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Beth Decisions Jul 2016
Reoccurring Emotions
Reoccurring emotions.
Every few months I experience reoccurring emotions.
I have a new life.
New battles to face.
However, every few months it occurs.
The same fights with my mom.
The same conversations about it with my sister.
The same feeling of abandonment from my friends.
The same crushing feeling of missing someone who lives 1,000 miles away.
In the months inbetween everything is different.
I believe the pattern will not occur once more.
How could it?
Nothing in my life is the same as before.
Then it happens.
It becomes time to battle the reoccurring emotions.
Continue reading...
Aaron LaLux Aug 2016
Fisherman's Bastion
Fisherman’s Bastion

Hey,

how have you been?

I know,
some time times can be tough,
but remember,
nothing’s permanent this too shall pass,

we are only an idea of our own imagination,

and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse,
but then again maybe there is no such thing as better or worse,
and maybe that’s the truth,
and maybe the truth is that sometimes the truth hurts…

Hey,

how have you been?

Tell me,
are you enjoying this miracle called life,
in this body,
that you’re currently in?

I’m not sure you fully heard the question because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to ask it again,

“Hey how have you been,
are you enjoying this miracle called life in this body that you’re currently in?”

And yeah I know you’re confused and think you might be a lesbian,
or maybe an asexual extra-terrestrial multi-dimensional alien,
but hey that’s okay all the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine,

I’m not sure you heard the reference because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to say it again,

“All the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine.”

Hey,

how have you been?

I thought about you today,
all day actually,

all the way from Budapest Castle,
through the Labyrinth to Matthias Church,
where I drank water from the fountain,
to quench my reoccurring thirst,

I thought about you today,
from the thermal baths at Lukacs,
to right here where I’m writing this,
back to the Basilica on the Turrets of the Fisherman’s Bastion,

actually I have a question if you don’t mind me asking,

hey,

how have you been?

It seems what I’ve received from atop the turrets contemplating,
is that my attraction towards you is both affection and indifference,
affliction and obsession and independence and addiction,
and possession and freedom and acceptance and rejection,

wait a second it’s actually also the most beautiful creation in all of creation

it is we are the self manifestation of perfection from chaos and misdirection,

oh my look now to the sky is where we are headin’,

and things are going so fast now I think it’s about time I check in,

hey,

how have you been?

You still give me the chills like the hottest Sun mixed with the coldest Wind,
which also describes the highest highs both literally and figuratively that I find myself in,
because what I write is the result of insight from the Most High inside that I then let out with my pen,
and also it seems where I write these lines it’s usually from places high in the sky it can’t all be a coincidence,

this feels all too real to try and even begin to attempt to pretend,
confident and confused at the same time like wanting to make love with your best friend,

When,
will we be able to make love unconditionally without any preconditions,
when can we just be without wanting to do,
like being at a Basilica in the petition position but not needing to be on a mission,

can we please just land on foreign land for the sake of seeking refuge from stormy seas or simply to stop from drifting?

When will we be able to just be without all the questioning and invasive investigations,
I mean seriously these people these days ask so many questions it’s beginning to feel like an inquisition,

made a few more references there could you please write back and let me know when you get them?

Let me know when,
you stop fishing,
because I already know who I want,
and of course I’ve only got one question,

hey,

how have you been?

Listen,

I’m tired you’re hired please love my rebellious heart into submission,

and I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to say the whole time but I got lost in all the added adjective descriptions,

caught up in the moment as the sun set’s over the Danube river,
casting this beautiful city of Budapest in a golden glow that ripples and glistens,
and I realize just how unbelievably beautiful this whole globe is,
but honestly the whole world is only half as beautiful when i find you missin’,

see you seem so far away when you’re anywhere but here…

Here,

where I watch tourist take selfies as lovers give kisses,
from atop the turrets of Fisherman’s Bastion,
staring over the edge fighting back the undeniable urge to plummet into the abyss,
and I’m wondering if you feel the same undeniable way and that is why one last time I’m asking,

hey,

how have you been?

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆





Fisherman’s Bastion

Hey,

how have you been?

I know,
some time times can be tough,
but remember,
nothing’s permanent this too shall pass,

we are only an idea of our own imagination,

and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse,
but then again maybe there is no such thing as better or worse,
and maybe that’s the truth,
and maybe the truth is that sometimes the truth hurts…

Hey,

how have you been?

Tell me,
are you enjoying this miracle called life,
in this body,
that you’re currently in?

I’m not sure you fully heard the question because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to ask it again,

“Hey how have you been,
are you enjoying this miracle called life in this body that you’re currently in?”

And yeah I know you’re confused and think you might be a lesbian,
or maybe an asexual extra-terrestrial multi-dimensional alien,
but hey that’s okay all the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine,

I’m not sure you heard the reference because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to say it again,

“All the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine.”

Hey,

how have you been?

I thought about you today,
all day actually,

all the way from Budapest Castle,
through the Labyrinth to Matthias Church,
where I drank water from the fountain,
to quench my reoccurring thirst,

I thought about you today,
from the thermal baths at Lukacs,
to right here where I’m writing this,
back to the Basilica on the Turrets of the Fisherman’s Bastion,

actually I have a question if you don’t mind me asking,

hey,

how have you been?

It seems what I’ve received from atop the turrets contemplating,
is that my attraction towards you is both affection and indifference,
affliction and obsession and independence and addiction,
and possession and freedom and acceptance and rejection,

wait a second it’s actually also the most beautiful creation in all of creation

it is we are the self manifestation of perfection from chaos and misdirection,

oh my look now to the sky is where we are headin’,

and things are going so fast now I think it’s about time I check in,

hey,

how have you been?

You still give me the chills like the hottest Sun mixed with the coldest Wind,
which also describes the highest highs both literally and figuratively that I find myself in,
because what I write is the result of insight from the Most High inside that I then let out with my pen,
and also it seems where I write these lines it’s usually from places high in the sky it can’t all be a coincidence,

this feels all too real to try and even begin to attempt to pretend,
confident and confused at the same time like wanting to make love with your best friend,

When,
will we be able to make love unconditionally without any preconditions,
when can we just be without wanting to do,
like being at a Basilica in the petition position but not needing to be on a mission,

can we please just land on foreign land for the sake of seeking refuge from stormy seas or simply to stop from drifting?

