"nonexistence" poems
recovery is hard
existing is really hard
the fact anyone does it at all
it's a miracle
but existence is resistance
it is resistance to nonexistence which
can actually be incredibly easy
backsliding into old habits is easy
old habits may die hard but
at least they can die
(hard)
recovery is hard
it is not linear
you do not follow a timeline
it is not
first you do this and then you do that
and now it's all better
kiss kiss! goodbye bad days!
recovery is "today is a good day and
i know bad days"
recovery is "today is a bad day but
i've seen so many of those that i know how to navigate it"
recovery is "you have reached your destination"
recovery is "but my destination is actually
three blocks up from here
sorry can you take me three more blocks?"
recovery is "oh no its okay i can walk from here"
recovery is "yes, i'm sure"
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
. . . there's a path that could not have been
can't be but shall be seen by wise eyes
all seeing all knowing belonging to you
yet not you in some form sideways 360
nonexistence up safe in a tree perched
on the brink a vast ethereal forest
nocturnal wide-eyed visionary
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 3:37 AM UTC
I am not born as yet,
five minutes before my birth.
I can still go back
into my unbirth.
Now it’s ten minutes before,
now, it’s one hour before birth.
I go back,
I run
into my minus life.
I walk through my unbirth as in a tunnel
with bizarre perspectives.
Ten years before,
a hundred and fifty years before,
I walk, my steps thump,
a fantastic journey through epochs
in which there was no me.
How long is my minus life,
nonexistence so much resembles immortality.
Here is Romanticism, where I could have been a spinster,
Here is the Renaissance, where I would have been
an ugly and unloved wife of an evil husband,
The Middle Ages, where I would have carried water in a tavern.
I walk still further,
what an echo,
my steps thump
through my minus life,
through the reverse of life.
I reach Adam and Eve,
nothing is seen anymore, it’s dark.
Now my nonexistence dies already
with the trite death of mathematical fiction.
As trite as the death of my existence would have been
had I been really born.
5.1k
you created us, humans, one after the other trying to perfect the creation you defined as imperfect. you thought of this as a way to show us that your power holds no limitations. flawed species; and alone, we have created a civilization. we live to create a more damaged environment for us to die in.
and i was destructive. an emptiness so vast took hold of my being and no one i encountered could rid me of it. no one could make me feel.
until i knew of her existence, or lack there of. and now every atom in my fragile body lusts over every cell her celestial figure withholds. i unconcsiously cannot stop wanting her, because my heart pumps desire into my system rather than blood and no ***** that makes me up can function without her.
i've always felt dead inside..i've always felt that my days were of no purpose, until i met her, and i could ask for no bigger purpose than to love her.
she awakened my soul; the soul that was burried so deep in that i misconceived dislocation with it's nonexistence.
i never was interested in astronomy but i've always loved the idea of everything that exists beyond this earth. i speak of her beauty, and god, i can't help but compare her to the galaxies. i know the stars don't hear me, but that doesn't limit me. sometimes i wonder if they do because everytime her name rolls off my tounge, i can see them flicker. i think it's because they're in awe. they never saw someone feel so much for someone else before, and they never heard of someone as beautiful as her; not in centuries past and definitely not for centuries to come. her eyes hold universes within them and i want to study her instead. i'm fascinated with every detail there's to her. i never held interest in anyone before her and no one after her could measure up. she's everything everyone wants to be, but nothing anyone can be; because she's the perfect you were aiming for. isn't she?
she taught my lungs how to breathe.
