions where i get a glimpse of the boy behind all those walls, that keep me captivated. i cannot say that this is love. i cannot say that I know what love is. i can say that this is a strange kind of happiness - a common understanding between two dreamers - two hearts beating in the same ¾ time. this is the desire to jump - eyes closed - into something i am unsure of. this is the will to pick myself up off of the floor and try to be whole again just one more time. i want to tell you how i feel. i have to tell you how i feel.
0
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 5:52 AM UTC
enlightenment.
when i take a fleeting second to think on the rarity that is us, there is no reason for me to be thinking about you every second of every day. they tell us from the moment we are born until the moment we die that it is devastatingly useless to want something that you should not have. this is something that would be destructive to me. this is something that would be even more destructive to you. against the will of my judicious brain, i spend half of my time daydreaming - tracing the curves of your face in my mind. against the will of my burdened heart, i spend half of my time in torture - convincing myself that i don't feel this way. when i step back, though, the reality hits me. the answers i have sought become as clear as untroubled waters. it is the brilliant gold specks in your emerald and turquoise eyes, it is the rush of warmth when your fingertips brush my skin, it is the fact that your smile is brighter than any sunshine i have ever seen, it is the cool, sweet whisper of your breath against my neck, it is the feel of your arms wrapped protectively around me, it is the rare occassions where i get a glimpse of the boy behind all those walls, that keep me captivated. i cannot say that this is love. i cannot say that I know what love is. i can say that this is a strange kind of happiness - a common understanding between two dreamers - two hearts beating in the same ¾ time. this is the desire to jump - eyes closed - into something i am unsure of. this is the will to pick myself up off of the floor and try to be whole again just one more time. i want to tell you how i feel. i have to tell you how i feel.
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33
Some people are cuter in person. I'm not. I know how to hold the camera so that my skin looks flawless and poreless, and my body looks thin and lean, but not too lean (we don't want people asking questions). I know the right angles use, the right filters to disguise the devastatingly average face that God gave me. I'm no model, but I could certianly be a photographer.
0
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Shrink. Smooth. Sharpen.
"Shala, la, la, la live for today. Don't worry about tomorrow, hey-ey..." I'm sitting on the edge of my bed listening to songs that make me miss her. I hear her voice in the words of strangers. I see her face before me, though only thin air rests between myself and my vision of her. Her long black hair, falls over her shoulders like Niagara. Her eyes shine on par with the light of the Sun cranked to maximum. My heart sinks at the same time that it floats. Such an odd feeling. It's like dying and being brought back to life by a mysterious, elegant, beautiful angel who you know can't be of the same species as you. It's dramatic but so is this feeling. She makes me want to write. To record every feeling I have as they wash over me like deep blue waves on a vacant beach at twilight, everything illuminated only by the light of the Moon. She exhilarates me, overwhelms me and takes me over. Holds me captive as if she's cast a Heavenly spell on me to keep me utterly and seemingly permanently in a state of grace. All of this while I just sit here, alone. Just thinking, waiting, wondering, contemplating. And I can't get over the stereotype that I'm supposed to be the "tough" one. I'm supposed to be the one who takes the word "love" and twists it, molds it into something that's insignificant. Something that is only for young girls to swoon over and devastatingly and beautifully infected by. Well, I guess I prove that caveman stereotype wrong. I'm a mess. And it's all because I'm just thinking about her. Running through, in my own head, our next encounter. Each time I see her, I feel like I'm being woken up. Being yanked out of a drab and dim dream only to be pulled into the most amazing vision of content and happiness that I can even comprehend. It's a wonder I can even conceive of such things. And I have her to thank for that. I have her to thank for pulling me from a slow and agonizing every day life that was only inching me closer and closer to another spiritual death. She rescued me, kidnapped me with her cupped hands stretched out toward me. And inside her little hands was my heart, my brain, my lungs, my legs, my arms, my life. And for some reason... I think I understand why love is so often compared to death. I've fallen in love. And as I did, I died. Only to resurrected again with a brand new body, a brand new heart and brain and perspective. Now, I can't even imagine what would have happened if she hadn't killed me.
0
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
Love & Death
"Shala, la, la, la live for today. Don't worry about tomorrow, hey-ey..." I'm sitting on the edge of my bed listening to songs that make me miss her. I hear her voice in the words of strangers. I see her face before me, though only thin air rests between myself and my vision of her. Her long black hair, falls over her shoulders like Niagara. Her eyes shine on par with the light of the Sun cranked to maximum. My heart sinks at the same time that it floats. Such an odd feeling. It's like dying and being brought back to life by a mysterious, elegant, beautiful angel who you know can't be of the same species as you. It's dramatic but so is this feeling. She makes me want to write. To record every feeling I have as they wash over me like deep blue waves on a vacant beach at twilight, everything illuminated only by the light of the Moon. She exhilarates me, overwhelms me and takes me over. Holds me captive as if she's cast a Heavenly spell on me to keep me utterly and seemingly permanently in a state of grace. All of this while I just sit here, alone. Just thinking, waiting, wondering, contemplating. And I can't get over the stereotype that I'm supposed to be the "tough" one. I'm supposed to be the one who takes the word "love" and twists it, molds it into something that's insignificant. Something that is only for young girls to swoon over and devastatingly and beautifully infected by. Well, I guess I prove that caveman stereotype wrong. I'm a mess. And it's all because I'm just thinking about her. Running through, in my own head, our next encounter. Each time I see her, I feel like I'm being woken up. Being yanked out of a drab and dim dream only to be pulled into the most amazing vision of content and happiness that I can even comprehend. It's a wonder I can even conceive of such things. And I have her to thank for that. I have her to thank for pulling me from a slow and agonizing every day life that was only inching me closer and closer to another spiritual death. She rescued me, kidnapped me with her cupped hands stretched out toward me. And inside her little hands was my heart, my brain, my lungs, my legs, my arms, my life. And for some reason... I think I understand why love is so often compared to death. I've fallen in love. And as I did, I died. Only to resurrected again with a brand new body, a brand new heart and brain and perspective. Now, I can't even imagine what would have happened if she hadn't killed me.
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3
The Girl who owns my Heart You are Busy with a new Start Adjusting to life And the new times But now and again You just seem distracted As the clock strikes 11 and again 11 I call your name To which no reply comes My eyes pry for you But no matter how I spy for you No image of you is near And it begins to ring clear That I will never be Free of you Who I love with Everything I am and Ever will be You are my life And you are my good times Who I one day hope Will even share with me Those of the bad Which might come our way That is the love And before was the melancholy But that's how it happens to go When you are away from me Life gets put on hold And it passes so slow, devastatingly Live your life And be who you are meant to be And promise me That you won't let me Get in the way of all your Big Dreams
0
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 10:14 AM UTC
Solitary
Look deep down inside yourself. What do you see? Do you see yourself, or someone else? Do you see the space left by someone else? Do you see hurt? Do you feel hurt? Have you ever trusted totally and completely? Have you ever said forever and meant it? Have you ever loved a love that was going to last forever?          Forever is forever until it ends. And it always will- it always does.          Have you ever felt pain and hurt? Hurt so deep, pain so devastatingly ending? A pain so deep that you want to die? A pain that will last forever? Forever? Forever….          Forever is forever until it ends. And it always will- someday it will.
0
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 12:59 AM UTC
Until It Ends...