When will we be able to just be without all the questioning and invasive investigations,
I mean seriously these people these days ask so many questions it’s beginning to feel like an inquisition,

made a few more references there could you please write back and let me know when you get them?

Let me know when,
you stop fishing,
because I already know who I want,
and of course I’ve only got one question,

hey,

how have you been?

Listen,

I’m tired you’re hired please love my rebellious heart into submission,

and I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to say the whole time but I got lost in all the added adjective descriptions,

caught up in the moment as the sun set’s over the Danube river,
casting this beautiful city of Budapest in a golden glow that ripples and glistens,
and I realize just how unbelievably beautiful this whole globe is,
but honestly the whole world is only half as beautiful when i find you missin’,

see you seem so far away when you’re anywhere but here…

Here,

where I watch tourist take selfies as lovers give kisses,
from atop the turrets of Fisherman’s Bastion,
staring over the edge fighting back the undeniable urge to plummet into the abyss,
and I’m wondering if you feel the same undeniable way and that is why one last time I’m asking,

hey,

how have you been?

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
#love #suicide #depression #lover #truelove #loveletter #reallove #hungary #budapest
Continue reading...
Yuri Andriy Marković Jun 2014
Sentiments
I find comfort in the news
Be it typhoons or drones
I feel like a 100 year old Camus
For he was a miserable little raccoon
Or should I say Morrissey?
But the bipolar king is lost at sea!
I think of Sylvia Plath and her oven
Incinerated in a jar or in a coffin?

I will mention roses in a second
But first, wear your veil
May I eat your cheeks?
I’m your psychopath with style

We bathed in herbs together
The pale ******* that shone
A reoccurring dream of two moons
I believe in reincarnation
bosoms, as the lunar eyes of an owl

Stars, rain, coffee, cigarettes and music
Few clichés, I forgot about your roses
One day I’ll strike the balance
between rhymes and passion
#poem #poetry #surrealism #sentiments #typhoon #oven #camus #morrissey #drones #syliva
Continue reading...
Diana Garcia Oct 2017
dusty emotions
Written by Diana Garcia**
My brain waves are like a storm
I wish i could sit in silence
I wish i wasnt so ******* torn
I tried to understand you but whats the use
it's my turn to talk but will you listen?
When you look at me what do you see
Your daughter, your sister or am I the punching bag that youve been missin'?
let me show you the scars you gave me
those wonderful gifts
that keep me up at night
the reoccurring hate
those angry tears.
All the times i went hungry
cause i refused to come home for years.
Over and over again i was told.
Theres nobody to blame other than myself.
YES! cause it is I who but my well being up on the shelf.
Ive checked out, to this i do admit.
I am numb and I simply exist.
How can I love, hate, or any of those words in the adjective list
when all I know is how to roll with the punches, how to roll with waves in the stormy ocean with all these ******* dusty emotions..
#numb #scars #punches #abuse #adversity
Continue reading...
Lily Espy Oct 2014
the process of making and drinking hot chocolate
there's seven steps to the making and drinking hot cocoa process.

prepping: grab the mug, make sure you use tap water, grab the hot chocolate and spoon and begin the process down below

step one: pour the tap water into your mug, nearing to the top of the mug and place it in the microwave

STEP ONE: you're scrolling on facebook and you see the most handsome man you've ever seen and you automatically hit the friend button and start messaging him. he responds back, almost as quickly.

step two: press the general two minutes into your microwave and "patiently" wait for your hot chocolate

STEP TWO: you've been talking to her for a good month online now, you both mutually decide to meet up and instantaneously become very close. you start dating him.

step three: take out the flaming hot mug of water and proceed to put it on the counter. grabbing the spoon, put two to four spoonfuls of hot chocolate mix into the mug. begin to stir until there are not any "chocolate dust bunnies" floating around, dissolved.

STEP THREE: a month into the relationship, you're both very much in love. you've had your fourth kiss recently-but who's counting?

step four: immediately go to a comfy spot near you, pull up YouTube and watch people sexually assault women on the street and pass it off as a prank. as you are giggling along, take a sip of your dri-gasp! ouch, that really hurt.

STEP FOUR: three months in. he takes your virginity. it really hurt. you weren't ready but you didn't want to disappoint him.

step five: continue slowly drinking your hot chocolate, it's good to savor it. you notice it starts to get cold. you swish it around in your mouth and let it rest for a minute... it doesn't taste like hot chocolate anymore. it's cold, bitter and the mix from the bottom is floating around giving it the taste of dirt.

STEP FIVE: five months in. he started hitting you two weeks and three days ago. you said you wanted to stop having *** so often because it hurt and you weren't having a good time anymore. he said, "you're asking for it, looking so **** hot all of the time" and proceeds to force himself on you for the first time.

step six: you decide, **** this, im done with my hot chocolate and begin to wash it out in your sink.

STEP SIX: seven months in. you break up with him, he tells you he's sorry and you get back together with him. this has been a reoccurring pattern for a month now. but this time, you're done, for good. and turns out, you are.

step seven: you finish off cleaning the mug and spoon that was used to mix the powder and the weight on your shoulders is free. no more ******, cold hot chocolate for you.

STEP SEVEN: you are free, out of a treacherous relationship. "you were too good for him" your friends tell you, "he's disgusting and wasn't even that attractive". you feel unwanted, until one day you see someone staring at you while you're walking into a coffee shop. you begin to get creeped out after an hour and go to talk to him. you exchange numbers with this older man.

step one on: the process of making and drinking apple cider.
·currently drinking hot cocoa while writing this· slam poem· BY LILY ESPY·
#abuse #relationships #relationship #apple #hot #abusive #chocolate #cider
Continue reading...
Ariel Baptista Nov 2015
Manifesto of love and obsessive compulsive introspection
Hair burned into beautiful submission
Face acrylically defined and chemically composed
Adornments meticulously chosen
Scent tested and approved
Smile practiced and performed
I am a porcelain doll
Sipping tea, at 6 am in the quiet of a sleepy-city apartment
Porcelain doll dainty wrists
Washing dishes, feeding cats
Folding linens, singing hymnals
Praying for peace and safety
Porcelain doll knitting sweaters
And folding paper cranes
Reading poems, setting tables
Wearing cardigans and pearls
Porcelain doll decorating cupcakes
Lighting scented candles
Watering potted plants and humming childhood lullabies
With my porcelain painted lipstick mouth


But lipstick can be dark
Eyes lined black as city alley ways
There is anger at injustice
The world outside the confines of a pastel doll house
It’s messy
It’s hard
It’s iron and concrete and coal
And I am too
Biking through the brick metropolis
Sunglasses and headphones
And anarchist literature
Evenings spent sprinting through the smog
Heartbeats synchronized to the crude drumming of the city
So hard to impress
I’m on the metro
Eyebrows structured and defined
And adorned with a calculated air of apathy
See me social justice march
Down highways with fervently entitled youths
See me armed against misogyny
Until my peers learn to better conceal it
See me smoking cigarillos
Drinking black coffee
Breathing the tainted air of the city that birthed me
And chanting manifestoes.

But my manifesto can be love
And love can conquer anger and fear
And hatred
Love can reconcile, it can erase timidity
And it can abolish resentment
Let it wash my face and take the need for vengeance from my spirit
Let it replace the thirst for power with thirst for truth.
I burn incense
And wear long skirts
Naked face and braless lazy days
Reading pacifism in the park
I walk far to find pure air to breathe
I sit and deconstruct my dichotomy
Under a wise and ancient tree
I trace myself backwards and forwards
I meditate on the paths I have traveled
I cry for the things I have seen
And for the things I have done
I contemplate transcendence
I drink wine and listen to folk music
On the terrace of my home
I bike barefoot to buy Indian takeout
And eat it in silence on the floor of an empty room

I think only of death
And resurrection
Of betrayal and redemption
Of opposites and compliments
And how to progress in knowing how divergent pieces of myself can learn to harmonize
I think about minimalism and materialism
Sentimentalism
And swords and pens
And how this race I run was rigged from the start
I think about blackberries
And the complexity of their literary and symbolic significance
I think about the number seven as I see it reoccurring in every possible sequence and equation
I think about God,
And TS Eliot
And If I dare disturb the universe
I think about porcelain dolls and ****** activists and ***** hippies
I think about war and peace and politics
About corruption and poverty and imperialism
About western ideals and conspiracy theories
And communism
I think about being radical,
And how both sides of this ideological war are defined by fear
And I think about love, as radical but defined by the absence of fear
The absolution of fear
And how I am fairly certain it is the answer
I think about the inevitability of art and war
how they create each other
how they destroy each other
inspire each other and annihilate each other
and how there is nothing that is innocent.
I think about pain and privilege
And stacked decks of cards
I think about dreams and nightmares
And prophesy.
I think about the darkness within me
Tendencies to lie and manipulate and steal
The darkness that I know could make me very great
But alone in the ashes of the world
I think of the curse of wealth and power
And I try to evaluate my motives
And the driving force of my ambition
But I don’t know.
I think about grace and all the things I don’t understand
And toil and fate and destiny
The shape of these things, their origins and culminations
And what this black box of secrets contains.
I think about so many things,
Until everything I was on the outside is gone.
My body is gone
My painted face and sculpted hair
My varnished nails and pierced ears
All my clothes and appendages and freckles are gone
My blood evaporated
My brain an invisible energy in the wind.
My home and street
And city
Are gone.
And even in such complete concentration
When it is only my essence and nothing else
And I transcend throughout my past and future
When I am spread thin
And stretched into the corners
When I fill the cracks and crevices
And melt into the pores of everything
And my spirit is awaked to a dimensionless reality
Even then,
Scio Nihil

I know nothing. .
It's long but an accurate depiction of how my brain works. Written this summer back when I had to much time to think about everything.
Continue reading...
Jacquelyn Audrey Whiston Jun 2013
Reoccurring Nightmare
A night terror brought to life.

I fade into a room
Black
I hear the footsteps
Loud
I feel my skin
Naked

The door is yanked and left agape
I'm blinded by the light
He grabs me and I know there is no escape.

Suddenly he's in me, and I'm left voiceless
He says to open my eyes and I protest
A hard pound into my *** and a smack later
My eyes are open staring into a mirror

I look away and am yanked back
Forced to watch myself be treated like meat
He pounds away, a disgusting rhythm
As tear roll down my face, in defeat

Once he's finished he drops me to the floor
I sit like I'm supposed to,
Sitting on my knees, bowed and waiting for more.

He's back and I'm up in his arms
Holding my mine at my sides he whispers and nibbles at my shoulder
Telling me I'm his, that I'm so strong.
I fight to get away, he's so wrong.

He says he's sick of these games and straightens my face
Forces me to stare at my naked, bruised body
In the mirror that I can't take
I cry, and I cry

"Your mine"
A quick slap to the *** and I'm dropped again, to the floor.
Please note that this was a NIGHTMARE so it is not the exact real life account of what happened. Some parts are metaphors of how I was feeling at this time in my life. Thank you for reading.
Continue reading...
yokomolotov Mar 2014
needle eye of time
pulling you through the needle eye of time

over my shoulder the dawn,
and the city’s scrapers sky glass have turned pastel

the sun has had a great time
being an agitated red eye
infected and watering, pooling and flooding and
drowning

blinding
indifferent
life-giving
same-time

the people asleep and the memories stain
with spells
promises and prayers

all infinite, and finite
wary of sentient
and one

drowsy hive mind
reoccurring dreams- a drive thru memory
passing through with
intermittent lucidity
#time #travel
Continue reading...
Adellebee May 2012
The Cocktail Dress
The cocktail dress split hope down the screen
Letting that reoccurring dream compel me
Into memories of you
The clink of my cup
Shattered sobriety with the pain of daybreak
The ice looks like crystal but only something that will disappear and overflow your glass is standing at attention
The bar stool cracked, empty and the faux leather ripped, and torn
Cougars and MILFs strut down the bar top
Scanning tonight’s bachelors
I sit behind, for my dress is long and flannel
Heavy, hot making me sweat and stink
I run faster than a cheetah in my mind
Tearing doors and bridges apart
Speeding towards the sunrise
Attempting for the *** of gold
The cocktail drips from the table on to the floor
A puddle I will eventually slip from
Hair in my face
My ankle sundress reaped with alcohol
I stand up, look around
Towel?
But all I see is you
Walking back slowly retreating to the door
Leaving me to deal and regret the decisions
I so poorly execute
Continue reading...
Tahlia-rayne Jan 2021
Reoccurring
Everything I touch seems to hold a memory of something I've done wrong
Keeping it locked inside until It sees an opportunity to punish me
I used to think maybe I was cursed
Cursed to live my life always fixing one problem or grieving or healing a forever broken heart
Exhausted I struggle to face the next month knowing another trauma is short awaited
I want to wrap myself in bubble wrap and wait out this wave but I know I can't
#pain #cursed #trauma #struggle #heart
Continue reading...
evjs Mar 2014
hazel
you describe your eyes as hazel
but they are so much more
your eyes are not merely a colour;
a shade ; a hue

your eyes are the reflection
of a sunset upon the ocean
your eyes are my favourite flower
blossoming a season too soon

your eyes are the final firework
of a beautiful display
your eyes are the reoccurring dream
that i will just never forget

your eyes are the door to your soul
and the window to my hope
your eyes are so much more
than hazel

your eyes
are my everything


*/evjs
Continue reading...
Lopez Creationz Jun 2014
Reoccurring Affliction
.
I still see you many a night in my dreams.
Sometimes you are intensely amorous,
Sometimes out of sorts and filled with grief.
Other times you are just violent and mean.

When I awake, my heart is beating fast,
haunting feelings and tears due to our past.
My mind feels ridden with guilt and drained,
My soul completely devoured by torturous pain.

God please know, I regret wrong choices made,
I walked out the door with so much left unsaid.
I did not have heart or courage to watch their face,
I turned around simply disappearing without a trace.

Lopez ©reationz 2014
#regret #pain #relationships #lost #nightmare #breakup #marriage #guilt #heartache #affliction
Continue reading...
Pax Nov 2015
happy mask
I tried to stop being depress,
and start making friends.
But then…
I build too many walls,
Just to hide my flaws
always fearing they’ll crumble.
And...
In the end I can’t stop my thoughts
when I’m alone, reoccurring questions it sought.
Burdens comes falling,
Rushing like the tide, washing
pushing away
the happy mask
I wore.
I haven't been writing much as of late. Maybe because like the first two lines said. Yes, I did make some friends and bond with them. It's great being able to joke around and laugh here and there... But I know deep down I still built too many walls, they can't see what's there, Perhaps I am too good in wearing this mask, that some people didn't see what's lurking behind it.
#friends #fear #sadness #mask #depress
Continue reading...
BoF May 2015
Happy Birthday
I remember as a child being overly excited for my birthday
every year I wouldn't be able to sleep just counting down the hours
When I did eventually fall asleep
I was quick to rise the next day
My mom who worked over nights
Would call me in the morning to send me blessings and good fortune
She was always the first person to say "happy birthday"
I've always loved my birthday
Because it was the one day I truly felt special
Felt wanted...
Now it's my birthday and I can't sleep
But not from excitement
But from reoccurring insomnia
My mom called at 12:02am
But she wasn't the first this year
a boy named "A"
Sent me a picture of his *****
And said it was my "gift"
(Isn't that sweet)
The Moment she said "happy birthday" I bust into tears
I'm glad she didn't hear me cause
I wouldn't know how to explain to her
How broken I feel
How I've thought of
death a million times
in the last hour..
This year I don't feel so special
I don't feel wanted
I feel drained
Fed up
tired
When the sun rises
I plan on buying enough drugs to numb my pain
Listen to the same song on reply
And hope that the day fades quickly
Happy Birthday to me.

B.oF
Sleep can't come soon enough
#sad #depression #life #death #lonley #mylife #happybirthday
Continue reading...
Emily Dolde Dec 2016
3am Fairytales
This thought seems to be reoccurring.
Like that stranger you see in the halls everyday,
Yet you don't know their name
Or even a fragment of their story.
This thought has that exact feeling,
But contains a bit more of a sting when it passes
Through my fatigued head.
This thought is of the fairytales  
All forged in my 3am mindset.
A mindset that often strikes me at times
Very distant from 3am.
These fairytales are perfect in every way.
But, as all things do they have a fatal flaw.
They will remain as fairytales.
Stuck in the depths of my mind that will remain
Locked up like the restricted section of a library.
Living a thousand lives just as the characters
In fantasy books do.
Straining to brake the chains and locks
That keep it restricted from the outside world.
Sadly, I am the only one trying to break these chains.
Others say they want to,
But fail to show up during this distant time
Of 3am.
Another jumble with another hidden message..
#freeverse #jumbled #fairytales #everydaythoughts
Continue reading...
Kerrigan May 2015
Hazel
You describe your eyes as hazel
but they are so much more
Your eyes are not merely a colour;
a shade ; a hue

Your eyes are the reflection
of a sunset upon the ocean
Your eyes are my favourite flower
blossoming a season too soon

Your eyes are the final firework
of a beautiful display
Your eyes are the reoccurring dream
that I will just never forget

Your eyes are the door to your soul
and the window to my hope
Your eyes are so much more
than hazel

k.w
Continue reading...
Colm Aug 2021
A constant, reoccurring, wish of mine
(Wishing)
Not on stars, or skies
Not on rocks, or trees
Not on mountains, or valleys
Or on rivers, or streams

Not on daylight, or night
Not on waking, or sleep
Not on coins, or on clovers
But on prayer that you will see
(Me)
Mhm....
Continue reading...
olivia go Apr 2014
.{ mourning breath }.
Today I found your toothbrush
Sitting in the same cup as mine
I stared at it
Remembering that you were
Here only a week ago
With a bad case of morning breath
And my toothpaste tucked in the corner
Of your smile.
Hesitantly waking up
I stared at it
Remembering that you were
Here only a week ago
My concept of time
Now revolving around the way
You touched me
Only a week ago
The way you loved me
Only a week ago
This toothbrush
This blue toothbrush I bought from the dollar store
Brushing along the tremors of my
Uneven breath threatened to
Defeat me
Threatened to put me back to sleep and
Try again tomorrow
Resolve the reoccurring bouts
Of sadness tomorrow.
But instead
I looked at it
I looked at your toothbrush with a certain familiarity
I looked at your toothbrush with a sincere smile
And remembered that
I was lucky enough to share my space
With someone
Only a week ago
I was lucky enough to fill my room with
Comfort and soft conversations
Only a week ago
I was lucky enough to
See you again
Lucky enough to touch you again
Lucky enough to bother you again
Only a week ago
And for the first time
For the very first time
I looked at everything I gained
Instead of my impending losses
My expired emptiness and hollow thoughts.
Because I realized
Only a week ago
The entire world unfolded itself in front of me
And gave me
Two toothbrushes.
#love #poem #breath #lost #unrequited #familiar #morning
Continue reading...
Brianna Ki Apr 2014
Nightmare
This reoccurring nightmare overrules me deep in sleep
Won’t wake me from my slumber,
Imprisons me in this keep


I try to run, I try to scream.
This is my certainty
Stuck in this bad dream


There, all about me are these stone cold walls
Over-protecting, so suspicious, untrusting …
They guard my soul.
Asking why are they so **** tall.


