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ThePoet Feb 2016
You gave

strength to my


power to my


purpose to my


something to my

harlee kae Sep 2014
on days like today
i  can only pray
that my life will end
in a gruesome way.
Listening doesn't always mean understanding
- Listening could mean getting lost in your own thought of tranquility
- Or even your own devastational whir
- Listening doesn't have to be with your ears
- Just the exhaustion of emptiness that outlines your skull;
- Or even the numbness that conquers every length from spine to external excellence of your mind;
- Gliding from one emotion to another could be the loudest transaction without making a single clamor;
- Listening doesn't always mean understanding
- But the utter perplexity of ones thoughts drowning in the sound of nothingness.
By Macee L
v V v Feb 2011
I continue in darkness while
supposed light shines in the distance;

distant and unattainable
beyond a purple fog on its hands and knees
feeling its way through the night
like an angel of death.

Where is the light so many refer to?

I’ve died a thousand deaths but only seen
the purple fog nothingness creeping like
a rising river

tumbling over sand bags.

I have not seen light.
Published at Pyrokinection in January 2013
Vaniexe Kafka Jun 26
Fighting my demons are always hard
For they have the poet's mind
That lured me in their metaphors of
the taste of the sun
or the comfort of solitude

They pull me in between their lines of
Desperation and depression
As if basking in the sunlight will make it less empty

They tangle me in the swirl of the words
Embracing me with each broken thorn of a flower,
or every drizzle of the rain, or every blanket of snow
or the feel of the breeze
As if those imagery
will make it less painful;
Written in papyrus with the ink as thick as blood and teardrops on the footnotes
As if those drops can lessen the burden that clutches my chest

They envelope me with every space
in between their words
as if letting me breathe
but then they enter
cutting the peace in between letters
but never putting a period
to end this miserable excuse for a poem
they made me

It's all a hallucination
An endless illusion
for in the end
I'm still chained,
existing with this void inside
and with my demons
Eating the life out of me

Then suddenly pressing save
for all the world to see
without even really
saving me
Emm Sep 2017
Your smell particles,
I breathe
The drug I need,
the endorphin I need...

Simply missing your presence,...
--how you said you loved me,
your warmth,
your gentleness,...
-- and the consciousness that you're there, ...

... Even though not in person ...

As I spread my arms for your voice...
Silence answered me, ...
Nothingness whispered he's here...
--a sole hero walking against the desert scorching sun...

Now the roses you gave me had withered and died...--
As how you felt towards me...
Nurtured, then cut off to whiter and dry ...

Unspoken words behind your tightly clasped lips,
the embers in your eyes betrayed you, dear ...
Not as pure
Murky as ridden by dirt...

You are another trinket,...
I close the chest of your shadow...
I'd never cut your wings,
so there, off you go,... --off with the stream,...

... cascading into nothingness ...

Deisphorios May 2017
i guess i'm just a mess
and maybe i'm just lonely
and maybe im just bitter
but i know that my head is a storm
and my chest is just empty
TheMystiqueTrail Oct 2018
When the river flows
to the cliff for its deadly plunge
into the maelstrom of nothingness
that defines the soul of the netherworld,
you enter into the nirvana
that rests in the stillness of your consciousness.

Heaven's gravity holds you up
to glide over the mundane!
Lana Jan 2017
Silence is nothingness, yet it speaks
A million words packed into a mere few seconds which seem to last a painful infinity
Your silence it speaks, it is manufactured to torture
Your eyes filled with hate
Now here I stand, begging you to speak, something, anything, but nothing all the same
Francie Lynch Jul 16
We are human beings.
(most of the time)
Being means to exist.
(all of the time)
So, how can a human being
Be dead?
Be that, as it may.
Tip of the cap to Sartre for title.
Marina James Apr 10
The urge to write a joyous poem
yet darkness drip from my mind.

I want to feel the magnificent
but there is nothing but nothing inside.
zebra Jul 2018
it was a dark dance
of an immovable body
as she was taken by the throat,
death, causing stupendous distortions
and entrancements of lunar landscapes
she reeled pirouettes between smothering
and seeing through a miraculous inner eye
deepening her sense of nothingness
as if pickled in a jar,  suspended in
held buoyant
where there is no reason for anything
moveless in a veiled corridor
inhabiting innerness, a raven fog
her ******* wet with the scent of fear and ***
she fell through the earth
into the infernal arms of

his tremulous kisses
a thousand glittering eyes
she could see through
Tatiana Mar 26
If I look hard enough
I will find
a void in your pupils
one that does not fill
with the glitter of amusement
or glistens with tears
just a sort of intense nothingness
as you don't even blink
a black hole where your soul
should be
When the urge to write strikes, ya gotta just write and see where it takes you
Sobbingsoul Aug 4
I have found my home
In  this emptiness
In nothingness where everything is
I have felt my soul, my home
Where  a total bliss remains
Imprisoned in the body
Caged with the senses
I am obligated to
Come to this world
A deep yearning dwells within
To be
In this nothingness
In this emptiness
Where everything is
Where my real home lives

I walk into this endless void
Wondering why am I even here
I've turned entirely different
This carefree, chilling guy is me now
I'm dancing my way through this
I'm way more happy than I ever was

The monotony of this void excites me
By every minute, I am being absorbed
Into this never ending nightmare

There's no end to this
But I'm becoming a part of this
Fragments of my soul are getting
Embedded into this vagueness

Now, I'm nothing

Just like the void
Eurus Feb 6
A love so strong,
A jealousy so fierce,
A sneaking anger,
With an ill-concealed need of you.
These pent-up, raw, reluctant emotions,
Now, plaint to see,
Are beckoning even the innermost of my core.
The beat to an apoptotic dance.
The final curtain
To a life of sweet sweet nothingness.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018

I put my arm around you
kiss your face

the coffin makes it

even now
face to face with your death

I refuse to believe it.
Accept it.

You sweat.
A tear on your cheek.

"Don't cry...don't cry"

"See...see!" I say
grasping the unbelievaboel

But it is only an undertaker's trick
spraying mist to keep flower's  fresh

I am prepared to believe
anything but your death.

I want the world
to bloom in your eyes.

For the sky to be sky
for you to see

the beauty of a tree
a cloud

but the sky is just
a thing

a tree a thing
a cloud a thing

Another Jun 2018
The first sign of a dream approaching is that when you’ve already awoken,
awoken to a strange place with no trace of how you could’ve gotten there.
And the unfamiliar, faces near, with eyes similar to shards– shaded  
you can’t help but notice those feelings emitted were somehow something you’ve come to known before,
but where?
–a notion coursing its way around a soundless observatory only to further dissipation—
A sign of discord covers the room,
all that was allowed is furthest from you,
a parched paper made from what seemed like rugged twine knows nothing but lead between,    you find a face emerging from it,
quickly drawn with detail,
there it stops from motion to undulating surpass,
away from a darkened room up in front of a morning taking.
This conjuring source flairs outward
rising through the outworn canvas
leading it to embers
dancing away along a fizzled plane
for what was despair inscribed in this meaningful dereliction.
To what is empty from emotion is nonexistent,
I couldn’t find the reason to live on,
this dream has died as will I... as will the will of this way this place carries over me.
Yes decay follows me,
unto everywhere will there be the silent breezes to carry me past the concrete terrain into nothingness.
I find myself to live this over,
until the advent of air drowns these lungs to knowing again,
to know exactly what it means to breathe again.
I see no reason for such things as unrealistic as they may seem likely for me to occur in this living.
Again I’m stuck in a room full of my owns thoughts,
such a dangerously sorrowful place to be.
‘For everything as it may have not been
weary am I for looking forward at
The things that never happened’

‘Turning over everyday, repetitively’

Let’s just say that this isn’t personal but for those whom share a common fate. Until overturned.
In its most rawest.

Snow, for me exemplifies a mute understanding from in juxtaposition with various types of sadnesses that branch off into disparately inclined yearnings, to nostalgic preferences, whether known or not. Why it happens is of course obvious but the way it affects you, makes one wonder, if at all— I think I’m trailing off my train of though here, I’m not sure where this is going..

This was inspired by a remarkable composer, as I recalled a dream before, along with the yearning of trying to expose my underlying expansion of myself with my current understanding of things. what it all could mean as much of his cello’s presence affected me during that process. I’m the gray area that needs deciphering.

the cello that wails the loudest, is one that suffers the most. Even so, every tone encapsulates the listener with resonance. And in that, it reaches its utmost vulnerability, showing the many hues imbedded in an infinite sadness, in an astronomical way, a type of exquisite somber, that resides in the instrument’s hollowness until implementation of procedure.
Sophia Apr 2018
there was a sparkle in her eyes
I saw it
I saw it
no one else paid her any attention
and only I noticed the apple cores of her hands

so she resorted to magic
the crazy stuff of existence
like the wheat she stashed in her sandbag heart
and when it found her not
despair shook the earth
around her sorrowful body
permeating disillusion
immersion in nothingness nothingness nothing

lonely lonely
and bottle caps launched from her fingernails
from the spiraling stems of madness that rampaged through her bulging pulse
with piercing shards of nothingness nothingness nothing
splitting her glowing veins

and sweetening her ever-kind
brain brain brain

and where was the world?
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