"and i'm so glad i held onto my life long enough for her to be in it. -@whorefrost" and although the weight of this life is heavy on my chest, it's worth it. loving her is worth it.
i've been asked to describe art, and every thought in my head screamed her name louder than the other wanting to be heard. but she's more than just art, she's reason.
she's my reason.
i see her, and i believe.
i believe in you.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
this is not a poem. this is a plea. this is me begging you to hear me when i tell you that i love you. my voice is weak and shaking like the branches of a willow in the wind. my hands are trembling like tremors under the surface of the earth. my vision is so blurred that i can barely focus my eyes as i type. i can feel the impending collapse of my lungs as they are further crushed by the weight of all my anxieties. my strength is fading, but i'm still screaming for you, only you don't seem to hear me. i'm reaching for you but you won't take hold of my hand. i swear to god i'm trying with everything i have to hold you together, but i'm terrified it's not enough. the very thought of your nonexistence consumes me in a fear i have never known. i have never been good at telling people i need them, but i can tell you how vacant this world would be if you left it. everything would change. you can't come in to my life like you did and then just leave it with no warning. you can't do that to me. you can't tell me that you want to marry me and then try to disappear without so much as a goodbye. you just can't. so i don't mean to make you feel guilty, i just need you to understand. don't you know what it would do to me if you left? how many times are you going to almost-die before you realize i will never be the same if you do?
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
I.
I am the eye that floats on the wind.
The third observer
To your first person nonsense.
I see all and say nothing.
I am all and nothing.
Simultaneously the end and the beginning.
I hold your world together
With a steady stare.
If I blink you become a blur--
A quantum hurricane
In the blender of nonexistence.
II.
Or maybe
Somewhere in the multiverse
A version of me
Is drinking tea by a fireplace.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
what i said:
"you sound rough this morning."
what i meant:
"your voice is lavender and honey and tea time and supernovas colliding with gentle breezes and if i could wake up to it, just once, cocooned in a tangle of your arms and couch cushions and that blanket you keep in the back of your car, i swear by the stars in my eyes no one on this godforsaken planet would be out of earshot of my singing
i hope that tonight when i dream of you--it is no longer a matter of uncertainty, but anticipation--you speak like you've just overslept your alarm and frantically motored yourself to where i am, like is the case today.
i wish you had chosen me but if i could only listen to you speak to me, about anything--rivers or math homework or football or belonging or music or even your girlfriend--i promise i would listen with the beating urgency of a swimmer in a frozen stream, i would savor each word from your lips, like they were the spring and i was the underground daisy waiting for your kiss.
and in precisely three days i will have an essay to compose about a beautiful topic that would consume me thoroughly were it not for the memory of your groggy morning voice, so full of raspy complacency i can't breathe but instead of fulfilling my obligations i will be hashing out halfway comprehensible poetry about you and crying about how i cannot recreate the sound of your voice with any combination of hollowly clicking keys.
you are so beautiful that i could spend the remainder of my life with a five-subject notebook, scrawling 'your eyes. your smile. your hands. your voice' over and over endlessly and die feeling as though i had lived a thousand years of quiet adventure.
you are so much and too much for me and i have no idea why you see as much in me as you do but i will not question it, for fear that if i were to come too close to you, to run my fingers along the marvel of your face you would shrivel and unfurl into nonexistence, like the leaf in the fire."
and also:
"why can't your voice always sound like this?"
and finally:
******* you're attractive"
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
We trailed through the moonlit road
As I wiped the tears that streamed my face—
Everything was calm, everything was serene
It felt like we were passing by a city
That had long fallen to deep slumber;
Where had once all the rushing cars had gone,
Back and forth, non-stop, as their engines rattled
With much desperation, pleading to rest.
Step by step, we slowed our pace, feeling the cool breeze shying from us
As we came to a halt.
The leaves ruffled, still, and the stars twinkled brighlty.
Everything seemed to come together in perfect harmony.
It all felt quite bizzare yet astounding;
quite frightening yet calming;
quite gloomy yet comforting.
It was unlike anything I've ever experienced before–
Perhaps my heart and mind had finally been at peace
And that the turmoil inside had faded into nonexistence.
• ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ •
Who knew that what a known-to-be ordinary walk
Could turn into a magnificent, almost magical cure-
A cure for the mind that's filled with cloudy thoughts,
And a cure for the heart filled with pain and faults.
But what had truly made things better was..
Having you by my side amidst the whole tranquility
The entire scenery might have felt mysteriously unreal to me
But your presence was my reminder that it was all reality.
• ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ •
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
merely breadcrums of cognitions produced during *realities open ended coma
a world full of never ending twisted visions, imagine, imaginations experience constant states of nonexistence.
would letters rejoice with one another,
would they celebrate the specifics of the meanings re veiled by their gatherings?
or would each become a victim? could each have a new home, found sixfeet deep, causing the destruction or any bit of lingering sanity left lurking..
would colors be conceivable? would delusions actually delude, if no trace of reality or its oppisite was remaining to place firmly in ones grasp?
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:25 AM UTC
Out of red concrete stands an abstraction
held out in space and in isolation.
Posit a location, Pierre
I'll be there to where you be.
But from the ground of the cafe
the distance becomes separated by unity:
point A to point B
pinpointing the heart of reality
for what was once 'to be' now stands 'not to be'.
A pre-judicative attitude always leads
from 'being' to 'non-being'.
Where is the comfort in
trying to rest
between Nothingness?
While negating in
A sleep while asleep?
Am I not self-aware through self-consciousness of
'The Existence of a Nonexistence Existing in Existence'?
How can there be Nothingness if before Nothingness
there is a Consciousness?
There is a Consciousness! From Being!
From a non-being being Being!
Thus, don't premature judge and expect the "expected"
Expect the unexpected
and save nonexistence from non-existence;
from "being" to "non-being"
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 10:09 PM UTC
perplexity and confusion
through deep chasms of self-deprecation
we trudge world weary and troubled
furthermore we play philosopher (of dim shadows)
or worse fortune-teller (of self) creating self-fulfilling prophecies
that tell of tears and framed laughter (within society’s embrace)
turmoil coupled with turbulence (what if? what if not? why me? why not me?
wreaking havoc in the present clouding all sense of joy and peace)
not realizing that the past is dead and gone
in future times - que sera sera, there is no point
fretting and fuming
worrying and burying happiness six feet under ghostly nonexistence
***that is why I choose to **** all negative thought***
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 5:27 AM UTC
You are my morning dew,
the sunrise and the sunset,
the tides of a calm ocean,
the hidden rainforest.
You are calm, cool, collected.
the light and hope and the warmth,
the twists of a peaceful nature,
the mysterious lurker.
You are nature in all senses,
and all my senses need thy nature.
Your touch is the tingle on my skin,
Your kiss, a roller-coaster ride on my lips.
Your actions, a witness for my eyes;
and your scent, shampoo to my nose.
Your voice, music to my ears.
And your nonexistence, threat to my tears.
You are my beautiful painting — oil on canvas,
my completing soul mate — stamps on letters,
my taste to life — sugar to coffee,
and my drug — alcohol to liquor.
You are one with nature,
and my nature is not complete without you.
You are more than my morning dew,
that surpasses all sunrise or sunsets,
more than the tides or corals of the sea,
more than the cleavage of an unknown rainforest.
You are, my soul mate.
A mate to my nature,
A mate to my soul,
lacking one would lead me,
inevitable depths of darkness,
a deep pitiful hole.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
brrEXIT
by Michael R. Burch
what would u give
to simply not exist—
for a painless exit?
he asked himself, uncertain.
then from behind
the hospital room curtain
a patient screamed—
"my life!"
Originally published by Setu. Keywords/Tags: brexit, death, exit, suicide, euthanasia, quick, painless, hospital, patient, hospice, final, curtain, existence, nonexistence
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
it is the light of candles in the window
the vaporous dawn
glowing
and not yet the sun
it is
the skin of shadow
wavering in teacups in india
the 'Bushel-of-Rice' king
smiling
at two suns.
it is the secret
of doors that have no other side
and the mystery of
rooms that lead
to them.
it is
a small thing
more vast
than
why ?
and the
need of
.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
you cannot silence my voice,
erase who i am and stand to be.
i will not be pushed to nonexistence,
for my story is not written in pencil,
it is written in ink.
― and i will leave my mark on history
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
Saturn’s rings
are disintegrating
and Jupiter’s great red spot
is shrinking
and the ice caps on Mars
are sublimating
and our very own Moon
is slowly untethering itself
from Earth’s gravity.
In eight billion years,
the Sun will turn red and swell up
like a toddler on the verge of tears,
and incinerate
Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars—
all of our histories and fossils,
our legends and loves,
our monuments and our ruins.
You and I will be long gone by then, of course—
nonexistent to the extent
that we’re not even aware of our own
nonexistence.
Some people may think of death
as an inky void,
but it must be far more final than that—
an inky void would be copious by comparison.
What if there is simply nothing
on the other side of the curtain?
Perhaps it would be for the best.
For I never was able to avert my gaze
while driving past a smoldering wreck,
and you never could build up the courage to take a look.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 3:55 AM UTC
He is I
I am me.
Time
And Time
And Time
And Time Again.
Time, it was my friend.
Time and time again.
Writings all over the walls come down.
Movies playing in my mind all drown.
Showing me that all it takes is time
To mend,
All it takes is time to rend-
-er my mind,
Breaking time,
Drowning sorrow so
It falls, it falls, it falls, it falls
Into nonexistence, and I
Can't take this life,
So he will die...
But so can I.
-Not today, but long after tomorrow,
Unless God wills, I'll drown my sorrow.
Drowning sorrow so it can never
Walk across my mind again.
Hating hate so I can find an end
To the violence of my heart,
And I can find a friend
That will never let me down
If I just let my sorrow drown.
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC
Black. Ugly. Growing.
It mustn't be allowed to fertilize.
It must be felled with a well aimed blow.
In the midst of the dozen red roses,
It is the Black Rose covered with thorns.
Pain. Blackness. Piercing Intensity.
I wonder. I beg. I plead.
There is no progress, only decaying emotions.
The only release possible presents itself.
Nonexistence.
Thoughts piercing my skull,
Whirling 'round, seeking escape.
Finding none, they make their own exit.
Pain ends in unconsciousness, unconsciousness in....
Nonexistence.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
I never wished for a sibling, boy or girl.
Center of the universe,
I had the back of my parents’ car
all to myself.
I could look out one window
then slide over to the other window
without any quibbling over territorial rights,
and whenever I played a game
on the floor of my bedroom, it was always my turn.
Not until my parents entered their 90s
did I long for a sister, a nurse I named Mary,
who worked in a hospital
five minutes away from their house
and who would drop everything,
even a thermometer, whenever I called.
“Be there in a jiff” and “On my way!”
were two of her favorite expressions, and mine.
And now that the parents are dead,
I wish I could meet Mary for coffee
every now and then at that Italian place
with the blue awning where we would sit
and reminisce, even on rainy days.
I would gaze into her green eyes
and see my parents, my mother looking out
of Mary’s right eye and my father staring out of her left,
which would remind me of what an odd duck
I was as a child, a little prince and a loner,
who would break off from his gang of friends
on a Saturday and find a hedge to hide behind.
And I would tell Mary about all that, too,
and never embarrass her by asking about
her nonexistence, and maybe we
would have another espresso and a pastry
and I would always pay the bill and walk her home.
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 4:38 PM UTC
When I lay in bed,
Trying to sleep.
When I close my eyes,
Thinking so deep.
When it becomes too late,
I fall asleep.
When I dream of a dream,
I can’t upkeep.
When all my senses,
Start to seep.
To the nonexistence,
Want to creep.
That’s the moment,
Forever,
I want to keep.
Abdullah Ayyash
October 2nd, 2010
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
Reach into me, scour me for my soul, throw it up against the wall,
**** it.
Powerless, vulnerable, submissive is my soul.
Offering, willingly, hoping it may not hurt. Though it always hurts.
I know I will never escape.
Though achy and sad, I am free in the throes.
I let go of who I am and forget that it's me.
Letting go of myself and my life and my problems and my joy and my pain and my worries and my sorrows and my dreams and my fears and my feelings and my thoughts and my colors and myself and becoming nothing.
I love being nothing.