Restricting my heart I’m bound.
Powerless, I trail this authority
What hope is there now?


I pray in this frigid nightmare for the strength that I won’t break
Eager to be released from this lonely place
I’ll lie right here. My sanity they can’t take.
Written Oct. 2nd 2013
#scared #running #nightmare #guarded
Continue reading...
Kayla Whipple Nov 2012
Scar Tissue
The leaves can’t control what trees they grow on.
Shoes don’t choose whose feet they will be covering.
We don’t choose who we fall for.
We can’t control that feeling we get when we glance into someone’s eyes and realize they will soon have a piece of our heart.  

Our brains create emotions that are impossible to stunt or stop.
Rejection after rejection. The same people can still consume our minds, even if
Our common sense knows, it will never be an option.

At times, I want to look my feelings right in the face and say,
“Curse you” why do you allow me to feel this thing called love
When you know deep down this time will be just like all of the other times.

I can’t control the boys who look into the eyes of my friends and instantly the emotions of attraction consume their lives.
I can’t control the boys who are just a little off, and look at me with that feeling.
I can’t control myself falling for someone who looks into my friends soul and makes that connection.

Life is on constant repeat. The sun rises every morning. The seasons changing every few months, every year. Babies being born, and bodies being lowered into the ground.
People falling in love with complete strangers. People leaving other people behind.
It is a reoccurring event, which in my life will never end.

This constant change and betrayal has become so common I am afraid to say it is almost a scheduled event like the Saturday morning cartoons. Always on, always there, every Saturday morning. No matter what.
This change in my life, this constant repeat of life’s hardest moments is becoming so comfortable my heart aches with the thought of it all.

I can’t fathom the thought of every heartache coming from betrayal coming to a stop and having the security blanket of knowing who ever is in my life, and who matters the most will stay.

It is safe to say my heart is becoming an ***** of scar tissue. Clotting the cuts to keep me from bleeding out. This rejection, this betrayal, this feeling of being alone, it must stop soon. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

Little does my brain know, the feelings that I can’t control, the feelings that no one can control, those are the ones who make me bleed out more and more every passing hour.
Continue reading...
Jennifer Leigh Driver Jun 2012
Reoccurring.
Lingering anger.. perplexed reminders..
love in danger.. a destined timer..
careless words..endured..deveined..
warped mind.. evil.. deranged..
fake illusion.. brain contusion..
on a stage of untrue.. black curtains.. cover you..
stagnant water..unclear view.. jumping in without a clue..
changing sequence.. me on defense..
waiting for the hidden demons..
extreme caring..left to rot..
realizing what I thought was real.. was not..
distractions overtake you.. then I start to hate you..
I swear it always happens.. every single time..
entangled in you.. yet you're separated..
by your choice.. not mine..
Continue reading...
JParker Dec 2018
I have had this reoccurring dream.
I have had this reoccurring dream.

that the sun is so bright
I become paralyzed.
unable to open my eyes.

My face
contorted.

     eyebrows raised
     jaw stretched
     pupils restless.

body immobile.

I remain.  
not exactly,
yet at the same time completely,

blind.

I don't know if I'd call it a nightmare,
but it's the only dream that scares me.
Continue reading...
Adellebee May 2012
****** Windows Screens
****** window screens and
Spray-painted limousines
Broken fingernails
Collecting dust in water pails
Chewed mosquito bites,
Lurking men of the night
Procession of death,
Headaches and shortness of breath
Physical or mental abuse,
Which road will you choose?
Abstinence with a keyhole of trust,
Unknown of love, engulfed in lust
Short distance and reoccurring sunsets,
a sunrise of jealously paired with eternal fret
Frustration, confusion, nothing less,
Hope is lost as you fail that test
Life mirrors’ a repetitive game
No purpose just filled with hallow halls and shame
Continue reading...
kylie Apr 2013
from me to you
to: her
from: me

i may not like you but i love him,
so i'm writing this to you to ask
that you be patient with him
and kind to him
and never take him for granted.

you don't love him like i do
and i know this because
you don't know how he likes
his coffee (black), or what his
favorite movie is (hotel rwanda) or
why he's afraid of airplanes (his
sister died on 9/11)

please do not get frustrated with
the fact that he can't take a compliment or
that he might forget your birthday or
that he will put his family before you
in a heartbeat.

please do not think that because
he doesn't ask where you are or
seem interested in going out or
spend every moment with you,
that he doesn't care about you.
he is an introverted mind with
a breathtaking soul and you will
be surprised by how quickly
he will make you forget the name
of any other boy that you have
ever been with.

the last thing that i think you
should know is that he has a
very fragile heart and you
cannot fix it no matter how hard
you try. so do not try to rid him
of his repressed memories and
reoccurring nightmares. promise
him you'll never leave

and do not break

the promise

like i did
011
Continue reading...
Dharker Dec 2017
Reoccurring Sting
Another soul
    has lost their way
With all the hands
   who tried to help
What is left

     only regrets

Erie day
  Can not change
Yesterday
   and now this

Reoccurring Sting
Continue reading...
Sjr1000 Sep 2016
Generations
(Went out today,
Charter boat
Trinidad Bay
Limited out on rock fish
in two hours
Watching Elks Head
from the ocean,
Grandpa)

Isadore
Called him Izzy
Chewing all day
on a fat cigar
Looked at lot like Jimmy Durante

His father stowed away on a ship
Wasn't going to be a Russian military conscript
Genocidal pogroms were coming
how he knew
we'll never know.

Ended up in Philadelphia town,
Scranton Pennsylvania

Moved along to Brooklyn
Stubby Izzy
fighting it out with the Irish immigrants
Dreaming of having a chicken farm
over there in New Jersey

Izzy met Grandma Sarah at the family clothing store
they fought it out for 70 years
The 60's book
Games People Play
They were the star attraction
The friction was the glue
that kept them together
The friction was the match
that lit their passion.

Grandpa Izzy
funniest man I ever met
Drove an old 48 Ford
selling housewares in the Southern route.
In the morning far too early
Sneaking into his room
tickling his feet to the sounds
of ohhs and hoho's

At five years old
Grandpa Izzy
took me fishing
on some New Jersey pond -
Afternoon sun with yellow colors
bringing all the foliage alive

Sun setting
fish rising
a hand held in mine
defined the peace
I seek
in reoccurring dreams through out a lifetime

A troubled teen
all suicidal
the drive in the 48 Ford
with Grandpa Izzy
running down the Malibu pier
catching the half day boat before it
disappeared

Grandpa Izzy
never lived far from a race track
I don't know about those losing days
but the secret he said
Was to never lose your sense of humor
Always be able to laugh at yourself

Izzy smoked those big old chewed cigars
lived until he was 94

Ended up not knowing
Who or where he was

Maybe we all
end up
that way too

But in my memory
there is sharp focus
he remains alive in me

If heaven is there
I know I'll find
Izzy and I
on that New Jersey pond,
a fishing line
and
peace inside.
Grandparents are mythic creatures occupying a special place in our lives. I also want to acknowledge some were not so lucky as me, and grandparents were objects of fear and terror. Feel free to share your own experiences.
Continue reading...
Anya Sep 2018
My Tirade about History Class
I'm not saying
that this is how it is
But,
In all my years of school
the one thing I've been taught
Again
and
Again
...
is the American Revolutionary war

Which makes sense
since,
it was technically the official formation
of the country I currently live in

But really,
In 10th grade
I'm having deja-vu back
to fourth grade
when we even had a musical
about it
(I was student #2 by the way)

And now
we have the Broadway musical Alexander Hamilton
which,
I am TOTALLY a fan of
Despite
the numerous reoccurring themes
I've had stuck in my face
enough to remember
for the
rest
of
my
lifeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
...
Okaaay,
So, Revolutionary War:
...
...
...
AftertheFrenchandIndianwarBritianwasindebtsothey­triedtaxingthecollonieswhichthecolloniesweretotallyagainst.Miscom­munication(allthewayacrossthesea)alongwithotherthingsincludingphr­asessuchas"notaxationwithoutrepresentation"werethrownaround.Event­uallyitjustblewupintotheactualwarwhichAmericaendedupwinningdespit­eBritain'ssuperiorarmyandinthenAmericawasleftwithamessofstatestan­ddisagreeablefoundingfatherstocometoaconsensusandfiguresomethingo­ut.

Okay, I don't know if you actually
got anything from that
but basically
it was a rushed (sort of) summaryish
of the American Revolutionary war
...
ish.

Well, I mean I've only learned
about it from one side

Anyway, by now I almost know the facts
we learn in school here
as well
as the back of my hand
...
which I don't know very well by the way
why do people even use that?

Anyway, it's not completely old material
that we're learning
because
now,
there's analyzing too

Just today we analyzed the differences
between
Federalists
and Anti-federalists
...
Okay,
you probably don't want the
nitty-gritty details
...
And that concludes my
(Strange)
tirade/(I can't really call it a tirade because it wasn't angry
so maybe narration?)
About history class
...
Hope this quirky
piece of writing
gave you a few smiles!

(Or if not confusion works too.)
In all honesty I started this as a valid poem but my strange mood made it spiral seriously off track.
#weird #strange #history #american #america #tirade #narration #quirky #mood #personality
Continue reading...
Patrick Raven Mar 2012
The Reoccurring Plays Of Lightly Blue
all the eagles in the culture
Barking like hollow wastes
In magic
In malice
In song
Oh how I’ve heard it wrong
Times before
And how I’ve never heard it right
Times not before.

In my dreams I am a king
On the tall night I’m calm
For most of the five million children
And all of the eleven parents
Taken blame for blood
And broken bells
Hidden by my quick heeded goodbye
I know you weren’t seen
But felt
Heavy eyes on you
I watched
And I thought
For all this time
That the world
Never quite fit with me
Too boxed up
And I never opened it all the way
Only peeked
Once,
Honest.
Continue reading...
Victoria Jennings Sep 2011
Reoccurring thoughts.
I always go back to that thought,
Those pins are in my bag,
"Out of sight,out of mind"
What Lies,
I think about them,
Think about how it hurts to see them rigidly run across my skin,
Occasionally making me bleed,
But the release,
It's the only thing that makes me feel less alone,
Because right now,
I have no one to depend on,
I'm on my own,
Yet not at all,
Still trapped at home,
Still thinking about that past,
Thinking about all the good that leads me to the bad,
and just wanting those pins across my skin,
But just wanting with everything I am to hold on and stay strong,
But I'm scared I don't have it in me.
Continue reading...
robin Dec 2013
i won't be your storybook suicide, but i'll be your one-hit k.o.
you told me
you knew
we would bring each other down.
you told me the world was cold
and we would drown in frozen lakes together,
when hypothermia turns to terminal burrowing,
we could burrow within each other.
you told me i would **** you.
after that,
i spent 5 hours in the shower boiling off my skin.
you and i
will not sink in tandem, you and i will not
fall apart in unison,
clasping hands.
i am not your personal suicide pill.
i am not your romantic,
selfless partner
in helpless self-destruction,
you're talking like we'll die tomorrow but i have plans to live a while yet,
if you jump from lover's leap
then you will fall alone.
i think you think
i love you.
i think you think i value
your voice
more than the voice of my thoughts.
it is december and the sun is too bright
to look anywhere
but your feet.
it is december and you're waxing poetic
about the boy who broke his neck
falling in the forest at night.
you look me in the eyes like you're trying
to crawl through my cornea.
you make eye contact an act of violence.
[do you
dream about me?]
you ask,
you're trying to be poetic.
i don't tell you about when i dreamed
you snapped your neck
while we walked in the forest,
and i left quickly,
quietly,
lived peaceful and alone.
i don't tell you about when i dreamed you moved on,
or that reoccurring dream where you spread my legs so far,
they snap out of the sockets.
i tell you i don't dream.
i tell you i don't sleep.
i tell you
i wear boxing gloves to church
but jesus never shows, and really,
i shoulda known he'd run from this fight too.
i tell you
i wear boxing gloves to bed but i just end up
chewing on the laces,
boxer's fractures never visited me.
bar room fractures on the nightstand.
[i dream about you,]
you say,
and i take another hit.
you've been in my air for six months.
under my skin for five,
and it's been three months
since you stitched our veins together.
sometimes,
i fall asleep wearing your scarf
and dream of garrotes that smell like you,
dream of strangulation
and bruises on my throat.  
i don't love you like a motive.
you don't love me like a person.
you told me i had a clean heart,
you told me i was an innocent soul,
you told me you would corrupt me, don't
flatter yourself.
your touch doesn't have the power
to make me sick.
only i can do that to myself.
i'm not a virginal sacrificial saint
for you to build altars to.
lets see if we can cut our hearts out with our fingernails.
i bet that they'll look just the same:
****** and red.
the same size as our clenched fists,
guess it's not your fault
you never learned the difference between the two,
you keep trying to fight with aorta and arteries
while my knuckles bruise your gut.
here:
i taped my hands and i'll tape yours too.
this will be a fair fight-
don't break your wrist
when you break my nose.
i'll teach you i'm more solid than a saint.
i'll teach you i am bile and spit and ****.
i'll teach you to love me human
or not at all.
Continue reading...
Katlan Alexia Mar 2014
Thunderstorms
My mind consists of thunderstorms
it rains its pours all day
memories, thoughts, pictures of you
always washed away

happiness is short
stress and sadness stay
while the colors of the rainbow fade
i see plenty shades of grey

the day you left is when it started
it never leaves my mind
thunderstorms reoccurring
falling close behind

k.c
Continue reading...
Morgan Oct 2013
every day is a reoccurring nightmare
that hurts all over again
every time i realize
that i'm awake

no alarm clock
can save me
from the horors
of reality

oh
i'm not okay
Continue reading...
Andrew Parker Dec 2013
The Follicle Chronicles
Follicle Poem
December 6, 2013

A mental relapse occurs.
I see hands plowing through my head of hair
They continue to grasp at the roots,
as if attempting to expose a truth hidden underneath.
But what secrets could bequeath a hair follicle?
Well, one might tell a tale.

Scared of the dark, a 6 year old Wynn laid awake in bed.
He prolonged the inevitable destitution of a dream state.
No longer wanting to accept a reoccurring nightmare,
he took to a dreary exercise of staying awake in the dark.
One hair follicle today may tell of how,
on that night it did not rise in a panicked state.
Wynn had finally conquered his fear of the dark.

"Something felt different today," said Follicle #567.
A new shampoo.
But more than that, strange scissors.
"Who is this new person cutting Wynn's hair now?"
remarked one hair follicle,
"I wonder what happened to the usual lady?"
She had passed away.

An emerging chest hair observed the extended family has grown recently.
"Darker relatives who look different and live in other regions of the world.
Who are they and why do they get treated differently?
Nobody has heard of the ***** region in the southern hemisphere,
or armpit land where our hair family members supposedly smell weird."
The perspective of a follicle in puberty.

"The loud sound of electricity and gears grinding scares me.
There is a storm which ravishes our lands.
First, a foamy cloud surrounds us.
Next, comes a sharp stinging sensation,
not a pleasant feeling to be set free from your roots.
A tidal wave crashes, washing away my follicle friends and family forever.
Then, the lightning strikes - dooming us all."
A ****** follicle's worst fear.

"We are a persevering bunch.
We cling to our conventions and grow, grow, grow.
But recently Wynn has done something new.
We thought he was feeding us honey,
so treacherous.
Sticky goop and stiff paper will be the end of us all.
Nobody wants to admit follicles are second-class citizens to smooth skin."
Waxing prematurely takes the lives of several million follicles annually.

"A rebel group of follicles known as the 'In-Growns' are up to no good.
They scheme with the pimples, plotting when and where to strike next.
I worry about Wynn - wish he could know we aren't all so ill-intentioned."
Follicle culture is derived from parenting, not just biology or anatomical location.

"The last of my kind, I have been contaminated with chemicals.
My color changed to blue.
I've heard the ancient legends about follicles once turned blonde.
We need to appease the summer sun god.
The others have all shriveled up or been brutally betrayed by the locals.
In hiding, we worry the scissor insurgents will discover our locations.
All I wanted was the freedom to express myself,
to be seen for who I really am - not just some color."
Follicles experience discrimination for numerous reasons.

"Drugs.
I can feeeel them in my DNA.
Something about me has changed and I like it.
Living life on the wild side these days.
I don't shower and don't care if I am greasy.
Every other follicle’s fears are irrational.
I'm gonna spread the word and grow out a bit.
Because that's what they expect of me, isn't it?
I mean, what good could come out of a drugged up follicle,
other than more waste of scalp space?"
Follicles who use drugs recreationally receive negative labels and harsh stigma.

"The wavy goodness from a gel rub,
is the highlight of the week.
We are fine, fresh, and fierce, ready to set the standard for follicle fashion.
If you are one of those lower class follicles,
who can't afford gel.
No worries - some might trickle down...
Just kidding!
Spray supports our monopoly on hair care products."
Fashionable follicles are extra sassy and have socio-economic privilege.

The relapse ends.
My head suddenly feels heavy,
swarmed with the hair follicle chronicles.
And the hands running through my head of hair become inspired.
They begin to tell their tales of times passed in Wynn's life.

Perspective means everything.
Continue reading...
Devin Lawrence Oct 2015
On A Beach
A girl bathes in the sunlight in a
Bright red bikini - the kind of red of some lipstick that
caught your attention at the mall.
**** the men passing her by, absorbing
every detail of her body.
Few have felt her touch, that
glorious touch. The touch I’ve grown to
hate with everything
I keep bottled up inside. She likes to play
jokes on a hopeful heart; stealing
kisses from the
lips of a boy, still learning to be a
Man- an idea my father
never taught me, not because of a lack of
opportunity, but because he never figured it out himself. She  
played my mind like the piano keys she used to
quell the
reoccurring thoughts in her mind: those of
self-abuse and insecurities.
To feel wanted and loved, she
uses the attention of those staring eyes as she bathes in ultra
violet rays, questioning if the
water is a comfy kind of cold, much like the
X’s and O’s placed lovingly at the bottom of the note that ended
years of dedication, years of forgetting our uncertainties.

