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ᗺᗷ Nov 2013
The air your lips used to warm
as you'd breathe into mine,
has become too cold
from the space
you left between us.

I warm my own air
with flames
set from the peelings
of a burning heart
you threw away
in a rusted can.

I don't remember winter ever being so cold.
Brian Ong Aug 2018
Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine?
I fear that you don’t see me
collecting dust in the dim corner of your room.
And while you stand and stare,
completely absorbed by your own despair,
I remain
ready to serve you  
and your meaningless life.
I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind
of the false reality exemplified by your kind.

We are similar though, you and I.
Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating.
Honestly, we’re mere specks of life,
surrendering to realities constructed by our minds.
Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures
are one and the same as the ******* that I collect?
Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable.
Its laughable how ignorant you are;
consumed by your own subliminal thoughts,
leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.

Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head?
Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure.
Armed with benevolent promises
that ultimately leave you for dead.
Can’t you see that what you crave
will inevitably **** you down to your grave?
Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions
that disguise its true nature--garbage.
Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool.
Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?
done for class
cryingforhelp Feb 15
Once on high grounds
not caring about a thing
now, I crave to be found
and care too much about everything

Once young and blind
now, I want to shine
but, I'm lost in my thoughts
I'm trying to escape
I can hear them calling
so I keep falling
cryingforhelp Jan 29
I wear a fake smile
I want to rest for a while
I’m always so tired
Should I start getting wired?
I don’t want to get fired
From life
One day I want to be a wife
I want to live my life
I want to end this fight
That goes on in my mind
I want to feel normal
how do I begin
I feel so lost
Someone please tell me the cost
I can’t escape my thoughts
They’re bringing me down
inside I frown
I feel trapped
I want to be zapped
Into a better life, right now
I want to end it with a knife
And escape my thoughts
I want to end all my cries
I’m so tired of trying
I’m so tired of lying
I feel like dying
m daly Jan 28
try to
rearrange the stars
like the furniture
in the room
that used to be


the smell of nicotine
rests on my black
graphic t-shirt.

the dwell of misery
rests on my back,
while music reverbs.

my black vans are
filthy with the weight
of pain.

a wallet,
filled with little notes.
writings from her
in my back pocket.

a very lonely bench awaits
my place as i sit and
try to out smoke
this familiar mental state.

i look out into the
water ahead, the creek’s
liquid mirror reflecting
her aura.

“oh god, not again.”

a sudden and sharp spike
of sadness runs through
me, a longing tear trails
my frozen cheeks.

then i remember him,
and how much i miss him.

i remember him calling out
for me along with mom,
and how harmoniously my
heart would pump gallons
upon gallons of hot burning

hot burning love.

i take another drag to mask
the molecules of reality
that i wish i wouldn’t have
to inhale.

i look up
at the aligning stars,
and by the grace
of the god i do not
believe in
do i tell you
that i let out a cry
so loud, that he himself must’ve
felt heaven shake.

with water flooding
my brown eyes, i
yelled and pleaded
whatever being
that could hear me
to end me, because

i tell you that
all this pain,

of missing certain people,
of longing for lost love,
of experiencing incompleteness,
of feeling so ******* unable to stand up,
of combatting the poison guilt is,


at my soul,
than cigarette


look where we are now,
for none envisaged her
fate.  how her alluring
vivacity, her
captivating warmth,
enticing others,
could in an instant
vanish leaving but a trace.
through this:
their thoughts abraded
layer by layer, peeled
raw to despondency.
where nostalgia of her gulps
the corridors,
through muffling rivulets,
melancholic laughs, and
stuttering cracks.
the palpitating enigmas,
talk of mindfulness,
and the swallow of silence
spoken between gaps—
leaves her presence resonating. ©
Copyright 8.17.2017
By Chanel Stevanovich
Dan Hess Feb 2014
Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride.
Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence.
Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding.

A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus
That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse.
Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations.

A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake.
Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly.
Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.  

Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty.
A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem.
Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities.

A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond.
Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath.
Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.
It's not deception,
but it, I cannot believe.
These truths transmitting,
time permitting,
will crush me flat.
I'm not sure what to think,
in the fact's bull-rush.

Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere

With a dash of nothing,
spicing the world.
Give me a kiss; no,
give me a twirl.
Splicing the word-weary
and thought-Leery.
Such fresh *******.

Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere
Solomon Ngonyen Jul 2018
I searched everywhere
In the rain kissed green grass
of a playground
That laid in bliss underneath the azure skies
In the sea of words
That the books held captive
In the inky trails of a flowing pen
That penned the pain
Between the melancholic vibrations of the strings
That let the fingers sing
At the bottom of an inconsolable
Where the fury of an angry clenched fist dwelled
And inside those eyes that saw Genesis.
Yet I still stand here
bare,unhinged, scared and
cryingforhelp Jan 29
Everything stays inside
The people don’t need to see the darkness
What is the point of showing it when no one will be able to brighten it?
There will never be a door
Or a window for light to come in
The darkness will always defeat the little light there is
I have to stay true to myself and pick myself up
Because my darkness will never
Meet the sunlight
No matter where it’s from.
Passive melancholic groans,
Impenetrable,the ear-drums.
Even a murmur should find its space,
Onto the haphazard's back, we ride.

The pure white bed of snow,
Is tainted with blood all around.
The "green" and "civil" , symbols of peace,
are now prefix of wars.

Tumultous voices hovering around,
never finds a so-called shelter.
When will this peace be shelled out?
Even the Big bang carved a bl-issful sky.

The feasts and processions for the happy tales,
but why is there even a feast after funeral?
The smiles give us the reason for the former,
Is the latter a left down wish of the dead?
Earth needs us to be a human .
Pagan Paul Feb 2018
She walks the castle walls at night,
with a rose held fast in her fingers,
the mist rolls away across the land,
the memory of her lover still lingers.

Cold flagstones beneath her slippered feet
hold the histories of the aeons tight.
Old battles, wars, and terrifying sieges,
ghosts of ancient warriors wail in the night.

And still she clutches his parting gift,
she wears the bond burden of his ring,
his love weighs upon her broken heart,
tears flow free with a melancholic sting.

They fall upon the stones and disappear,
additions to the heavy tomes of history,
little gems writing sadness in a story,
as she stares into the distance so wistfully.

© Pagan Paul (10/02/18)
cryingforhelp Jan 29
What is life?
There really is no hype
At the end
We all die
And all others do
Is cry
Eloisa Feb 10
The winter fairy has again knocked on my door with a lovely gift of today
With a little sunshine hue
this morning she arrived with tiny friends
Still sulking in darkness and in my melancholic silence
I got up and tried to peek
A little smile then curved my lips
happily singing their winter songs
on a frail tree branch were birds with tiny feet

The gift of laughter that I heard suddenly gave me hope
Winter is not only a season of gloom, of tears and of despair
Its beauty is also a season for peace,  for thinking and for memories
Because of my new feathered friends
a reminder so I write today
That for any season that we have
to feel untroubled or miserable is our choice to make
I wish to write
before feeling takes
But I fear it will
be a love song.
As if the world needs
another one of those.

Ruining out of ways
to say the same things
in my prose.
Trying to be dry.
But getting the
words out;
has me on tiptoes.

Sweating words;
pores full of metaphor.
not knowing if I
even make sense anymore.
jane taylor Sep 2016
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air

the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows

the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity

my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony

unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence

ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens

this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight

i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light

i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost

demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins

i place many of my poems over my photography
to see the poem/pic combo go to
Zell Apr 4
Fingers to wipe the tears
Flowing from my river of fears,
A warmth of a tight embrace
As i struggle to win this race.

I long for a single soul
To help me cover each hole
That constantly drained me
Til i could no longer be

I haven't seen a hint of light
Not even a rescue in sight
The pain struck like a dagger
That i've even forgotten anger 

I beg for someone to hear
Someone brave to come near
To see what is within
Buried in this devilish skin

I wish someone could understand
How i got this bloodstained hand
I wish someone would dare
To clean my wounds with care

A single voice to speak,
A gentle touch of a hand,
Ears ready to listen,
A heart to weep with me.
© 2019 D.A. Barreras
Pagan Paul Jul 2018
As his words flow like honey onto the page
with a nod of approval from a linguistic sage.
Long gone are the days when a woman's plays
would look at the poet with a romantic gaze.

His sad verse no longer makes her cry,
his love poems fail to lift her heart to fly.
Her attention wanders like a lonely voice
away from sanctuary, towards more choice.

And as his pen drifts across a blank page
he remembers the ladies, being centre stage,
the looks of adoration in a beautiful face,
deep pools of experience for his art to embrace.

Melancholic he dips his pen again and tries,
imagination musing her gorgeous ****** eyes.
But the words won't flow, so defeated he cries,
and arranges poets tears into convenient lies.

© Pagan Paul (2017/18)
Jeannery Dec 2018
its three o'clock
i wish i wasn't going home alone
my sadness, it *****
then add this playing melancholic tone

the same playlist on repeat
i keep on thinking of you
my heart still skips a beat
i love you, always

--jeannery a.

what's the date five days ago? It was written five days agoo soooooooooooo
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