When I’m nothing I don’t have to be anything ever again.
Lonely nonexistence is my favorite pastime.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
Falling asleep with a mind
full of caffeine
and fever dreams,
the wanderlust saddens you
as the hallway light slowly flickers
into tangible nonexistence.
Spirits assault your shell
of vice and cold monologue
as you dream, tapping into your
infantile fears of smoke and mirrors
and waking up with
one lifetime too many
hanging over your head.
Rain stings against shingles
sending your thoughts
hydroplaning into silence.
Thunder flashes against
the background of sirens
and missed phone calls.
The weather forecast looks grim:
Slightly cloudy, with a
one hundred percent chance
of remembering who you've been.
Anticipation...
Death's mask is a mirror,
he is us
we watch ourselves slumber
waiting for each breath.
You listen closer,
trying to find a song
within the static,
human fragility
at its finest.
Petrichor presses against
your window pane, threatening
to intrude on your atmosphere
of Viceroy smoke and mildew.
The clock ticks closer to midnight
and your vision smears like
a watercolor painting under a faucet,
slowly sliding into blankness.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
Absence of nothing
Full of everything
Who I supposed to be
While I´m writing here
Absence of pain as a joy
Trading on ambiguity
Absence of a nonentity
Still a proper entity
Absence of darkness as a light
Darkness or absence insight
(Un)consciousness always fight
Nonexistence invites
Absence of existence as a non-existence
Unicorns don't exist
A square circle essence
Dangerous mental twist
Absence of unreality as a reality
Into an absolute nothingness
In any universe timeline
An insane tragedy
Absence of demolition as a building
Existence is not a negation of negatives
Feeling absolutely nothing
Sharing words as a sedative
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 12:02 AM UTC
-Love-
The quintessence of my being ails for the novel; the liberating; the metamorphosing elements of the terrene.
The philosophy of life has always been to search for the sacred truths with the passing of time; tempus.
The answers have been right in front of me.
The concept of finality has been an ailment of my mind; this malady had a paranoia inducing effect on me.
A surfeit of noxious thought can subdue one into nonexistence.
Never, no, rarely should one create a permanent state of tumult within their soul; one must look beyond what they first believe to be true.
-Love-
Without the absolute love, what is one?
The Divine has the Transcendental Power to heal all wounds…
-One must first ask-
The words have been lying here; stewing upon my tongue; awaiting a release for what has seemed to be an eternity.
In my mind the horizon has flashed before my eyes; a vivid vision of the world’s beauty has enraptured me.
Doves gliding off into the sunset; this must be a symbol of all the splendor that lies in store for me.
Enamorment; affinity; affection and all the virtuous elements of humanity have been consolidated in my midst.
They have been compounded before my eyes; a physical form has now been granted.
My heart now has a tangible source for the Elixir of World.
Blinded for but a moment, I departed into an alluring phantasy.
Unsure of where to search for a comrade, I looked to another plane of existence for solace.
There was an explosion of lust for what was once a forbidden dream of the kindest sort.
This dream, it was kind enough to grant me the strength to plow through all the turmoil of a scathing world.
I have given birth to a new feeling; a feeling of hope over the horizon.
How?
By allowing my deepest fears and latent intentions to be cast aside and to fade away into naught.
Earth is a constant melisma of unforeseen occurrence, pain, and heartache but it can also be a beacon for valor, gallant-heartedness, and altruism.
-Delirium is fading away from my consciousness-
My greatest fear has always been to grow and to exceed what I believed to be my true caliber.
Now the day has arrived for me to supersede all trepidation and to transcend the shackles of rigidity.
The storm clouds, they have departed.
The blossoms have begun to bud amongst the tightly packed soil of the terrene.
The sun has arisen from a nocturne of anticipation; this has effloresced into the genesis of a new dawn.
I have emerged from my cocoon and now the world seems so brand new to me.
I am prepared to soar high above the clouds.
I am a dove.
The horizon is mine for the taking.
I am a symbol of love.
From now, until the end of time,
Iridescently Efflorescent.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC