Keith Faherty Oct 2016
weight of the world sitting dumbly on
those fructose eyelids.

They, in turn.      melt into the mummified  

laying in the corner forever like a
ruined in the wash.
Every other stripe on you is stained pink
some cheap volunteer tee that fucked              up
The whole load.

Each ray from the blinds
Takes some life away.

Searing past you- into the floorboards
quiet fury.

Time passes_
It shoves us down into compact spaces.
I thought of you
In a shoplifter's prayer.

(There is something left that evaporates out in the form of you)

I imagined you
But growing
Crystal salts
Crusting up the pores of the earth.

Vapors fumbling upwards to rehydrate
My dry fingers_

We make decisions . that stick around.

We break off blisters. Rip little things that hang off our lips.
We take breaks before we need them.
Take too long to say
Fuck this.


Somewhere out there, they are screaming loud.

Somebody either cares or

The marks on the carpet know better than
How to last forever
Jack S 1d
My eyelids start to droop
The nicotine wearing off
And all i'm left with a a swaying feeling
Like i'm on the boat
A small boat
The small waves
And splash around my feet
I slip forwards
Into you and then i crash
Into sleep
Into you
Into death
I crash
And soon my eyelids crust over with the little goobers that i wipe from them every morning
Waiting for you to wipe it away
Until then i'll collect dust
AJ 3d
Came and left
gone and dead
give me life
upon this hearth
I cry

Give me chance
give me death
I’m just a poor man
looking for my life
to save

All my days
I’ve tried
to validate
my own existence
so the pain would
steer away
into the ocean
so blue and everclear
don’t tell me I’m saved
save myself in the meantime

Free my head
free my heart
free my hand from this
bloodstream rolling and collating
down my sideburns so
hot hot hot
burn burn


Knocking behind my eyelids
like magma underground
but hell is a place above ground
guin 3d
it's been 400-something days
since we broke up,
350-something perhaps
since the last time we spoke.
since then i've gotten better,
and healthier,
and happier,
and walking farther and farther
away from the little corner of my brain
(and perhaps my heart)
where i, admittedly,
will forever hold you,
i've deleted our correspondence,
your photos,
given away your toy puppy
that i used to hold close in my sleep.
almost nothing in my life reminds me
of you.

yet today,
the most insignificant of days,
in the balmy afternoon of
an mundane thursday,
i lay prone in my bed,
the towel i took before i was supposed to shower
discarded at my side.

it's been more than two years
since i fell in love with you,
more than 300 days
since i forced myself to fall out of it.
i find myself in that same place
where i was those 400-something days ago,
neither falling into,
nor out of, love–
i was just falling.

i'd come across your name yesterday,
and the shock of it froze me.
my heart almost beat itself out of my chest,
but not in the the same manner as it did two years ago.
at that moment, everything i had put away
safely in my mental chest,
into a mental coffin,
buried in my mental cemetery,
somehow crawled its way out of the grave
and carved and dug a new home
into the back of my eyelids.

now, it seems like all the effort i made
in removing any physical reminder of you
were all wasted.
the sound of your voice suddenly resonates so clearly and fully like you're right next to me;
the softness of your palm reminds me of how well our hands had fit together;
the way your eyes lit up when you gushed about a book you had read;
the surprised little giggle you let out in the crook of my neck after i kissed you the first time.

it all came back and it hurts
and i miss you.
i miss you so, so fucking much.

i know you never think about me anymore
and i guess i'm glad about that.
at least i won't feel guilty about cutting you out of my life,
because as much as i miss you,
i never want to speak to you again.
where love and affection and devotion
were once overflowing and overwhelming,
hurt and bitterness and resentment
have taken their place.
they've sucked out and taken every good thing i felt and thought
and turned them into something dark and sinister
just so i could move forward and let go.

i'm sorry.
i do hope you're happy now.
i guess i'll see you in a better place someday.
elinor 4d
I promised myself that was the last poem about you.
I've always been one of those people who
plays the same song on repeat
until it syncs with my heartbeat
and rattles my bones to dust.
or who
re-reads the same books until
the lines become my holy scripture,
the plot become my genesis and
my body becomes a canvas for a script I know by heart.
My head is filled with drafts for poems I've never written,
and hands I've never held.
I should blame it on courage but I blame it on you instead.
Maybe I'm just one of those people who
gives everything to one boy, forever.
Maybe he's just my routine,
like in the military.
Bright and early awake then straight to the battle field.
My body is adorned with marbled bruises
and crimson gunshot wounds
and when I rest for the night,
I'm shackled to a mattress of stone,
stained in the thick wine that pulses through my veins,
until the next morning,
when I must do it again.
The sunrise is my enemy.
She tugs at my eyelids
with raw fingernails each new day,
and I still fall asleep with
you as the only thing on my mind.

They say that you can't quit the army.
The cowards way out of a few wounds.
"Stay and it'll be a lifetime of glory".
And that's what he promises me.
the pages of your book are so re-read that they are battered and worn.

— The End —