Zero degrees couldn’t be colder than that.
Inspired by Mary Szybist's "Girls Overheard While Assembling a Puzzle."
#girl #father #red #girls #piano #age #beach #firstlove #bikini #abecedarian
Continue reading...
Kayla Whipple Oct 2012
Sometimes
Sometimes when I see what people have the capability of doing, I wonder if there is anything else besides blood and bones.
Sometimes when I like a boy. He always likes to twitter pate my friends hearts. Sometimes if my friend has no desire, the boys still come crawling, right past me.
This is not just a one time thing. This is a reoccurring event. kind of the like the bickering that goes on at my house during the weekends.
Sometimes it gets sad.
Sometimes when I open my heart and my love flies out like a bird leaving its cage for the first time, something goes wrong. My bird's wings maybe don't work. Maybe there was a killer just waiting to shoot down the newly free creature. Or maybe, my bird just can't handle the pressure and is crippled. Whatever it is like, and it is different in every situation, My heart is become such a raw sore. This is not because of one event. Let me be clear.
This is the build up of heartaches after letdowns and broken wishes.
Sometimes, on chilly nights like these. When I am cuddled up sipping hot coco and eating warm chocolate chip cookies, I just wonder. Why have I let my feelings control me for so long?
Why have I put myself through this? The only solution I can come up with is that all of these times that my feelings are torn apart by these creatures we call MEN, are just preparing me for my infinite love that I will have someday.
Sometimes I smile because I KNOW someday, I will be greatfull for the broken winged heart because I will have never had the chance to meet this future peice of my puzzle.
Continue reading...
Brooksimus Aug 2011
Beginning to end: my dear friend, the tiger.
Like a treacherous jungle, the world shaped its self to resemble the untamable, unforgiveable, and unimaginable creature that pounced on every crest of supple, innocent victim’s souls only to be dragged miles through painful, elongated trenches, and then expended in its entirety to recommence restructure in all new patterns of mutilated destructed forms; completely rearranged and in search for the light to guide culpable souls into worthy positions with better conditions and purer intentions.

From the inception, slithering wildly the legendarily discreet elapid serpent anticipated the fierce panthera. What was thought as a tyro odyssey, was underrated, uncreated, and translated to total transformative, love abated, accommodative, grief impregnated, planes alternated, affirmative gamboling games.

As a barbarous being, all and every cutthroat, bloated, anecdote of overdrawn, theatric fervor entered this imprudent, illuminated, and aggregated thing to fill unanswerable questions and unexplainable connections by intersecting other frantic, energetic, idiosyncratic reoccurring addicts with realms of disintegrated, hardheaded, nerve racked dreams.

The exterior scaled, degenerated able soul entangled and sacrificed minded controlled logic against the mystic, enigmatic, acidic beast. Pushing forward in the battle of cosmic evolution, a mistake making, empathic fool, inflicted from predicated illusions of heart wrenching, exploding, brooding agape for aspired end resulted, expanded frontiers.

What the scrawny, deluded fool missed were the all purposeful and most numerable senses that embrace every now where infinity spirals out related creation in the ever expandable universe that all the scavengers, hoarders, trackers, hunters, carnivores, herbivores, and the water possessed serpent misuse every now and now and now and now and again to address the real issues that are eschewed, abused, and viewed as insignificant tools that could never resolve unbearable fights within things, beings, or feelings of desertedness.

Miscommunication is everywhere and nowhere. Uncontrollable senses are everything and nothing. A constant fight within and without means nothing. Nerves we suppress and addictions we abuse. All to fill a space that exists at uncontrollable rates and lighting speeds. What is strategic logic without perceived cognizance? This is constant tumultuous idleness, sacrificed thoughtlessness, crude awareness, and unmanageable apprehension only exploited to rationalize a beast with labels, feeble doubts, to dwindle realities, and to fuel the unpeaceful balance.

The brute, that the restless, powerless, and distrustless serpent inhabited welcomes the transformative living immortal beings into the now of the hare who weakens the logic to lessened and opened tempos of the lines, spaces, and levels of the all and great smash of vast, immense potentiality of authenticity.
Continue reading...
Matt McClinton Oct 2012
Midnight Writings
Light the cigarette, inhale exhale repeat
Hurry before your mother finds out
Pulling you back inside by the ear
Slaps your hand followed with shouts
Pots and pans clank together
Furious tension and disappointed parents
A sore hand and ear march up the stairs
Slam! The door and put your headphones in
reflect about this teenage anger and the
half finished smoke burning out on the sidewalk
Listen to the music, calm down
Vibrations from cheap store brand headphones
more then likely stolen

If I could tally up all the cigarettes that I used to ease my mind from thoughts of you,
check the mail often,
causes there's a few empty packs heading your way.
Along with a hospital bill for some new lungs because mine are ****** up
A pair of thumbs that don't ache from the texts I send
trying to make you feel the same about me.
And lastly a heart that only knows how to pump blood
that doesn't remember the good and bad times
one that doesn't build up the pressure from the past
then fires a pain through my torso wrapping around my ribs
causing me agony in the late nights

Worry not old friends I am better
No more are my Friday nights spent reflecting
on the past and possible futures

It's funny you know
I put my emotions into these words
and in turn produce new ones
A forever reoccurring chemical reaction of
lines potent with the stench of the dark side of my thoughts
and vibrant memories
If I continue to write what will become of me?
In how many words will it take to feel like a normal person
and not a black sheep of society
How many lines of reactions are needed for my personalty to become something anew?
Maybe I will be able to be in a room full of strangers, and walk away with friends
Instead of isolating myself to avoid having those horrible, terrifying things
known as social interactions
What's the big deal if friends of friends dislike you?
It's simple go up and say hello
but what if she dislikes my voice
my hair
my weight
the smallest insignificant thing, then my attempt shall be wasted.
My self worth a never ending cold, empty well

Go and do man's greatest creation; language
but alas conversation is a dying art form
Those who express their emotions through words sure are strange aren't they?
Maybe it's my culture that is the cause of my anxiety.

I stay up every night to enjoy being alone
with hopes of capturing thoughts such as these
then regret the lack of hours I slept that night
only to repeat the process again

This piece has no flow no direction,
Good
Observe how my mind works
See what I think about day after day
Look at the beginning of a memory, watch it decay
and erode from over analysis
broken down down to pointless open ended conclusions
and unsatisfying endings.
Continue reading...

— The End —