"remants" poems
As I listen to the sounds
Where outside thunderstorms reign
Sounds like muffled cries from inside
I can't help but empathize with her pain
Aching to be acknowledged
The light from lightning does not stay
In hopes in that split second
Was enough to give it away
Endless tears stain my window
As I hear mother nature's cries
When the storm ends and it is quiet again
Remnants of pain are left behind
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
My darling,
We sold our hearts on the open market, our profit: series of lies,
false desires and shattered hopes.
We knew the risks,
knew the tribulation and yet we became love addicts.
Who would have thought, us two little girls would become this?
Dying shells of innocence.
Who would want us now?
What would become of us now?
Where did it all go wrong?
Where did we go wrong, my love.
Where did it go wrong?
Spiders lacing a sticky web of secrets have choaked our vibrance,
left with only remants of joy and diaster.
What are we suppose to do?
For so long we danced with the Devil.
He was the only one who had wanted us.
Now I say goodbye to you.
I beg of you not to morn the days of us.
I beg you to remember the days when like the wind we blew free with no permenant direction.
I must leave you, but I will not stay long in this world we have created.
We will forever have the memories when ignorance was bliss and innocence was just passing.
I love you and if I could I would be lying right beside you,
stroking the sun lit hair.
I leave you, my love.
I believe our last addiction will be our last...
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 4:35 AM UTC
My synapses are misfiring-
this weight more than gravity.
Depravity’s disastrous grasp,
the exit is not escape.
Feel the world spinning,
churning on without.
remants, stationed
stagnant and static.
Buzzing in discomfort,
blistering heat
of combustible refuse
left only excuses.
Catatonic catastrophe,
blasphemous bile spews,
purposeless penitent sentiments,
drowning logic in mental mishap.
An exploding star,
Separating fuselage,
limbs detach from frame
Splintering out into space.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
dear don’t you see?
the more things you unpack
the harder it is to leave.
you’ve left behind so many things
i can’t possibly begin to clean
you flow through my viens
you’re the oxygen i breathe.
how will these dry bones carry me
if you decide to leave?
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC